Art and Us

Over the last few years, I have come to dread the social media in the aftermath of a violent attack. This fear has eclipsed the fear of the violent attack itself. While violence erupts, and in some cases is caused to erupt, almost everywhere in the world, my social media circles tend to go into overdrive in one of two cases. First is the violence that happens in Pakistan. This violence is very encompassing- it could be a bomb attack, a political fistfight, an armed student militia encounter or anything else. However, even within such an inclusive category, there are exclusions. The violence against sub-nationalists groups is, for the large part, often ignored by the social media. This has, of course, changed in the last few years. Second is the violence that happens elsewhere in the world but is linked to Islam. This is violence under the cover, and through the use of, religion. This can also be violence where all the involved parties claim membership to one sect or the other of Islam, as well as violence where only one side makes such a claim. Even though these are broad categories that I have constructed based on the manifestation of violence, I think that a rigorous elucidation of categories of violence must focus not on the manifestation of violence but on the motivation behind it. The reason that I only focus on the manifestation here is because it allows me to succinctly provide the casual reader with a general idea of a topic that is mentioned frequently in this piece. In what follows, I will focus on the reactions to the first type of violence that I have identified above- that in Pakistan.

The unfortunate death of Amjad Sabri serves as a recent example for such analysis. Amjad Sabri was a popular singer of devotional music and a recognizable face for a large number of Pakistanis. His father was one of the two Sabri brothers who, together, form a duet that is undoubtedly one of the best to have ever come out of Pakistan. While it would be hard for anyone to live up to such a prestigious status, whether Amjad would have done so will now forever remain a matter of debate. Death came for him, as it does for everyone else, with little regard for his family, his career, his art or anything else. The unfairness with which death comes begs the age old question of how could a fair god be so unfair to its creatures? As news filtered through of Amjad’s assassination, social media gradually started responding in a manner that we have all become so accustomed to.

Amjad Sabri was first claimed by the Twelver Shi’ites, even though he himself does not come from such a family. Posts and images began to circulate in these spheres that highlighted Amjad’s affection for historical figures that the Twelver Shi’ite cosmology revolves around. These posts highlighted Amjad’s devotion to these figures. It was significantly above the regular veneration that an average Sunni would be expected to hold. This, of course, was endearing to the Twelver Shi’ites since their religion is predicated on a perennial struggle for recognition of (what they claim to be) a historical wrong done fourteen hundred years ago. If Amjad, as a member of the same Other that the Twelver Shi’ites define themselves in opposition to, could have affection for the dearly beloved of the Twelver Shi’ite imagination, then it serves, for the Twelver Shi’ite, to reinforce their own truth claims. These posts also claimed that Amjad was killed for his pro-Shi’ite leanings, especially because such veneration invites the scorn of religious fundamentalists like the Taliban etc. So, in claiming Amjad as one of their own, the Twelver Shi’ites were not just validating, through the Other, their own understanding of themselves and their history, but also highlighting the ever-present persecution and targeting that continues in present day Pakistan.

Of course, such a claim by the Twelver Shi’ites could not possibly go unchallenged by the Sunni majority. In what I would wager was a direct response to the actions of the Twelver Shi’ite activities on social media, posts began emerging that highlighted Amjad’s contributions to the genre of Qawwali (this, I think, ought to have been the popular Qawwali that I have talked about elsewhere) and the pluralism that the Qawwali represented. These posts claimed that the attack on Amjad was an attack on the pluralism intrinsic to Pakistan and/or Islam and was done by fundamentalists who do not wish to let this pluralism flourish. Thus, these types of posts promoted a distinct conception of society and religion and one that is under threat. In adhering to a principle of pluralism, however, such a conception does not so much as ignore, but rather whitewash completely, the claims of the persecuted minorities present in the same society. So, it responds to the allegations of violence against minorities not by saying that the violence is wrong, but by saying that the violence is not what this society does and that it comes from elements external to the society. Such a response, in turn, is criticized by the minorities as being inaccurate to the facts on the ground. This eventually turns into a back and forth with parties talking past each other rather than with each other.

Of course, given that this specific incident happened in Karachi, other political factors also come into play. For some, the responsibility lay squarely on the failure of the rangers that have been stationed in Karachi for just over two decades. For some, the responsibility lay solely on the provincial government that is formed by a party which enshrined into the constitution the non-Muslim status of the Ahmadis. As further news filtered through of the Taliban claiming the responsibility for the attack, many other came forwards and blamed the establishment that gave rise to these factions. As has been the case for much of Pakistan’s history, religion is intrinsic to the politics. Thus, as these political posts increased in number, brief commentaries on the role of religion also tagged along. Do the many incidents like this indicate the necessity of a separation between the religion and the state? Or do these incidents indicate instead a religion that has been twisted by the state and thus needs to be brought back to its original form? Of course, these questions and more, by virtue of their timing are predicated on adrenaline rather than reason. Similarly, the medium of social media that they emerge in is not necessarily conducive to a detailed and structured analysis of the issue on hand. The worst, however, is that the attention span of the social media is too short in duration. So, before one can even take stock of the right questions or figure out how, exactly, to word a question, the conversation has moved on. There is always something new to talk about and those that make the mistake of persisting on an old topic run the risk of being left behind.

Yet, this is not a new topic. Pakistan has been at this juncture- losing a committed individual to violence- before and is likely to be back here many times in the future.  The conversations following such an incident do not change- they remain static and inflexible. It seems that those that engage in these conversations already have fixed notions of what to say- it is just that every new incident is simply a new opportunity to flaunt one’s opinion. This can range from sponsored hyper-nationalism to radical anarchy. It is almost irrelevant who has been targeted where, when, why and how? Indeed, it could be anyone but as long as they are someone half-recognizable, the social media will take the issue up, regurgitate the same old euphemisms and analogies, and then spit it out.

Since yesterday, I have seen the attack on Amjad heralded from an attack on Pakistan’s cultural values (to which I ask the questions that many have before me- have we defined Pakistan already that we can define its cultural values?) to an attack on specific religious point of views to an attack on art that will inevitably end it. Of course, similar proclamations have been made for many decades now. I think that such statements betray a superficial analysis of the situation at hand. Indeed, the latter is disrespectful to both the artist and the art to make such an analogy. Though art lives on because of what the artist has given it, it does not just die when the artist is taken away from it. Further, as crude as it may sound, I do not think that an artist being shot in cold blood amounts to the end of a genre. The real threat to art comes not from the violence that I described in the opening paragraph but from the ideological attitudes to art that have gradually become more prominent in our societal consciousness.

Amjad was an artist who came from an artist family. However, there are not many artists who come from non-artist families. Similarly, there are also many non-artists who leave their artist familial professions. Because of the movement of our society to a capitalistic economy, the type of individuals who pursue arts has been restricted to three. First, there is the socio-economically privileged individual who can afford to pursue arts without the pressure of having to succeed or having to worry about economic survival etc. This type of individual is thus able to focus solely on their art. Second, there is the talented individual who is peerless. This individual can be found across different social classes, including the socio-economically privileged one. The talent of this individual almost makes it irrelevant what class they come from. However, this is a rare type of talent and one that succeeds even in the face of institutional and social barriers. Third, there is the devoted individual. This individual eats and breathes art. This individual can also be found in any class. What distinguishes this individual from everyone else who claims to be devoted to art is that it is willing to be consumed by his passion for art. The commitment is independent of the class this individual hails from. It should be clear that the latter two can types can be found merged into the first one, or with each other, while also being able to stand on their own. But the theoretical refinement is a topic for another time.

Beyond these rare ideal-types, however, it is rare to find individuals who pursue arts. Thus, a kid whose talent falls just short of the rare type talent discussed above would never actually pursue arts because of the lack of encouragement (or, indeed, active discouragement) that it receives from those around it. The kid is instead diverted into the more acceptable professions of medicine, finance, law, etc. and forced to spend a life that does not quite do justice to his talents. Thus, the talent that could have been honed and sharpened and transformed into great art instead becomes a slave to the society around it. In doing so, it does not simply conform to and maintain these norms, but through its actions it reproduces them for the future generations. This is the case in not just my immediate and extended family, but also the rest of the Pakistan. My family would like to think it is educated because it can list the following, among many others, as titles that the members occupy- a doctor, a teacher, a corporate banker, an engineer, etc. Yet, what good is education if it is merely instrumental to the goal of breaking free of the class boundary? It is useless and ought not be considered education. Members of my family will die in middle-class mediocrity, having lived unfulfilled lives, and always having been too scared of committing fully and wholly to anything- whether an idea, or a love, or an art. Yet, their consciousness is shaped by the society around them and thus they are not, unfortunately, an isolated example. The entire society can said to be one that discourages breaking free of these structures- including pursuing arts. Thus, even as these members of the society wage an invisible, ideological war on arts by heralding it as being a useless  pursuit, they are the first ones to throw their arms in the air and proclaim an attack on Amjad as an attack on arts. The physical attacks, like those on Amjad, do not have the power to threaten art for art is bigger than the perpetrators of this violence. The extremists will die with time, then rise again, then die again but art is permanent. It does not ebb and flow. It exists despite the attempts to eradicate it. Art will outlive this country, this society, and this religion and its god. Art is the domain of ideas and ideas cannot be fought with physically- they must be combated against on an ideological level alone. So, art can deal with guns and bombs, but it cannot deal with a consciousness that seeks to defeat it. The war against art is not the one waged by the extremists, but the one waged by this society. Every person who forces a child to give up a crayon for a stethoscope, a guitar for a calculator, and a sport for a grade is complicit in this war. It may be convenient now to simply shrug and say that scenarios do not permit us allowing our children to pursue arts, but history will show that it was only because we willingly made ourselves subservient to the scenarios that we ourselves had created.

The Nauha Battles- Is every day Ashura (or not)?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WEIK5JUGb8

The above nauha, recited by the Imamia Students’ Organization a few years ago, is titled after a slogan (translated as ‘Every day is Ashura, Every place is Karbala’) which some scholars have claimed was first articulated in the lead-up to the Islamic Revolution in Iran. Given ISO’s open affiliation with the Office of the Supreme Leader in Iran, then, it is not surprising that ISO subscribes to this symbol as worldview. This is not to say that only affiliation with the Iranian-centric view of Twelver Shi’ism leads to a slogan like this- Tambar’s study of Alevi ritual commemoration in Turkey in 2006, for example, documents this slogan as one of the many appearing up in popular spaces dedicated for mourning. He writes, “The phrase expresses the promise of believers not only to maintain Husayn’s memory in the present day but also to seize on that memory at any and every opportunity.” So the slogan, in and of itself, has also spread far and wide from where it originated and certainly resonates with Shi’as at a popular level across geographically and culturally differentiated regions.

ISO’s nauha calls upon Twelver Shi’ites to treat every day as Ashura and every place as Karbala. It is not the only one to do so. In recent memory, Nadeem Sarwar recited a similarly titled nauha back in the 1990’s and there was a nauha released this year only by Qurban Jafri albiet it is not in Urdu.

Another nauha released this year, however, gives voice to an opposing point of view. Recited by Wajih Hasan Zaidi, it is titled La Youma Ka Youmik and it narrates a saying attributed to Hasan (second of the Twelver Shi’ite leaders and the elder brother of Husain) which says that the sacredness of Ashura and Karbala is unrivaled and that no time or place can ever meet that.

This sets up an interesting binary. One the one hand you have a reading of Karbala as a revolution and a way of life. Because of the inherent radicalness of the event, and because of more holistic cosmology in which the event is situated, Karbala is considered a momentous occasion. For a group like the ISO, Karbala represents the aspiration that all Twelver Shi’ites must actively work towards (but ultimately fall short of) achieving in their daily lives. However, the hierarchy integral to the structures Twelver Shi’ism is predicated on makes it impossible to transcend from a ‘being’ to a ‘maʿsūm’ and so despite a constant struggle, the aspirant will eventually be unsuccessful in reliving Karbala. It is fair to say, then, that this group argues vehemently for Karbala to be manifest in the actions of a Twelver Shi’ite by decimating the boundaries between sacred and profane until all that remains is Karbala and nothing else (even though such a goal may never be possible).

The other group uses the latter half of the above, or the implied argument as it is never explicitly stated, from groups like the ISO and argues that precisely because of the uniqueness of an event like Karbala, the Twelver Shi’ites must, at all times, remain cognizant of just how prestigious Karbala was. For this group, then, Karbala becomes a revered memory, a constant reminder of not just the imperfection of humanity, but also of the evil it creates, and how both of these must be combated with constant reference to Karbala. This daily struggle is internalized, however, and the rituals of piety seek inspiration from, but are not actively shaped by, the events of Karbala. Karbala, for this group, retains the ultimate sacredness within the universe. It represents a rupture that cannot be undone, and the closest a Twelver Shi’ite can come to experiencing it is through the ritual commemoration which is temporally finite and spatially restricting. The sacred for this group will remain eternally differentiated from the profane as, the group argues, it ought to.

Two groups, then, that self-identify as fitting within an identical overarching Twelver Shi’ite system draw differently on the same historical event. They evoke, from within the tradition, the same signifiers but interpret them in opposition to each other. They do not stop at avoiding an erroneous reading (by staying away from what they believe to be incorrect) but actively seek to achieve truth (by asserting their own worldviews above those that they disagree with). This articulates itself as a constant tension in forms like the nauha which, as I have argued elsewhere, provides us a fertile ground for investigation into this fascinating phenomenon. This, I believe, is good grounds to build an argument that religion is simply what people do…and nothing more.

Resisting the Ayatollah’s hegemony

The problems facing the Twelver Shias in Pakistan have been documented increasingly in recent times. However, such analysis has focused mainly on the threat of violence this group faces from extremist outfits in Pakistan. There has been little to no coverage on the internal threat it faces from within itself- namely, a blind adherence to an Iranian inspired version of Shi’ism that has sought to challenge the very local foundations of South Asian Shi’ism under the guise of ‘reform’. Such puritanical and absolutist behavior is no different than that perpetrated by the favorite object of Shia critique- Saudi Arabia and it’s Salafist movement.

The violence that the Shias have faced in Pakistan is either erroneously dismissed as sectarian by the Shias themselves, or it is conveniently ignored as normal violence, evident by the behavior of an apathetic state. Yet, despite the overtly religious tones that jump out- slogans on walls labeling the Shias infidels; Shia professionals like doctors and lawyers being targeted openly; a refusal to engage in property dealings with the Shias- this targeting of the Shias can still not be classified as sectarian. The actions above are only the actions of a minority group and the average, middle-class non-Shia Pakistani does not take to the streets to rid the country of Shias. If this violence was sectarian, it would have been perpetrated on a wider scale and by a substantially larger number of perpetrators than the same few extremist outfits we regularly encounter indulging in such actions.

Instead, this has largely been a struggle for identity in post-colonial Pakistan. The state, founded on claims of a shared religious identity, is still trying to imagine the nation it was founded for. Precisely because the claim was based on the idea of a religious nation, Pakistan finds itself struggling with the same problems that religions, in general, find themselves struggling with- that of who, exactly, is the average believer? The interpretation of the idea of Pakistan continues to be a topic of much academic debate; it is interpreted in a plethora of ways depending on the context; and it polarizes people as they seek to propagate a hegemonic understanding, derived not necessarily from facts, but oriented towards potential personal benefits. Thus, the failure of the idea of Pakistan to accurately depict who a Pakistani is has combined dangerously with a flawed historical narrative of who a Pakistani ought to have been. The extremist groups target the Shias not because of the Shia’s religious beliefs, but because the Shia religious beliefs do not fit in with the narrative of the state. Thus this violence is not simply religious, but also political, and waged over an identity instead of theology.

My argument in this piece is that it is precisely this local identity that Iran’s clergy have also sought to erase. By seeking to create a hegemonic understanding of Shi’ism and what it entails, Iran’s clergy has sought to ‘cleanse’ or ‘purify’ many local traditions in different countries. In Pakistan, too, many Twelver Shias have started emulating an Iranian style of Shi’ism and now snub local variations as not authentic. In the pursuit of a purer version of Shi’ism, Pakistani Twelver Shias are letting go of their domestic traditions in favor of an alien custom. This spread of the foreign, at the expense of the local, is actually a contributing factor to the violence that Pakistani Twelver Shias face as the alien custom further differentiates them from who a Pakistani ought to be. The Twelver Shias in Pakistan, then, are caught between two wildly different opponents with similar objectives. On the one hand are the extremist groups who target Pakistan’s Twelver Shias lives and publicly proclaim a future where ‘…no Sunni will shake hands with a Shia’. On the other hand are Iran’s Ayatollah’s who seek to eliminate the local traditions of the Pakistani Shias. The difference is that while the Pakistani Twelver Shias protest to the state against the lack of protection for their lives from the first threat highlighted above, they run with open arms towards the latter threat. To understand why this is the case, some critical assessment of history is necessary.

The revolution of 1979 in Iran was not simply religious. It was a political fight, one waged since the Constitutional Revolution in Iran in 1905. The clerics, as a political force, constantly challenged the established monarchy and invoked religion only to enhance the support they drew upon. Precisely because this was a political revolution, the Left also came together with the clerics in this odd coalition and helped topple the monarchy. Once successful, the clerics displayed incredible political guile to sideline the Left and thus paint the revolution as solely religious in nature. The privileged clergy replaced the imperialist-backed monarchy and it did so by hijacking what was, truly, a struggle of the people.

This retrospective framing of the revolution as Islamic in nature was a challenge to the established hegemony of the Saudi Arabia in the Islamic world. This challenge found itself originating due to two ancient struggles- firstly, the Arabs and the Persians had perceived each other as ethnic rivals in the same geographic region; secondly, the Shias have always been the biggest minority within Islam and thus excluded from the privileged when one views the histories of Islamic empires. So, the challenge to Saudi Arabia’s hegemony was both ethnic and religious in nature. The clergy, finding themselves in power post-revolution, realized that while the reach of the ethnic appeal is only limited to the people of the same ethnicity, a religious appeal can potentially supersede the ethnic limitation. Thus the revolution was renamed as Islamic (and not Persian, or Shia) to appeal to a broader group of people.

However, as we have already mentioned above, the clerics did not necessarily seek to abolish the power structures prevalent in Iran under the monarchy- they only sought to replace them and replace them they did. The new system was called Vilayat-e-Faqih and though it had been around as an idea for more than a millennium, it was deemed mandatory by Ayatollah Khomeni and added to the constitution of Iran shortly after the revolution. Given that the revolution was to be exported outside of Iran meant that the power structures of the new system, too, were exported along with it. Iran utilized the existing learning network present in its seminaries and mosques where students from all over the world were enrolled and thus sent the idea of Vilayat-e-Faqih back to the students’ home countries.

The success of the revolution meant that the global audience in the Muslim countries was already enamored with the revolution for deposing monarchy that had been propped up the British and American forces. Such admiration facilitated both the idea of Islam as a counter to the evil, Western world as well as a successful launch of an Islamic system of governance.

Pakistan’s Shias also idolized Iran. This was helped greatly by the return of Arif Hussaini, one of Khomeni’s students, to Pakistan. Iran was also instrumental in ensuring that the mandatory Zakat law of 1980 did not apply to Shias and forced the Pakistani dictator Zia-ul-Haq to exempt the Shias from this law. Iran, in doing so, acted quickly and smoothly to cement an image of itself as the protector of Pakistan’s Shias. The idea of Iran’s Islamic government acting in the interests of Pakistan’s Shias also served to emphasize, by association, the important role played by the Ayatollah’s. Khomeni was already a household name and gradually his influence in Pakistan increased to the point where Shia political parties today, largely without any semblance of real or even perceived influence, glorify him, swear allegiance to him, commemorate him and decorate their posters with his picture. The blind allegiance is evident by an unwavering acceptance of all present Ayatollah’s as men of incredible learning.

For example, in October/November 2014, Ayatollah Aqeel ul Gharavi addressed large crowds during his annual majalis at the Ali Muttaqi residence. His topics varied greatly, and so did the content of his speech. He made some strong philosophical arguments (for eg, the challenge of history writing and it’s relationship with religious texts) as well as some social critiques of popular misogynist behavior (emphasized the importance of women and their status as equal to that of men). Yet, simultaneously, he also constantly created a simplistic worldview limited to a theist/atheist dichotomy. The crowd adored Gharavi regardless of the strength of his arguments; indeed, many attendees refused to hear any criticism against what Gharavi had talked about regardless of the validity of such criticism. This was despite Gharavi’s daily pronouncements where he encouraged critical thought. I do not take an issue with Gharavi or how he framed the contents of his speech for which he has complete right to do as he pleases, but I take an issue with the belief that Gharavi’s speeches cannot be criticized. Such behavior is the death of an inquiring society, and society can only benefit by challenging men of Gharavi’s stature.

In Gharavi’s world, there were the good forces of theism (necessarily monogamous) constantly battling the evil forces of atheism. For Gharavi, morality was an effect of theism whereas immorality was both a cause and an effect of atheism. Therefore, to continue living in a good world, it was necessary to be theistic. Given that the atheists do not conform to this view and are dismissive of theism, Gharavi argued that this leads directly to the atheists perpetually conspiring against theists. Gharavi argued that only the pious men stood up to this conspiracy- he cited examples of Khomeni resisting the Shah as well as Sistani passing a fatwa against ISIS as modern instances of the Ayatollahs rising to the defense of theism. This, Gharavi repeatedly highlighted, was why the office of the Ayatollah, as understood in the context of post-revolution Iran, was so important.

Gharavi also made several references to the involvement of the West, who he crudely termed atheist. He saw, within the ISIS and the Taliban for example, an atheistic agenda. He termed such extremist groups as part of an atheistic Western plan to defame and eradicate true Islam. Gharavi elaborated that once Islam had been associated with violence, its followers would distance themselves from it (and thus from morality) and fall into the trap that the West had created. Therefore, Gharavi denounced the West and atheism repeatedly and warned those present to refuse to fall into this trap. Gharavi repeatedly referenced Iran as an example of a state that had refused to be tricked by this conspiracy and was leading the fight against evil. This, Gharavi emphasized, was because of the righteous guidance (Vilayat-e-Faqih) in place at Iran.

On a few other occasions, Gharavi also attacked scientific thought and lamented the involvement of the scientific community in the conspiracy against the theistic world. He referenced obscure comments by scientists and derived legitimacy for his conspiracy from such rhetoric. For example, he mentioned how a renowned scientist had stated that ‘Islam is against critical thought’ and then used this statement as an indicator of a conspiracy against Islam. This, by all measures, is a weak argument. Another fallacious reference was to CERN’s antimatter experiment that Gharavi claimed had been hidden from public view because it proves the existence of God. His other arguments were driven by a need for faith, and he often emphasized that this faith was not just in God but also his chosen leaders (the Prophets and the Imams) and thereafter in the other learned men of their times (the Ayatollahs). However, both Gharavi and the commenters he mentioned seemed to have ignored the massive contributions to science made by Muslim scientists.

It is accepted that questions of philosophy cannot simply be classified as right or wrong, and that they are judged on the merits of their arguments and logic. However, factual statements can easily be verified for accuracy. In the case above, Gharavi’s arguments pertaining to philosophical, religious or social thought were often very strong, regardless of whether one might agree of disagree with their content. However, to the audience, his factual statements were also infallible regardless of however fallacious they might have been. This should not be the case for this blind allegiance is the reason that societies and communities stop progressing. Shi’ism, by its very nature, is predicated on resisting the unjust, and it must not forget that the unjust must be resisted in all shapes and forms, including the behavior and speech of some of its Ayatollah’s.

Worryingly, the thoughts of Gharavi and those of his audience, insofar as the idea of a conspiracy against Islam (and necessarily Shi’ism) is concerned, are also a concrete reality. This is no different from the Pakistani who continues to believe whole-heartedly that there is an international conspiracy against both Pakistan and Islam. This is also no different from the Left that continues to see imperialism behind every ill in the world or from the post-colonial school of thought that blames, often blindly, all in the post-colonial state on colonialism. The common strand across all the above instances is the lack of critique and discussion and an implicit acceptance of the propagated narrative. If the Twelver Shias of Pakistan continue to blindly follow their Ayatollahs, there is little capacity for changing their present circumstances since circumstances, instead of being recognized for what they are, are termed a conspiracy and done away with. This is a dangerous slope to go down on. A group that cannot question itself can hardly stand for long against an attack from the outside world.

Resisting urbanization in Aziz Mian’s work

Shehr-e-tun mein phool walon ki kali hai zindagi

Aur gardan e afaq mein jhampa kali hai zindagi

Meray Khoon e Arzu Ko

Hum muttaqi e shehr-e-kharabat raat bhar

Tasbeeh e zulf e sheen tana roll tay rahay

Yeh Meh Hai Zara Soch Lay

The two verses cited above are examples of how Aziz Mian constructs what I call the imagined urban of his work. The use of the word shehr with different suffixes does not just serve an aesthetic purpose. It is simultaneously a protest against, and an escape from, the late-capitalist urbanized society that Aziz Mian found himself performing in. I have previously briefly touched upon his work and how it interacts with modernity and in this piece I explore another dimension of his work, namely its resistance to urbanization of society, the imagined urban.

Modernity and urbanization are so interlinked that it is hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins. For example, we can argue at length whether the modern city is urban or whether the urban city is modern. What cannot be argued is the hegemonic[1] acceptance that both these phenomena have experienced. The post-colonial Pakistani society, at large, has actively sought to either modernize or urbanize, if not both. However, just like any other phenomenon, these two have also encountered resistance at some level. The resistance has historically come from elements that were then consequently marginalized in society, partly because of their resistance (Manto, celebrated today, often cut a lonely figure while alive). The opposition to this resistance has come from capitalism, the driving force behind the creation of an urban society. Given the prevalence and the pervasive nature of capitalism, this resistance has faced an uphill task in manifesting itself in the present day’s dominant mainstream discourses. Part of this resistance has therefore been subverted into the literary sphere where it presents itself in various form of art. That this art sits in the public eye, often unrecognized, is perhaps an indicator of our unfamiliarity with the notion of resistance itself.

Aziz Mian’s collection of works is also a resistance. It must be remembered that Aziz Mian lived and performed in a post-colonial state and society, both of which were bent on embracing modernity and urbanization. Precisely because modernity and urbanization cannot be explicitly distinguished from each other, a state’s actions can serve as an example of both. As mentioned previously on this blog, the West Pakistan Waqf Properties ordinance of 1959 (superseded in 1961 by Ordinance of same name) and the later Auqaf act of 1976 were attempts of the state to modernize itself by breaking down what it considered to be the irrational Sufi culture prevalent in interior Sindh. However, the same ordinances could also be considered as attempts at urbanization as the state’s dismantling of the economic order at these shrines forced the families, hitherto economically dependent on the shrine for centuries, to relocate elsewhere in search of economic survival. Coupled with the rapid growth of urban areas like Karachi, Lahore and the newly developed Islamabad, it was not a surprise that the rural-urban migration skyrocketed and impacted the urban geography.

Urban geographies, however, are not just physical in nature. They also shape, and are shaped by, a number of other intangible phenomena like space[2]. A key difference is that whereas physical geography can be controlled, spatial geography runs the risk of escaping such control. A neighbourhood can be built, but who dwells in this neighbourhood can often go out of the control of the state. This nature of these two geographies means that resistance is dealt with differently in both scenarios. In the physical terrain, resistance can be removed. For example, painting over the sub-nationalist slogans on the walls, removing political material deemed dangerous, forcibly affecting the elections results of local bodies and so forth. However, in the spatial terrain, no such guarantee of a complete removal of opposing ideas exists. At best, the resistant ideology can only be countered. The outcome of such battles over ideologies could be made more favorable, but never guaranteed. Thus resistance may continue to linger with little to no intensity and little to no impact, but linger nonetheless.

The spatial makeup of this geography is also impacted by the social forces that exist in the physical geography. Given that these projects of modernity and urbanization also coincided with strong waves of reformism and orthodoxy, the spatial makeup of the literary urban sphere of Pakistan in the 1960’s and the 1970’s also reflected this. For example, celebrated poets like Jalib wrote many of their revolutionary poems during this time. During that time, within the Qawwal discourse, Sabri Brothers, the walking and talking representation of orthodoxy became the mainstream discourse. So it was only natural that Aziz Mian would become their antagonist and thus the forbearer of the resistance within this urban Qawwal sphere. Aziz Mian was a smart enough man to realize that the project of urbanization could not simply be undone (unlike many of his contemporaries, especially those on the left in Pakistan), despite how much he may have disagreed with it. Instead of calling for a return to the way of life as it used to be, Aziz Mian instead used the very same urbanization as a weapon against itself by creating new a new imagined urban in his body of work. Realizing the pervasive nature of this phenomenon of urbanization and his inability to break free of it, he instead focused on breaking free from it into an imagined urban sphere of his own design.

Creating an imagined urban is not a new act in itself as far as the corpus of all literature and art related to South Asia is concerned. The most famous example, predominantly in the Urdu language, exists of the construction of the literary genre of the shehr-e-ashob, or the Desolate City. Born from the many invasions of Delhi, in particular the sack of the city by Nadir Shah in 1739, it reimagined Delhi as a desolate and empty place devoid of all cultural and social auras. The shehr-e-ashob is primarily a lament of the declining moral, social and political ethos, amongst others, in the city. It is, however, not an accurate representation of history but more of a trauma that perhaps holds the city in a light that truly never was. Delhi was a cultural hotbed, but almost all of the descriptions in the shehr-e-ashob portray this as contingent on the respective author themselves. All shehr-e-ashob works eventually culminate with a heartbreaking description of the city’s silence once the author has proceeded to see himself out, convinced that he had been forced out only due to the lack of refined cultural conditions in the city. The author, in constructing the imagined urban around himself, thus gives voice to his own repressed desires to stand out in what was undoubtedly a competitive literary environment.

Aziz Mian, however, differs in three key aspects in his constructions of the imagined urban. Firstly, he does not have one vision for imagined urban but many. Thus it is not static like shehr-e-ashob, a city destined to decline, but very much a dynamic, fluid structure and one that changes according to the needs of those who seek to escape to it. Secondly, it is the inverse of a shehr-e-ashob in that instead of lamenting a decline in ethos, Aziz Mian’s imagined urban constructions are predicated on what would itself be termed immoral and/or unethical behavior. In one place, he calls it the shehr-e-tun or a Bodily City whereas in another place he calls it the shehr-e-kharabat­ or the Immoral City. Aziz Mian, from the offset, eradicates the very notions of morality, culture, and even wealth and thus argues that order itself is a form of oppression that must be resisted. Lastly, Aziz Mian’s imagined urban does not revolve around him. His mentions of this place are dotted by a collective desire of a group of people to escape to this place. Thus, Aziz Mian speaks not for himself but also perhaps the other groups in society that agree with his point of view. Or perhaps, in reading this from a psychoanalytical perspective, Aziz Mian is subconsciously voicing the needs of a society in much the same manner as a leader of a society would…a position that Aziz Mian’s outcast social status amongst the more ‘respectable’ classes would never have been able to achieve.

We are led to question why did Aziz Mian find himself on the margins of society? It was perhaps his refusal to simply conform to existing norms that ultimately made him a favourite target of ridicule by other contemporary performers as well as literary critics. Aziz Mian could not be classified within the narrow boundaries that an orthodox society in Pakistan had imposed on itself and was happy to go around labeling everybody else with. Aziz Mian resisted this order, and his behaviour laid down the rules for the resistant course that his work subsequently took. Aziz Mian did not just escape the boundaries this society had erected; he sought to dismiss them altogether.

A key element in understanding Aziz Mian as a rebel and his body of work as a resistance is to grasp the relationship between class and urbanization. Hierarchies in rapidly modernizing societies are predicated on structural exploitation by the have’s of the have not’s. These hierarchies use order as an exploitative tool to keep the oppressed classes under a strict watch. Order is drilled into the society through both conscious and subconscious means. Order can only be maintained through discipline, and to maintain discipline the ruling classes seek to iron out all chaos out of the society. Under the guise of labels like ‘irrational’, ‘traditional’ and ‘immoral’, the ruling classes try to marginalize those who create chaos by not conforming to mere submission and continue to question the prevalent ideologies. The shehr-e-ashob, too, is a product of this oppressive mindset because by lamenting for an evolved culture it assumes an inherent presence of an ‘unwanted’ culture that it seeks to distinguish itself from.

This is where Aziz Mian’s brilliance shines to the surface for his imagined urban makes no such assumptions and indeed seeks to destroy any restrictive labeling. By naming it differently and often, Aziz Mian emphasizes the constant evolution that society undergoes and by refraining from picking one name over the other, Aziz Mian displays an uncanny acceptance that no one ideology can constantly prevail over the other. Naming his imagined urban the shehr-e-tun, a Bodily City, and shehr-e-kharabat, an Immoral City, is his response to those who critique him for being an outcast. He boldly wears the insults thrown his way by asserting the themes of promiscuity and immorality through his work. It is almost as if he’s taunting his critics by letting them know that his alternate urban demolishes any semblance of a standard altogether and thus allows everybody to fit in. It is perhaps only from the marginalized in the society, like Aziz Mian, that one can hope for a society where none can be marginalized.

Footnotes:

[1] While the word ‘hegemony’ has been a matter of active debate post-Gramsci, I use it in a very distinct sense to imply the unquestioning acceptance of an idea or phenomenon. For example, it could be said that there is hegemonic acceptance of the idea of Pakistan in Punjab (only province in Pakistan which does not have an active secessionist movement), whereas the presence of ethno-nationalists in Sindh, Baluchistan and KPK indicate a resistance to the same idea.

[2] The concept of space has also been a matter of much academic debate. In my work, I refer to space as aura. For example, two different individuals might, successively, rent the same room in the same building, with no changes made to the makeup of the room for the duration that these individuals were tenants for. Even though the room may continue to have the same number of walls, windows, doors and so forth, it will also have a distinct aura created by the presence of the personal possessions of the different individuals. Thus space, as I use it, refers to the aura constructed by the mere presence of objects. In that, space is a matter of perception and not an absolute ideal. Therefore, aesthetics create their own space which might be identified differently by different viewers. The urbanization of our present society has been so thorough that we, as beings, have become unfamiliar with the very notion of resistance. We continue to view resistance as an opposition to the system, forgetting that such a resistance is itself constrained within the boundaries of the system that it is protesting against. True resistance should question, though, why must there be a system to begin with?

Where to, from here, for Pakistan’s Shias?

Where do the Twelver Shias of Pakistan go from here? The violence this group has been subjected to in recent times has been discussed increasingly in mainstream media. The solutions being offered to this problem range from being as vague as religious tolerance to as open ended as peaceful co-existence. However, a common strand that emerges in this dialogue is the placing of the responsibility of bringing changes on either the Pakistani state (it must provide security for its inhabitants; it must address institutionalized religious bigotry; it must reform the educational curriculum to eliminate intolerance, etc.) or the Pakistani society at large (we must raise awareness about this issue; we must face this sensitive issue head-on; we must do a better job of calling a spade as spade, etc.). Little to no discussion has been had on what the Twelver Shias can do themselves to address this issue.

This group comprises of between twenty five to thirty five million Pakistanis. They are geographically distributed all over the country, ethno-linguistically diverse, and fall across a varying socio-economic strata. Their sheer size makes them the largest minority in Pakistan. However, they are not politically recognized as one. The constitution of Pakistan uses religious boundaries to determine minorities and thus has two distinct labels- Muslim and non-Muslim[1]. This is especially damaging for groups like the Shias because their minority status in the public sphere is not even acknowledged as such in the political sphere. They are thus robbed of certain privileges awarded to other minorities such as guaranteed electoral representation etc. This is not to say that the Shias have not been well represented in Pakistan’s political institutions but that this representation has not necessarily been of the Shias. For example, Jinnah was a Shia but that does not make him a representative of the Shias.

This political absence of the Shias, arising from the existing institutional vacuum highlighted above, is part of the problem affecting this group today. There are lots of politicians who are Shia but there is no politician who is for the Shias. Historically, the Shia vote has been divided somewhat equally across the mainstream secular political parties. Religious political parties, both Shia and non-Shia alike, have not fared well in this regard. It could be argued that the label of Shia as a political identity has never been exploited successfully in Pakistan’s history[2]. If rallied, their population would make them a useful political player. They would not be strong enough to ever form a government but their size could potentially enable them to help make or break governments. The question that arises is- what is preventing the Shias from rallying together to form such a political presence?

The answer to this question lies in a better understanding of this group, as it sees itself. Shi’ism is predicated on two important historical events: the usurpation of Ali’s right to succession by the larger Muslim population and the unjust martyrdom of Hussain a few years later. These two events serve as a common denominator between the various sects within Shi’ism as well as serving as a common differentiator for these sects with respect to the rest of the Muslim population. The idea of ‘usurpation’ and ‘unjust martyrdom’ help us understand how the Shias view themselves in history. They consider themselves to be a persecuted minority and from the offset identify themselves as being marginalized.

Another distinguishing feature of Shi’ism is the routinization of Mohammed’s charisma. For the Shias, Mohammed’s death did not mean an end to the guidance sent by God- only that it had been transferred over to the members of his family. Therefore, the political leadership as well as religious leadership fell upon the Imam of the time. Given that these Imams were almost always leaders of a small group relative to the Caliph who oversaw much of the Middle East, persecution was inevitable. It is possible that these persecutions could have been purely political in nature. The existence of multiple Shia sects with differing Imams (Zaidis, Ismailis, Twelvers to name a few) is an indicator that there were many competing rivals for the same title of the Imam and this presence lends credence to the idea of the persecutions perpetrated by the Caliphate as either being solely political in nature. However, the Shia historical narrative paints these persecutions as religious in nature because it flows well with the overarching marginalization narrative discussed above.

This historical summary helps us take our first step towards understanding the Pakistani Shia community. In their worldview, they are the perpetual victims of a tyrannical majority. Precisely because this violence against them is as old[3] as the beginnings of Islam post-Mohammed, the Shias have come to, in part, accept it as a duty and a way of life. Understanding that this group only partly accepts violence as expected is key for it indicates that this group is neither docile nor apathetic. An examination of the different historical instances of violence in Pakistan seem to indicate that this group has internally developed a threshold of an acceptable level of violence, beyond which it would demonstrate and agitate. Violence here can be understood as both fatal (leads to a loss of lives like the recent Quetta bombings in Jan 2013) and non-fatal (an unfair imposition of law like the Zakat law in 1980). Interestingly, the Shias hold an impeccable record of successful public agitations (were able to get their immediate demands recognized and satisfied by the government right away) including in the examples mentioned above, though the total instances of their nationwide agitations can be counted on one hand.

Another key event, also fundamental for understanding the Pakistani Shias, is the Islamic Revolution of Iran in 1979. It must be remembered that this revolution was inherently Islamic[4]– it was neither Persian nor exclusively Shia in nature as has been often touted. An odd coalition of the clergy and the left successfully overthrew a monarch who had been installed after imperial powers had successfully derailed Iran’s democracy in the 1950’s to prevent a nationalization of the oil industry. The clergy took the driving seat of this revolutionary vehicle and rose to power. Their pan-Islamist aims were in line with similar behavior else, for example the contemporaneous gathering of the Organization of Islamic Countries. The reform that this revolution sought to implement was to be purely ‘Islamic’. The revolution capitalized successfully on the favorable reception it received in Islamic countries for having overthrown a puppet of the Western powers. However, given that they clergy in this revolution were predominantly Shia, their success was not met with as much excitement by their rivals in the political sphere else where, like Iraq and Saudi Arabia.

Pakistan, at this time, was also under Zia-ul-Haq who had already initiated his campaign to institute his interpretation of Islam into the everyday sphere of the country. Given that Zia’s version of Islam was distinctly Sunni, the Shia youth of Pakistan instead focused their attention on Khomeini’s success and became huge fans of his. The revolution in Iran served as a catalyst for the explosive growth within Pakistan of the Imamia Students Organization (ISO) that had been formed in 1972. The ISO reciprocated by becoming the first Shia organization to publicly adopt Khomeini as the marja-e-taqlid (a source of emulation) in 1979. Thereafter, its activities and rhetoric became overly influenced by Iran. It engaged in tussles with the local ulema over many of the prevalent practices of the Shias in Pakistan that it deemed ‘unorthodox’. The ISO continues to this day to pledge its allegiance to the office of the Supreme Leader in Iran.

Given ISO’s youthful vigor, strong history of social work and penchant for organizing along community lines, they managed to establish a strong presence within the Pakistani Shias. This was evident in their successful protest against Zia’s attempts to enforce zakat deduction schemes nationwide. ISO argued that this law did not fit in with their interpretation of Islam. Zia was eventually forced to grant this exemption to the Shias. Such examples of public leadership by the ISO are rare. Their strong links with Iran means they view themselves not as leaders of the Pakistani Shia society who must bring change, but as member of an Iranian inspired transnational Shia society who must advocate for a Islamic regime which transcends national boundaries. Thus, they do not come forward and seek to create a distinct Shia label in the political sphere in Pakistan for they consider such involvement to be beyond the scope of their activities because it does not align with the directions coming from the office of the Supreme Leader of Iran.

The issue here, then, is this- the one group that can rally the Shias of Pakistan by relying on its networks pointedly abstains from doing so. Instead, they have historically deferred this reponsibility by helping create various political Shia groups none of which fared any better than their predecessors. The latest incarnation is called Majlis Wahadat-e-Muslimeen (MWM). Whereas the political groups usually have more power than their student wings, in this case it is the opposite. The ISO is more powerful and established than its political arm. However, they are both equally inspired by Iranian style of leadership and believe strongly in Khomeini’s Wilayat Faqih system.

This system says that Islam gives a jurist custodianship over the people. Thus, it demolishes the geopolitical sphere altogether by arguing that political loyalty is concentrated in the same place as religious loyalty. Therefore, national boundaries become irrelevant and national political networks are superseded by a people’s allegiance to the Supreme Leader.

This entire system of governance, in the context of political leadership, is misguided in the present day because the political leaders are removed (geographically, ethnically and socially) from their adherents. Working on the premise that the Pakistani Shia group increasingly faces violence, that it is not protected by the state as a minority and that it actually has a surprisingly effective record at mobilization when violence escalates, we are seeking to understand why this group refrains from effectively exploiting the Shia identity as a political label. Taking the relationship of the ISO with the Iranian system of governance, and viewing it in the light of the historical understanding of the Shias of themselves as well as their understanding of the concept of authority which does not distinguish between religion and politics, we begin to see how a minority facing persecution in its own country can remain apolitical[5]. A large number of the Shias of Pakistan consider its loyalties and obligations towards the Supreme Leader (or an alternate Ayatollah) instead and therefore do not necessarily get involved themselves in the politics of their residing country.

The problem with such an approach is manifold. For one, the authority figure (like an Ayatollah) cannot effectively intervene in the domestic politics of the residing country. Shias in Pakistan may be an unrecognized minority and suffering both systematic and unsystematic violence but there is nothing the ayatollah can do about it because it would conflict with their own ambitions of pan-Islamism. There is also a visible barrier between the interactions of the authority figure with those that consider him as such. This alienation is the inevitable product of a transnational political allegiance. The authority figure can also be said to have a linguistic communication barrier with his populace and no effective means to overcome this with time. The authority figure is also unable to sufficiently understand many local existing traditions and customs that might in turn make it harder for him to understand his followers. The authority figure is ultimately premised on the idea of orthodoxy, which itself arises from reformism. Reformism only initially challenges orthodoxy- it subsequently refines and strengthens it.

It is clear that Khomeini’s revolution in Iran was premised on breaking the imperial power structures only to replace them with religious ones. The clergy have continued to exert their influence through various means on a population that has no geographical connection with them. At the same time, the clergy has also been extremely silent on the treatment of the Shias in Pakistan. Neither the ISO nor MWM have addressed the issue of the silence of the clergy on this topic.

The Shias in Pakistan find themselves in a strange position. They live in Pakistan where they face increasing violence. However, their understanding of history means they consider this violence expected and therefore tolerate it to an extent. They also subscribe to an interpretation of religion where religious and political authority is concentrated in the same figure. For the Shias, this figure has always been located in the Middle East. Therefore, the Shias in Pakistan have not historically been as successful in creating and exploiting a distinct Shia political identity partly because the party with the most outreach within Shias is content with social work and reformism. Also, strangely, the Shia parties have always sought to implement an Islamic system. This does not make much sense because Islam has been divided into distinct sects since the death of Mohammed. There is no universal Islamic system but there is the Caliphate and the Imamate, both two distinct forms of governance, over which the sects are broadly divided. Thus, a lack of political nous by the Shia parties has led to dismal or no mobilization under a political label. The circumstances in Pakistan for the Shias will not change unless the Shias discontinue the idea of political allegiance to an external authority figure and seek to mobilize themselves under a distinct Shia political label to lobby, at least, for recognition of their minority status.

Footnotes:

[1] This arose as a direct consequence of the debate on what Pakistan was to be. The Muslim/Non-Muslim binary falsely assumes a homogenous Muslim population. I have previously highlighted why there is no such thing as the Muslim Ummah here.

[2] Perhaps it arises from the lack of need for such an action. However, given that the situation has deteriorated for this group in recent times, perhaps the time is ripe for such an action.

[3] This violence has obviously varied across time and space and does not have a linear historical trajectory. Regardless, it has existed in one form or the other and this is important for our analysis.

[4] Both the Shia and the Sunni groups seek to validate their individual interpretations of system of governance by labeling it Islamic

[5] Apolitical here implies two different understandings. Firstly, due to the political vacuum in the institutional setup of the country; Secondly, as a response to the violence they face on a daily basis.

Of Qawwali and Modernity

The Qawwali, as we understand it, is similar to other art forms in Urdu like the ghazal and the nazm in that its structure is rigid and well defined but it still allows for enough flexibility within the content for it to be molded according to the Qawwal’s personal taste. The Qawwali is thus simultaneously a constant (it is premised on the idea of devotion) and a variable (in that the devotion can be shaped according to the singer’s preference).

Qawwali, historically, has been focused predominantly on the works of Auliya and Khusraw. However, the performance of Qawwali’s at various shrines has also always been characterized by a subtle interjection of original thought into the classical works of Auliya and Khusraw. This serves a dual purpose- it allows the singers to personalize the Qawwali depending on the crowd as well as differentiates them from other reciters of the same work. A good example is the popular Qawwali Mun kunto maula, authored by Khusraw, which has been adapted differently by almost everybody who has sung it.

Gradually, however, with the advent of the digital age, the Qawwali too underwent significant change. It was lifted out of the intimate setting of the shrines and into the open public sphere. This breaking down of the boundaries meant that the ancient works of Auliya and Khusraw that had hitherto been recited with minimal additions, were subjected to a massive overhaul. Instead of adding lines into an existing Qawwali, whole verses were changed and entire Qawwali’s were rewritten from scratch.

What Auliya and Khusraw had authored had sort of been preserved across time, within the space of shrines. However, once subjected to a new, more public space, forces like modernity and reformism wasted no time in acting upon it. These two were extremely prevalent in twentieth century South Asia and impacted the Qawwali in much the same way as they have impacted everything else. If the works of Auliya and Khusraw reflected the society they lived in, then modern works of Qawwali lay a similar claim to the present society and simply reflect ourselves back at us.

Crucially, modernity and reformism did not change the devotional nature of the Qawwali, but by changing the form of devotion, they allowed the Qawwali to reflect the tensions prevalent in society on issues of sectarian identity. Consequently, the Qawwali that had been predicated on dissolution of labels like Sunni and Shia came to be labeled as such instead. What does it mean, though, to change the form of devotion?

All history is contested and Islamic history is no different. A good example is that the perennial battle within Islam over succession to Mohammed is based on two distinct concepts, neither of which was ever directly endorsed by Mohammed while he was alive. Both the Caliphate and the Imamate are retrospective constructions of Islamic history, arising out of a particular need for legal, social and religious validation. The Sufis, fathers of the Qawwali, were known for their resentment to such orthodoxy because they believed that it was merely exploitation in the name of religion. (This, however, does not mean that the Sufi’s, knowingly or otherwise, did not give rise to the same power structures affiliated with them that they sought to criticize in established religion).To change the form of devotion refers to the distinct labeling of devotion as falling within a particular sectarian or religious identity. Thus, evoking certain historical characters or events is enough to give a certain tint to the modern Qawwali that can align it with one or multiple sects at the same time. This is in stark contrast to the historical Qawwali that completely dismisses religious labels altogether.

It was not only intra-sectarian identities that surfaced in the modern Qawwali. The crucial concept of the wahaddat-ul-wujood, or Unity of Being, too took a back seat. For example, in the 1950’s, famous Qawwal Habib Painter sang a Qawwali that is reminiscent of the original works of Auliya and Khusraw in that it ridicules the concept of religion as one that could be limited to a label. Painter sang-

Phir bhi Muslim ka yeh kehna hai k tu masjid mein aa

Hindu bhi yeh kehtay hain k mandir acha

Issaee bhi kehtay hain girja mein aa

Sikhon ka yeh dawa hai k gurdwara acha

Laikin hum ko sabaq pir-e-tariqat nay, gur dev nay diya

Kay ka’aba or kaleesa, gurdwara o girja ganga

In saaray jhagron say tujhay matlab kiya

Tujhay sajda he karna hai, jahan chahay wahan karlay

 But even then the Muslim says come to the mosque

Hindus also say that the temple is best

Christians also say come to the church

Sikhs maintain that the gurdwara is best

But we have been told by the way of tariqat and our teachers that

Ka’aba or Church, Gurdwara or a Temple by the Ganges

Why do you concern yourself with these fights?

You only wish to prostrate, do so wherever you please

The verse stands out as one of the stronger indicators of the Qawwali’s all-embracing flavor. However, as documented elsewhere, it was not long after that the Qawwali was turned into a battleground over sectarian identities. As ideas of orthodoxy and heresy, both products of reformism, reared their head (interestingly, notice the implied disdain for both of these in Painter’s verse quoted above) and found their way into the Qawwali, they further influenced the manifestation of devotion.

As a result of such orthodoxy, it is popularly argued today that the use of words like meh, saaqi, jaam and sharaab (to name a few) is completely allegorical. Efforts are made within and outside the Qawwali to justify this point of view. Sabri Brothers, in their Saqia Aur Pila (Companion, give me more to drink) spend twenty minutes discussing wine and drunkenness only to explicitly clarify at the very end that the drink they seek is the one that Hussain drank at Karbala. The religious reading of Islam holds that Hussain’s was a great sacrifice- the Sabri Brothers by equating their wine with Hussain’s act could not have found a more appropriate idiom. This action removes the allegory itself by defining precisely what the terms mean and therefore leaves no room for alternate interpretations. This is religious orthodoxy at its finest.

The popular narrative that insists on Qawwali’s use of drinking being symbolic is based on a premise of religious reform and is no more authentic than the narrative that argues for a strictly literal interpretation of the same terms. The dichotomy between the allegorical and the literal interpretations is ironic for Sufism arose out of a necessity to challenge such boundaries in the first place. Re-constructing the boundaries that the Qawwali sought to demolish is thus unhelpful.

The Qawwali’s beauty, historically, lay in granting to its audience the agency to choose whatever interpretation they wished for themselves. It was ambiguity, and not a detailed description, which the likes of Auliya and Khusraw prided themselves on. Limiting the scope of interpretation of their works by insisting that it was necessarily allegorical or only literal diminishes the value of such poetry.

Not Just the Textbooks: Validating ‘Pakistan’ in the Public Space

Lately, there has been admittance in the public discourse of Pakistan that its history books were tampered with in the 1970’s. Explanations and assumptions about why this was done have also surfaced. Most agree that this was an exercise in nation building, as the newly born Pakistan sought to legitimize itself in the face of an existential crisis. East Pakistan had just broken away and thus shattered the idea of a united Muslim identity to tatters. Pakistan sought to ground itself in history by rewriting it, and fraudulently so, as one that extended well into the Middle Ages. Thus textbooks became its way of disseminating this ideology.

However, this is just an explanation of why this ideology was fostered and distributed.  Limiting ourselves to this particular question is not useful in its own. A major assumption of the explanation about why such an ideology was conjured up and taught to the public, also assumes that public had no agency whatsoever. Are we to assume that the public woke up one day to a new version of history and accepted it blindly? Attributing such a docile behavior to any group of people is insulting, not to mention highly improbable. Therefore, there must have existed certain social conditions that facilitated the acceptance of what the new history books sought to preach. The question that I pose is how and when were these social conditions, precursor to a false ideological Pakistani notion, created?

Teaching something in a public setting will have no effect if it does not find at least some resonance with the students. Teaching Arabic to a group that only understands a particular dialect of Mandarin will bear no fruits because the group being taught will fail to comprehend even the medium of teaching a subject, let alone the subject. Similarly, teaching a new version of history would have also failed in the same way unless the students were, on some level, already familiar with certain concepts and ideologies that surfaced in the modified textbooks.

As with any ideology, there are some aspects of this that are easy to understand. For example, painting India as its eternal opposite was relatively easy for Pakistan given that it had just fought two wars with it and the patriotic rhetoric in the country was at an all time high. The propaganda in Pakistan had created a (false) narrative of a victory in 1965 and a (false) Indian conspiracy to break the country in 1971. Added to the events of the partition (still fresh in the memory of many), and rhetoric of Indian politicians that did not expect Pakistan to last beyond a quarter of a century, Pakistan only had to reinforce the two-nation theory to portray the Muslim-Hindu dichotomy as eternal and constant.

What the above example (a very convenient one, I might add) illustrates is that ideologies can be taught consciously and subconsciously. A conscious disbursement takes place in a formal setting where the agenda is explicitly laid out. There is a certain atmosphere, etiquettes, codes of conduct and usually a one-to-many relationship between an authority figure and the students. So, in the above example, the conscious method would have been the formal teaching of India as Pakistan’s eternal enemy within classrooms.

The unconscious disbursement takes place in public settings and is distinguished by the complete lack of structure and direct interaction. It may certainly have an agenda but the agenda does not have to be explicitly stated. The intended audience in many cases is not even aware that its thought process is being altered.  An example would be of the patriotic slogans during the two wars with India. For example, shaheed ki jo maut hai woh qaum ki hayat hai (A martyr’s death gives life to the nation), is a popular slogan from that time.  Its primary purpose is to cheer Pakistan’s military forces on and foster patriotic support for the armed forces. However, by using an Islamic term like shaheed and an overarching term like qaum, the slogan also ties Islam to the populace of the newly formed state. This may or may not have been a deliberate wording but ultimately it is indicative of the strong role religion played as a marker of identity in post-partition Pakistani.

The unconscious reformulation of public thought may lack structure but that does mean it cannot be controlled. This is why, for example, Baloch and Sindhi nationalists are constantly on the run for their lives. Their attempts to articulate their views in public are met with immediate reaction from the state because it fears that their views grounded in ideas of ethno-nationalism, if given the chance to be propagated, will find resonance with other ethnic groups across the country and spell trouble.  Keeping the nationalists away from public space then becomes imperative for the Pakistani state. Therefore, it combats these militants on their merit. It will resort to indiscriminate violence against militants but refrain from doing the same against leading intellectuals of these movements.

So, to come back to the topic, Pakistan has, since its inception, always sought to control the public space. Public space can be sub-divided in many groups, some of which are contested and some of which are not. For example, controlling public space through legal avenues is an option only available to the Pakistani state. However, the political public space is an arena where multiple views and ideologies can compete. Even more interestingly, the urban political space sees competition between greater numbers of players through sloganeering, wall-chalking, rallies etc. Usually, the social public space is one that is regulated by the state but other actors like NGO’s may play a more important part. However, as we have seen in the case of the recent Zarb-e-Azab operation, the state neglected the social aspect in the affected areas and allowed another competing ideology to fill the vacuum before realizing that the new ideology was also violent in some aspects and deciding to undertake a military occupation to reclaim the social public space in the affected areas. Ultimately, the state can only effectively function if it has sufficient control of the public space.

While it may only have re-written textbooks in the 1970’s, Pakistan has actively sought to build the idea of a Pakistani nation in the public sphere since it’s partition. This, of course, is a direct transition from the rhetoric of the All-India Muslim League, which, as a friend often points out, went from demanding protection as a minority group to demanding a country as a nation in less than fifty years! The problem that faces us when we try to identify an exact starting point for this project is that regardless of the point we choose, there must have existed some social conditions at that point to facilitate the acceptance of such a project. In tracing the origins of those social conditions, we will again run into this circular paradox. For me, this circle’s point of origin lies in the British creation of the census that forced people to identify with one religion or the other. Doing so forced people to pick one identity or the other, when up until that point religion had been syncretic and fluid and therefore not defined. Because the British created these identities, and then based their social and public policies on these identities, it was only a matter of time that these identities become the most important marker.  The end result of course, was the partition of India.

Re-writing textbooks in 1970’s was certainly a defining event because it put into writing a distorted reading of history which arose out of Pakistan’s need to validate itself. However, the idea of the South Asian Muslim validating himself, thus leading to the very validation of the need for a separate nation, is also equally ridiculous because it, too, rests on the assumption that there has always been a rigid Muslim identity when historically that has not been the case.

Silence in the archives- Pakistan Historical Society and the lack of material on the separation of East Pakistan

Much has been made, in recent years, of the selective rewriting of history in Pakistan in the 1970’s. Working under the assumption that history was definitely perverted to project a constant linear progression of ideas such as the Two Nation Theory and/or Muslim Nationalism in South Asia from the Middle Ages to the present day, one must also question how such blatant changes in historical facts were originally imagined and subsequently implemented. Conceptualizing an alternative, fictitious history is harder to rationalize than the act of rewriting it. While the latter could be written off as a ‘banality of evil’, the former forces us to investigate the social conditions that facilitated and protected such thoughts. In doing so, we must admit that such acts were not, and could not, be attributed to one man alone. Instead, all who partook in this act must be held collectively responsible- from authors of those textbooks to the members of the textbook review boards to those who prescribed these books as mandatory in the national and provincial curriculums of the country.

Yet, holding accountable those who misrepresented history is still a far easier task than examining those who willfully remained silent on it. A wrong statement can indict its utterer but what clues does silence give? Societies that remain silent on their own immoral behavior have no right to complain when the world remains silent on the immoral behavior against these societies. A good case to analyze is the separation and independence of East Pakistan from West Pakistan to form Bangladesh in 1971. Interestingly, the breakup of the country was met with an eerie silent treatment within the academia concerned with historical studies in West Pakistan (Pakistan going forward). Those who dived daily into the annals of history to gleam lessons for the present and the future of the Pakistani society and government, inadvertently or otherwise, failed to identify the historical relevance of the separation of Bangladesh.

An analysis of the quarterly journal of the Pakistan Historical Society (first published in 1953) for the time period 1971-1999 (with the exception of January 1985 issue, not available) reveals an incredible dearth of material relating to the separation of East Pakistan- only a solitary journal article published in July 1991 broaches and tackles this subject. While there is no doubt that such an event would have been discussed abundantly in media (print and broadcast), one cannot help but be slightly disconcerted at the complete lack of attention paid to this defining moment in Pakistan’s history. While newspaper archives and audio recordings of radio stations would no doubt be a golden source of research pertaining to popular opinion on this incident, it is to academic journals and books that researchers first turn towards for a grasp of the problem and differing opinions and analysis surrounding any such historical event.

It is extremely hard to be emphatic that such an absence of debate on the breakup of a country can simply be the result of an oversight on the part of all the different authors who contributed pieces to the journal. However, given that the journal published over two hundred different authors for the time period between 1971 and 1999, such a wide author base indicates that it could not simply have been that the topic was ignored by such a large number of authors. Thus, it was either that the editorial policy did not allow for such a topic or that the trauma of the breakup was too significant and new to be analyzed by the contributors to this magazine. Further, given that the journal constantly covered political elections in a timely manner, as well as debating significant parliamentary bills, it also excludes the possibility that the newness of the separation could’ve been a potential reason for its exclusion.

The editorial policy of the journal is stringent, but not censorial. Labeled a historical journal, it carried an impressive range of material from history of philosophy to history of literature to history of science. In that, it demonstrated an excellence of research as well as prestige associated with such a publication. It also featured pieces from international academics of repute, from USA, UK, Germany, Italy, Russia, Australia, India and Bangladesh to name a few. Thus we are provided with conflicting evidence- on the one hand, there seems to be no hint that a journal of this stature would censor content due to its political nature but on the other hand the collective amnesia of both Pakistani and international historians on such a historical event is also highly unlikely.

That the event was too traumatic to be analyzed could be a possibility. However, such a reason should only account for the immediate years following the creation of Bangladesh. The time period undertaken in this study is twenty-nine years and thus also allows for sufficient recovery from such a trauma. Further, it is not as if the topic of Bengal was completely ignored. Articles continued to appear in the journal on various Bengal related historical events- trade pacts from eighteenth century Chittagong; reactions of the Hindu press to the Partition of Bengal in 1905; the creation of the United Muslim Party of Bengal and its relationship with the All India Muslim League; and Titu Mir and other Bengali independent fighters were just some of the topics covered extensively by Pakistani and Bangladeshi authors alike. Clearly, it is not that Bengal as a topic became taboo but only that the pieces dealing with separation of Bangladesh cannot be found in this journal following Bangladesh’s independence.

The solitary piece on this subject was titled ‘East Pakistan and West Pakistan Alienation: A Background’. Dr. Syed Humayun, an Assistant Professor at the Deparment of Political Science at the University of Karachi, wrote this article for the July 1991 edition of the journal. The piece itself is remarkably unbiased and highlights the historical presence of a strong and resistant Bengali opposition to imperial power and recognizes the superior political acumen of Bengal. It covers in detail the friction between Bengali politicians and the Muslim League aristocracy from the very beginnings of the All India Muslim League. By contextualizing the differences initially between Jinnah and Fazlul Huq and later between the Muslim League and Suhrawardy, the author dismantles the idea of a harmonious Muslim League in much the same vein that Jalal’s The Sole Spokesman does. The author concludes that the eventual separation of Bangladesh was an inevitable phenomenon and acknowledges that the Bengalis are much of a nation in terms of ethno-lingual similarities than Pakistan itself.

Unfortunately, one excellent piece does not compensate for the absence of such a major upheaval- one that territorially reshaped Pakistan’s image. Another important aspect is that the new nation of Bangladesh was also predominantly Muslim and thus it threw into question the very identity of Pakistan itself for Pakistan was acquired under the banner of a Muslim homeland. The prioritization of ethno-lingual identities by the Bengali would go on to serve as an encouragement to the secessionist movements in Sindh and Baluchistan. While this piece focused on one journal, there is scope for plenty more research in this area extending to other journals as well. It is important to shed light on such matters to see what has made it into our academic discussions and what has been left out. Doing so will leave the country better equipped to deal with similar situations in the future.

An excerpt from Urdu novel ‘Karachi’ by Fahmida Riaz

Translator’s note: This is a rough translation of an excerpt from Fahmida Riaz’s novel, Karachi. All mistakes in the translation are mine. An image of the original work is pasted below

This goes way back. I was passing by Nagan Chowrangi in Karachi when I suddenly stopped. An old man stood at the chowrangi. He had a microphone in one hand and was delivering some sort of a speech. The cars drove by without giving him much attention but a few pedestrians started lingering and looking at him.

The man was saying, “Brothers and sisters! Sindhis and Muhajirs! Punjabis, Pathans, Balochis! Those who live in small houses! Those who travel in public buses! Where have our dreams gone?

Where have our glorious dreams gone, dreams of our country Pakistan that once shone in our eyes? Ideals whose strength kept us standing at bus stops under the hot sun for hours have been snatched from us by the richer class. These people were so poor that they stole the dreams of the poor. Engrossed in comfort and lavishness, these people have become false claimants to our dreams. These jetsetters reenact falsely our dreams in Geneva and New York. The make human rights societies but do not know that their lifestyle is the most horrific scenery in this land and that to erase this ugliness is the right of the people native to this land.

The women of this class create women’s rights societies as they wear a dress worth one lakh rupees while sitting in a car worth nine lakh rupees and on their way to participating in a wedding worth one crore rupees and the average dowries of your daughters are snatched by the police and the rangers by intruding your homes.

This rich class has stolen our dreams and in return has injected in our eyelids its own dreams, like a poisonous injection, of wealth and lavishness…dreams of comfort. Now we are watching the same dreams and armed with weapons are firing at each other, bashing each other’s skulls to pieces.

National rights? What are national rights? Food, cloth and home…that’s all that humans need! Now we’ve added a car and an air conditioner and the latest electronics to the above. This is why we are fighting- we have made groups and societies and are shedding each other’s blood.

The rich class, despite its superficial hue and cry, is happy with this. It wants to maintain the status quo.

Along with our national rights, we also need our stolen dreams back. We need the world that was ours before it was destroyed. It wasn’t so bad, our small world. It had a tree and a small piece of land above which was a blue sky; it cold water in a mud-cooler with a mud-bowl above it; it had books and a thirst for knowledge and an old prayer mat on which our parents worshipped with resorting to bloody cries; it had young men and women who did not cover themselves up in black robes, did not, like the dancers in Alif Laila, reveal only their eyes and cover everything else below, did not wear Arabic clothes, and did not wear comedic turbans on theirs heads and were hesitant to invoke the God’s name in a swear.

We need to rediscover that hesitation for it has been snatched from us and we’ve been handed guns instead. To bless these deaths and violence our cities have been decorated with green boards proclaiming ‘God is Great’ and ‘God is Eternal’…”

He had only spoken thus far before the mob revolted.

“Bore…bore…bore! Beat him! Kick him out!”

The crowd started pelting tomatoes and eggs and gradually dispersed.

The man waited around and changed and began to speak differently. He waved a first of his and said, “We will sacrifice every last drop of blood we have to protect the Muhajirs”

A crowd gathered again and clapped so vociferously that the nearby buildings shook to their cores.

He then changed his style and said, “We will fight till our last breath to protect the rights of Sindhis”

Hyderabad, Sukkur, Nawabshah and the rest of Sindh joined also raised such a slogan that the earth shook “We will die but not give up Sindh”.

The man became a leader of the Sindhi’s and the Muhajir’s.

The hypocrisy of liberal Pakistani discourse concerning fundamentalism

One of the first responses that I see anytime a fundamentalist group targets a minority group in Pakistan (or in any other country where the majority of the population is Muslim) is that ‘People who carry such violence out cannot be Muslims’. This is a response that I am not comfortable with. To elaborate on what I mean, I’ve described below the reasoning behind my discomfort with the said response.

If I were to tell you that, for the purposes of my argument, let us assume that the Shias are a heretic sect and should not be considered Muslim, you would stop me right there and object. Your objection might be multifold- you could point out that Al-Azhar University in Cairo, the prime centre of Muslim intellectualism, considers Shias to be a Muslim school of thought; you could say that if Shias were not Muslims then they wouldn’t be allowed into Mecca; you could say that you disagree with some of the Shia practices but you give them every right to interpret the text differently than you. Regardless of the reason you choose, under a liberal framework, you would ultimately agree with their right to interpret text differently.

If I were to agree with the Shias not being a heretic sect in the light of your explanation, I would posit the Ahmadis next. Again, we could repeat the exercise above in futility until you convince me that Ahmadis have a right to interpret the Islamic religious text as they please. I could continue this questioning with increasingly ‘heretic’ sects until you decide you’ve had enough and that I have no right to object to another’s interpretation of an Islamic text.

If we really have no right to judge another’s interpretation of Islam, the following question surfaces. Why, then, is the liberal Pakistani discourse so quick to say that the groups like Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ) are not Muslims? Theirs is but an interpretation of text and unfortunately it happens to be severely violent. Using the liberal ideology of an open-ended interpretation of a religious text, I could defend the actions of these groups and claim they are simply acting in the name of Islam.

Many claim that these groups cannot be Muslim because they violate peace, a core tenant of Islam. I say what does it matter? Peace is a core tenant of Islam as you and I understand it. Why are we applying it to a group that clearly does not subscribe to an understanding of Islam that you and I do? We consider Islam to be a religion of peace according to our interpretation. The fundamentalist group clearly has a different interpretation.

Insofar as the idea of interpretation of the fundamentalist group is concerned, how is it different from any of the sects? Sunnis interpret religion differently than Shias and the Shias interpret it differently than Ismailies. Even within sects, interpretations differ by geography, culture and ethnicity. The fundamentalist interpretation simply happens to be violent. Why is this discourse hypocritical and immediately dismisses the inherent Muslim nature of these groups with statements like ‘Such people cannot be Muslims’?

Making dismissive claims like the above is problematic. It ignores the motivation behind the acts of violence. If an Ahmadi house is lit on fire under accusations of blasphemy, it has an inherent Islamic presence that cannot be ignored. If Shias are shot dead by people who are claiming to clean the religion of its wrong practices, then that too has a religious tone to it. These acts are fuelled by the desire of the perpetrators to purify the religion. These perpetrators must consider themselves Muslims to consider cleansing the religion. Thus, under the liberal ideology that influenced the dialogue at the beginning of this piece, if these people consider their interpretation to be right, who are we to tell them otherwise?

Another problem that also arises from this scenario is that if we say that these people are wrong, what gives us the right to do so? Is there an existing right and wrong that we use to gauge all interpretations with? If there is, then who decided it? If there isn’t, who gets to say what is right and what is wrong? It is not sufficient to hold up the Quran and the Sunnah for the interpretations of both also differ markedly between sects. Thus, within a liberal framework, we encounter the following where determining a right and wrong within religion is unfeasible because interpretations of a text are open ended and cannot be imposed upon another group. However, those who are influenced by liberalism, must also then defend in theory the beliefs of the fundamentalist group as being simply another interpretation of Islam. Liberalism allows you to condemn the violence but it does not allow you to condemn the interpretation. It is this latter part that is hypocrticially absent from the liberal Pakistani discourse concerning the problem of religious fundamentalism.

It is for this reason that I believe Pakistan must acknowledge the Muslim elements underlying such violence. The liberal Pakistani crowd should not say ‘Such people cannot be Muslims’ but they should say ‘We condemn such violence committed in the name of Islam’. Such a statement serves the dual purpose of acknowledging the issue at hand- that violence is being committed by people who claim to be Muslims- as well as emphasizing that the more widespread interpretation of Islam has no such tendencies to paint itself in a violent light.