The identity

Conservatives lack one, liberals never had one

Over the last ten years, Pakistan has witnessed two parallel, and largely exclusive, strands of thinking on nationalism and socio-cultural identity. On one side, amidst growing coverage of issues related to extremism, intolerance, state oppression, and political Islam, liberal wisdom has propagated greater introspection, and a critical reading of history, which would help us move towards a more peaceful and tolerant society – like, as they say, Jinnah had initially envisioned. On the other hand though, amidst growing coverage of issues like the war in Afghanistan, separatist sentiment in Balochistan, plight of people in Kashmir and Palestine, and the intrusion of USA in domestic affairs, the conventional narrative has asked for greater unity, a more militant projection of nationalist sentiment (think Difa-e-Pakistan or Zaid Hamid), a need to be wary of subversive enemy activity within our borders, and an honest and focused reading of Islamic texts, which would help us move towards a unified and prosperous Pakistan – like, as they say, Jinnah had initially envisioned.

What’s interesting about liberal wisdom in Pakistan though is that it doesn’t really have a politics to fall back on. It has ideals, lots of them, but no agenda for pushing those ideals into practice. Unlike other dissident narratives, such as ethno-nationalism, linguistic movements, and even working class sentiment, the narrative on introspection, tolerance, and secularisation has remained confined to purposeful writing and discussion. This partially explains why op-ed space, and the occasional NGO-sponsored seminar, is the preferred choice of projection.

Admittedly, all of this has been repeated far too many times, especially in the last few years. Yes, everybody knows liberals are confined to their drawing rooms, that they have no street presence, that the mainstream parties don’t really take them seriously and that their impact will remain confined to elite lobbying on issues that are less divisive, such as women and children rights. But leaving number games and street presence aside, and in stark contrast to liberalism in Pakistan, the conventional, right wing narrative is also being sustained by institutions that operate solely at a societal level.

Take weekly Urdu magazines for instance. These widely read publications, in many ways, package moralising, at times religiously inspired discourse, in a digestible, modern form. The cover always features a fashionably dressed woman, sometimes posing with a man, and on the inside, you will have pieces that range from Islamic history and Sunnah, to geo-politics, right down to fashion advice, and love-related problems. In many ways, it reflects the aspirations of the urban middle class in Pakistan, and acts as a convenient instrument of weaving together a particular way of looking at the world.

Well beyond newspapers and magazines though, the electronic media, poetry, and popular fiction have also played their part in sustaining a certain kind of politics in this country. Very recently, my friend and fellow middle-class anthropologist, Shahid Saeed Khan, alerted me to the existence of one Ms Umera Ahmed. This 35-year-old, incredibly prolific writer, wrote a book titled Pir-e-Kamil in 2004, which ultimately went on to become one of the best-selling Urdu books in recent times. The story revolves around how a girl from the Ahmaddiya community secretly converts to Sunni Islam, and the ensuing problems she faces from her family in response to this enlightened act of defiance. A user-based review website gave me a good idea of how well received this book was. There were around 300 comments for this particular title, ranging from how the book changed the life of one reader, to how another reader hoped it would serve as adequate guidance for other members of the Ahmaddiya community. The telling thing is that the book is ostensibly apolitical. It doesn’t talk about the Jamaat-i-Islami, geo-politics or affairs of the state. All it does is create a relatable narrative, completely embedded in society, which touches upon topics close to the middle class imagination.

As a stand-alone institution, poetry or fiction cannot sustain any particular brand of politics. It can merely strengthen claims made in other domains and present them in a more accessible manner. Yet, interestingly enough, contemporary English language authors, or the few liberal Urdu writers in Pakistan, are incredibly wary of associating any kind of politics with their work. Politics, they say, has no space in art. Art should be appreciated within its own parameters and its usage as an instrument of portrayal, representation, and politics makes it impure. If you want politics, read an op-ed instead of literature.

In a perfect world, such a puritanical position would be appreciated, cherished, and respected. In contemporary Pakistan, however, a refusal to politicise your creativity, and infuse it with ideals that you would otherwise espouse, has the unintended effect of preserving the status quo. The biggest challenge faced by people holding progressive views is trying to build a politics that can challenge mainstream hegemony. Sadly though, without a holistic socio-cultural agenda, like the one so visible in the writings of Faiz and Manto, any measure of success will remain elusive.

The writer blogs at http://recycled-thought.blogspot.com. Email him at [email protected], or send a tweet @umairjava