Islamic groups in Pakistan were initially hostile to cable TV because of concerns about “obscene” foreign imports, but religion now dominates the airwaves. A new breed of Islamic TV evangelist has emerged, leading to a confrontation with liberals, according to a report in the BBC.
On any day of the week, television in Pakistan is a potent cocktail of soap operas, fiery political debate and, increasingly, pop-Islam. This last strand of programming has a set format. Viewers call up to ask questions about Islamic rulings on everything from hair removal to ethical mortgages. The anchors – part celebrity, part religious leaders – dish out bite-size fatwas (theological rulings) for audiences with a seemingly insatiable appetite for religion on TV. Controversy has surrounded many of these programmes and the pious presenters that front them.
Farhat Hashmi has been accused of embezzling funds from her television show and fleeing to Canada to avoid prosecution, although she denies any wrongdoing. And Mehar Bukhari, known for her political interviews, sparked outrage by declaring the politician she was speaking to was a heretic. Another mullah clashed with a Bollywood actress on live television after condemning her behaviour – that clip subsequently became a viral hit. But the best-known of all the TV evangelists is Dr Amir Liaqat. From a glossy television studio above a parade of run-down shops in Karachi, he had an audience of millions for Alim aur Alam, a live one-hour show that went out five days a week across Pakistan.
The programme allowed Dr Liaqat to play the role of a religious “Agony Uncle”, remedying the religious dilemmas of his audience. In September 2008, Liaqat dedicated an entire episode to exploring the beliefs of the Ahmedis, a Muslim sect which has been declared as “un-Islamic” by much of the orthodoxy. In it, two scholars said that anyone who associated with false prophets was “worthy of murder”.
Dr Khalid Yusaf, an Ahmedi Muslim, watched the programme with his family, and says he was shocked that a mainstream channel would broadcast this kind of material. “They talked about murder as a religious duty. A duty for ‘good’ Muslims.”
Within 24 hours of the broadcast, a prominent member of the Ahmedi community was shot dead in the small town of Mirpur Kass. Twenty-four hours later Khalid Yusaf’s father, another Ahmedi community leader, was killed by two masked gunmen.
Liaqat has distanced himself from the shootings. “I have no regrets because it has nothing to do with me,” he says. “I’m hurt by what happened and I’m sorry for the families but it has nothing to do with me or anything that was said on my programme.”
Although Liaqat attracted some criticism within the comment pages of Pakistan’s broadsheets, the Ahmedi incident hasn’t damaged his career. He’s being paid to endorse a brand of cooking oil and he’s soon to launch his debut album of religious songs. He continues to present his television show and has this month returned to his old channel Geo, one of the most popular networks in Pakistan.
PEMRA, the Pakistan Electronic Media Regulatory Authority, is a government organisation entrusted with policing the nation’s TV channels. One of their stated aims is to stop the broadcast of programmes that promote “communal and sectarian attitudes and disharmony”.
Critics have branded the organisation as “toothless” after they failed to take any action against Liaqat. PEMRA’s general manager said he didn’t want to speak about the regulation of religious broadcasters as it would be like “starting a fire”.
But not everyone in Pakistan believes that there’s a problem with television evangelists. Liaqat says these programmes have appeal because they educate. “I want to spread a message of love. Despite all the controversy I am still here and audiences love me because people want to learn about religion. That’s why people watch these programmes. People want to learn.”
