On courage and freedom

‘Phir ham-hi qatal ho aayen yaaro chalo’

Monday marked the fifth anniversary of Salmaan Taseer’s assassination. His fearlessness was the standout feature of the events that culminated in the fateful incident of that January afternoon in 2011. ‘I was under huge pressure to cow down before rightist pressure on blasphemy. Refused. Even if I’m the last man standing,’ he had tweeted only hours earlier.

Taseer was no stranger to adversity – he was a victim of brutal torture during his many incarcerations under the Zia dictatorship. In fact, courage was the hallmark of his entire life. Defiance – at times complete indifference to public opinion – is a sign of all great men. Taseer never based his life on a template. His life conformed to nobody’s preconceived notion of good, and that’s precisely why it’s worth celebrating. If he made mistakes (like the rest of us, he made many), they were his own. He was not insecure enough to have felt the need to be put on a pedestal. But on the other hand, he didn’t need validation for his choices from others either. He had found his own meaning of life. That may not have been to your liking, but then you were not supposed to live his life for him. His was a fulfilled life – he was a businessman, a family man, a politician, an academic, and had varied tastes and avocations; he excelled in many of his roles.

Was Taseer’s life meaningful for people outside his family and friends? Aasiya Noreen was a Christian; she was poor; she was a woman – three very good reasons to protect her. Being accused of blasphemy in Pakistan, it was no less than a matter of life and death for her. Standing by her was definitely as worthwhile as it was dangerous. Although many ordinary people shared in his conviction, Taseer’s was a lone official voice when it came to pointing out the colour of the blasphemy law. Taseer’s courage, defiance, and readiness to swim against the tide made him a giant among dwarfs.

Contrast this with Mumtaz Qadri, his assassin. There’s something singularly sad about people striving to attain eternal salvation on other people’s expense; but Qadri has the added distinction of having put 27 bullets into his own boss, who was both unarmed and unwarned. The bravado aside, Qadri’s willingness to keep living a hero’s life in prison, but no apparent hurry on his part to actually depart for his beloved Paradise casts serious doubts on his much vaunted courage as well.

Salmaan Taseer was judged in life, and condemned to death by people who never tire of playing god (Yes, many people played their part although it was Qadri who pulled the trigger). His lifestyle choices – and those of his close ones – were vilified during his life, and cited to defend his murder when he was gone. It doesn’t affect him any more whether he is regarded as a hero or otherwise. But our views regarding this earthly life and excellence therein have direct bearing on those of us as are still living. Is there value in things such as art, music, love, learning, travel, exploration? Or is this life merely a prelude to the next? Does this life have an intrinsic meaning, apart from any implications for the Hereafter?

There has been a lot of talk about the need to distinguish between somebody being anti-blasphemy law (which Taseer was), and being pro-blasphemy (which he definitely wasn’t). But I think this line of reasoning unnecessarily – and fruitlessly – complicates the issue, while skipping a fundamental question in the process. As far as I am concerned the question to ask is this: Is it ever all right for an individual or a group of individuals to kill somebody, whatever the charge? Your answer may be ‘no’, but do you turn all misty-eyed on the mention of the Ilmuddin-Rajpal episode; or that of the apocryphal account of an eminent companion chopping off a man’s head because he thought he was insulting the Prophet (PBUH)? If you do, you are unconsciously sowing the seeds of Qadrism, and sowing them right in your own backyard. Please don’t act shocked if (when) you see the inevitable fruit.

Admittedly, not everyone has the opportunity and the capacity to exhibit the kind of public, physical courage displayed by the likes of Salmaan Taseer and Shahbaz Bhatti. Thankfully, there is another form of courage, open to all of us. This kind, not any less heroic than the first one, involves challenging and validating ideas one was brought up on. All of us need to cultivate this. Even if a man as great as Allama Iqbal held Ilmuddin in high esteem, should that change your conception of right and wrong? Does it? Do you have the courage to differ with the views of friends, even parents? Can real freedom be achieved without the courage to disregard convention and public opinion when circumstances call for it, and to rise above prejudices inculcated in childhood and early youth? This courage is a rare quality to have in our society; it’s something definitely worth striving for. Go for it!