On borders

0
149

Obama didn’t visit Pakistan this week. But I guess he has good reason it’s rather rude, wouldn’t you say, to bomb a country on a Sunday and then visit it on the Monday as if nothing is wrong at all.

His visit to India, on the other hand, was a natural choice, militarily speaking, considering that wars in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and proxy wars elsewhere, are not yet enough to satisfy the American military-industrial complex. So a chummy visit to one of the world’s biggest arms purchaser is very much due.

Pakistanis are naturally upset. Not only have they been the unsung victims of America’s War on Terror (what happened to that word, by the way? Is the world to actually believe that the War ended when Obama took office?) but they are apparently also close allies of the United States.

Don’t friends visit friends when they’re in the neighborhood?

Guess not. But perhaps what is chafing under the skin of it all is the ugly division that continues to exist between Indians and Pakistanis that division that was created by the British and is now sustained by the Americans, that division that ensures the perpetual war conditions that superpowers require in order to remain “super.”

Because the truth is that Pakistanis, as a people, not as a state, should not take exception to state visits to India by the head of the world’s biggest superpower. What governments do on front pages should not so easily erase centuries of what people have done in reality. And what people in Pakistan and India have done for a whole lot longer than Barack Obama has been in office is share a history, a culture, a language and a land.

Pakistanis and Indians are different only in name. The language is the same which is why both nations are able to enjoy Bollywood. The food is very similar, especially in parts of India which are closer to Pakistan. The clothing traditions are indistinguishable. The celebrations are practically identical with weddings in particular being almost exactly the same. And, remarkably, these similarities exist across religions in these two nations.

There is simply much more in common between the people of Pakistan and the people of India than heads of state would like us to believe or remember.

And this is why the extraordinary success at least superficially of this particular divide and conquer project is all the more remarkable: It makes absolutely no sense. It is a testament to the power of propaganda and the power, more importantly, of dangerous pseudo-alliances with far-off superstates. Indira Gandhi put this idea into words in 1972 when she said that “what defeated Pakistan was its military regime. That regime, supported by the Americans. Sometimes friends are dangerous. We must be very careful about the help friends give us.” While you may or may not agree with her statement, you should agree that it could very well have been said today.

And you could agree, as you read this in Pakistan, that friends should be chosen carefully. We should know them well and the relationship should be mutually beneficial. But more importantly, old friends and family should not be so easily discarded there is so much that has been shared, so much that remains the same.

If youve ever been to the Wagah border ceremony, you will remember your marvel at seeing the friendly faces across the gates. The people are within sight, they are curious and their eyes belie a grief and a wonder at how easily they could have been on the other side. On both sides are the faces of the ordinary people of India and Pakistan, a people who were not considered when maps were redrawn and lives were displaced.

Heads of state dont generally bother with such cumbersome details. But most Pakistanis and Indians are not heads of state. When abroad, they make friends with each other because in a strange land, Indians and Pakistanis are familiar. Perhaps someday this cherished familiarity can be found in the neighborhood, too.

The writer is US-based political analyst and a fomer Producer for BBC and Al-Jazeera. Follow her on Twitter @ShirinSadeghi