The Black Album: Between Liberalism and Fundamentalism

In the context of the recent debate about feminism and liberalism in Pakistan, I am taking the liberty of excerpting from an essay I wrote about Hanif Kureishi’s novel The Black Album.  This novel remains relevant many years after it was initially published.

Living in Pakistan post September 11th, it is impossible to get away from debates about the increasing “Talibanization” of society. The comment sections of online English-language newspapers are filled with what passes for discussion among those who advocate for the secularization of society and those who advocate for a return to “Islamic values”. This “discussion” usually consists of nothing more than one side calling the other “liberal fascists” and the other side responding by calling their opponents “Taliban apologists”. The same “discussions” occur on social media such as Facebook. Pakistani novelists too have attempted to tackle the issue of Pakistan’s involvement in the US-led “global war on terror” and the increasing religiosity of urban middle-class “educated” youth. For example, this theme forms much of the narrative of Mohsin Hamid’s 2007 bestseller The Reluctant Fundamentalist, recently made into a film. However, in my opinion, the best novel to examine the dialectic between liberalism and fundamentalism and the struggle in one man’s soul between these two polar opposites, was actually written long before 9/11. This novel, published in 1995, is Hanif Kureishi’s The Black Album.

And:

As a novel of ideas, The Black Album is a fascinating study of the struggle in one British Pakistani young man’s heart between loyalty to his “culture” (as defined by Islam) versus loyalty to the ideals of his adopted homeland. Though much of the novel is specifically about the Rushdie affair, the debates about free expression and whether it should be limited or not—and if so, how much—are still current around the world. The book burning protest against The Satanic Verses can be compared to the violent protests against the recent YouTube film Innocence of Muslims and the riots that occurred on “Love the Prophet (PBUH) Day” in Pakistan on September 21st 2012. It is the strength of Literature that it enables us to see events, through the experiences and dilemmas of individuals, in a way that journalism or current affairs pieces don’t allow us to. No recent novel about fundamentalism has been able to capture the struggle that takes place in the hearts and minds of many Muslim adolescents as effectively as Kureishi was able to do in The Black Album.

The whole essay can be read here 

 

 

What Being a “Center-Left” Pakistani Means to Me

Since my center-left credentials are frequently questioned on BP, I am sharing this post here.  Perhaps  it can stand as a precedent post so that this debate can be put to rest once and for all.

I have been repeatedly accused on BP of not actually being “Center-Left”. A commenter has said “Pakistani liberal is an oxymoron”. I have been called an “Islamist” and “Islamofascist”. While it doesn’t particularly make a difference to my life what some random people (whom I am unlikely to ever meet in reality) think of me, I would like to take this opportunity to define what precisely being center-left means to me. I do not attempt to speak for other Pakistanis–though I believe there is a significant proportion of the population who share some of my beliefs– but only to describe my own personal background and ideology. This exercise will also hopefully help me to examine some of my own assumptions.

As I have previously mentioned in some comments, I come from a family that believes in Nehruvian Secularism and in the “idea of India”. This ideological influence comes primarily through my father. My paternal grandmother was from Agra and came to Pakistan only after her marriage to my grandfather (who was from Peshawar). My grandfather was an official in the Pakistan Railways and prior to the 1965 war, my father and his siblings used to travel by train to Agra every year to see their maternal grandparents and relatives. The war unfortunately put an end to that. While I never had an in-depth discussion with my grandmother about what exactly Pakistan meant to her, my father has told me that she was deeply saddened by the fact that she was separated from her parents and one of her brothers. Such tragedies were common in many Pakistani and Indian Muslim families. I was lucky enough to be able to visit India as a child and spend time in my dadi’s ancestral home. There are pictures of me in front of the Taj.

On my mother’s side, my maternal grandfather was born in Amritsar (though he was ethnically Kashmiri). In 1947, he was living in Sialkot and married to my nani (who was from West Punjab). However, his relatives came to Sialkot as refugees from Amritsar. For decades, they continued to carry the keys to their houses in Amritsar. In fact, when my mother spent time in Indian Punjab in the 1990s (while doing some international development work) people there were surprised to learn that she could describe Amritsar neighborhoods in great detail without ever having been there before.

It is also important to note that though I was born in Pakistan, I spent most of my formative years growing up in the United States. My parents had many Indian friends. Also, my entire family was deeply involved with Hindustani classical music and this naturally tends to be an Indian diaspora activity. My ustad was Bangladeshi-American but very few of his students were Muslim. While I was learning to sing khayal, I also learned bhajans and shabads in various ragas. Continue reading What Being a “Center-Left” Pakistani Means to Me

A secular state does not allow a minority place of worship to be destroyed

In the last few days, there has been a lot of discussion of the destruction of the Babri Masjid.   Predictably, the “Saffroniate” has argued that while the mob destruction of the mosque was wrong, the decision to build a Ram Temple on the site of the mosque is justified.

This post will serve as a brief rebuttal to this argument.  India is a constitutionally secular state. In a constitutionally secular state, there is absolutely no excuse for destroying a minority place of worship–no matter what the circumstances.  This is a red line that must never be crossed.  While Babri may not be equivalent to Notre Dame–I am personally agnostic about this argument– there is no excuse for even one mosque to be destroyed in a secular state.  The decision to build a Ram Temple where the mosque used to be is a post-facto justification of the mob destruction of the minority place of worship.

The argument has been made that India instituted a new piece of legislation–the Places of Worship Act– in order to make sure that such an incident doesn’t take place again.  The question was asked if Pakistan has instituted similar legislation. Continue reading A secular state does not allow a minority place of worship to be destroyed

Looking to the east: a different secularism than the West

Why Hagia Sophia, Turkey And The Charismatic Figure Of Erdogan Bristle With Resonances For India:

The Hagia Sophia reconversion ultimately points to the failure of the Kemalist project of top-down secularism. Much like the state secularism of nationalist authoritarian leaders in Egypt, Iran, Iraq etc had failed to lead to the secularisation of the wider society, it seems Turkey is no longer the exception it was long hoped to be. More fundamentally, the failing secularism of Turkey and India begs the question: is secularism even possible in non-Christian/non-Western societies? Without the Western experiences of Reformation and the Enlightenment, hard-fought victories as they were, can non-Western societies value the principles of freedom and secularism? Why is it that, unlike in the West where democratisation and secularism went hand in hand, greater democratisation has seemed to only bring religious chauvinism in India and Turkey?

Too often non-white intellectuals, in particular those from the Indian subcontinent and the Middle East, look only to Europe as their historical exemplars.

There is a legitimate argument that secularism in the Westphalian nation-state context, and using the model of the American republic, is the contingent outcome of the Reformation, and in particular Radical Protestant anti-state sentiment as well as Calvinist disenchantment with the world, and the sieve of the Enlightenment. But I don’t think this is what the author meant. Rather, I think the author is highlighting the importance of religious identity across the world.

In India and Islamic societies, your religion defines you in a very deep way. Religion and state have been deeply connected. The American and French models are objects of emulation but from a deeply alien tradition.

But these are not the only models and outcomes. China, Korea, and Japan are all societies where public religious identity is not nearly as important as it is in the Indian subcontinent and the world of Islam. I am not saying that people in East Asia are not religious or do not have supernatural beliefs. On the whole, they are less religious and more atheistic. But looking at religious affiliation numbers overstates this truth.

Rather, these are societies where religion does not dominate public political life because they have a particular history with organized religion which subordinates it to the political life of the society and nation.

Let me give three examples

– In the 9th century, the Tang dynasty expropriated property from Buddhist monasteries and defrocked monks and nuns. This is due to the fact that Buddhism was starting to become as powerful in China as the Catholic Church was to become in Europe.

– In the 15th century, the Joseon dynasty of Korea suppressed Buddhism in cities and drove the religion to the mountains. The percentage of Buddhists in Korea has actually increased in the 20th century for this reason.

– In the 16th century, Oda Nobunaga broke the power of Buddhist monasteries, in part by burning the down.

There is a history out there that is not European. Read some books.

Brown Pundits