The free spirit

It is tragic that we have recognised and spoken of the symbolism and significance of Qandeel Baloch’s defiance only posthumously. We have termed her a revolutionary and praised her rebellious resilience in a society that demands conformity. Qandeel Baloch (or Fauzia Azeem as she was known to her family) was, in her own words, a “modern-day feminist” who represented “girl power”. Many of us did not then see her that way. We derided her; ignored her; or took her to be no more than a cheap entertainer. We extol her now after her unjust and gruesome death, and draw meaning in her journey from “a girl to a self dependent women” [sic]. I am to be guilty of the same.

Qandeel Baloch represented resistance to patriarchy, poverty, to prudery, hypocrisy and our stifling public morality. This young, ambitious girl born into poverty and obscurity in rural Punjab, given in an early and possibly unwanted marriage, and confronted with early motherhood fought her way to self-realisation, economic independence, and fame. Her journey was not easy: after spending nights in a state-run shelter, relinquishing custody of her only child, educating herself and working petty jobs as a bus hostess and a salesperson, Qandeel was eventually able to re-define herself as a “social media sensation”, a “fashion icon” and a sexual diva. Qandeel was bold, provocative, and, to a large number of Pakistani men and women, simply distasteful. Her revealing photographs and sensuous videos drew her fame, and the ire of conservative and religious quarters. Some spewed abuse and hatred on her Facebook page; others issued ominous warnings. But Qandeel continued unaffected and unnerved. Her indifference was political. It amounted to defiance of entrenched gender roles and of constructions of modesty, sexuality and morality. Qandeel was sexy. Qandeel was ‘scandalous’. Qandeel was ‘obnoxious’. Qandeel did not care. Qandeel was free in the way most of us Pakistani women (and even men) are not. We conform each day to social expectations regarding our bodies, minds, sexuality, and creativity; our education, marriage and children. The pressure to comply is at time explicit and at others a consequence of internalised self-regulation. We salute Qandeel’s resilience. We may envy her freedom.

But are we immortalising the story of a woman who won acclaim for parading her body and sexuality? Are we setting dangerous precedent for young women who will view Qandeel’s choices as the only means of winning quick acclaim? Was she truly free or was her exhibitionism symptomatic of the very patriarchy and sexual objectification that feminists seek to undo? These questions are relevant. But to deny, on that count, the significance of Qandeel’s boldness and resilience, particularly in the light of her murder, would be unfair.

Qandeel was strangled to death in the name of honour by her brother for the “objectionable” behaviour that had for years lit the stove in her family’s kitchen and provided a roof over their heads. Qandeel’s end was cruel, unjust and ironic. But unlike the thousand or so other women killed in the name of honour in Pakistan each year, Qandeel has been eulogized globally. Others’ stories quickly pass out from our attention without consequence. Qandeel may distinguish herself in her death by serving as the necessary push moving the government into fulfilling its long-promised promulgation of the Anti-Honour Killing legislation. Earlier this week, Maryam Nawaz assured of imminent passage of the Bill. On July 21, the Parliamentary Committee of the Joint Sitting on Bills approved the proposed legislation. The government may, this time, come through on its promise, and is to be commended for doing so. We must, however, ask whether passage of the new law will stop the spate of honour killings in Pakistan. It may have some deterrent effect. But our real battle is against our mindsets. We have become a people who tolerate and justify cruelty through twisted notions of religion and morality. We are intolerable of difference and defiance, and punish those we find guilty with vengeance. Unless we change, countless women who assert their right to study, work, choose a life partner or express their sexuality will continue to be killed in the name of honour. Their freedom will always come at a price.

Published in The Express Tribune, July 24^th, 2016.

Like Opinion & Editorial on Facebook, follow @ETOpEd on Twitter to receive all updates on all our daily pieces.