Four books, three questions

A few months after I joined Boston University, one of the leading intellectuals of the university passed away. His name was Howard Zinn. There was palpable grief among the faculty. I had never met him, but knew of him and his work. Years later, my children would read his monumental book in high school. The book, A People’s History of the United States, starts with the story of the experience of the local native Americans, who suffered unimaginable brutality and pain, in the guise of exploration of European colonists coming to the new world. Howard — through his work — asked us to re-examine the past, and come to terms with the nation’s history.

A few years later, I got a chance to pick a book at a bookstore in Nairobi. Britain’s Gulag (published as Imperial Reckoning in the US) was the title. Vividly written in crisp detail and accessible prose, the book by Professor Caroline Elkins was a first robust study of the crimes committed by the British forces in the waning days of the colonialism in East Africa. The book became the basis of inquiry and the successful legal claim by the survivors of the camps created by the British.

Last year, I got a chance to read Fire in the Lake, a 1972 book by Frances Fitzgerald that provided a robust account of Vietnam’s history and the fallacies of US policies. The book asked difficult questions, and further created an environment where the US government had to confront its flawed strategy and the crimes it was committing.

But perhaps the most difficult and powerful piece I have read in a while is an essay by John Hersey — who died on March 24^th, 1993. Hersey’s essay on Hiroshima (available freely online) is a must read for any journalist. It brought to life the agony and pain of the people of Hiroshima in the aftermath of the atomic bomb. It was John Hersey, more than anyone else, who told the American public that what they had been told by the government about the impact of the nuclear weapon was wrong, and that there was no moral high ground that the US forces claimed to enjoy.

Earlier this week — troubled by yet another instance of a missed opportunity to ask honest questions about our past — I put these four books in front of me and asked: will there ever be a time when we will have a chance to confront our own past? The US, the UK, Germany or any other country is far from perfect. So is Pakistan. There are plenty of vile periods of their history. Ours has some too. Every country chooses to prioritise its official narrative — so does Pakistan. But where we fail is by taking away the space away from academics who want to write, debate and discuss what really happened. We take away the opportunity to be better.

Looking at the books in front of me, three questions came to my mind. First, as we reflect on the national debates on women’s march and the 1971 conference, and hear loud voices that suggest that academics are only interested in destroying our sacred values and our past, we should ask: what values are we talking about? Which part of the seven-decade long history was perfect for women, minorities, and others who were systematically pushed out?

The second, and perhaps more troubling question is: why aren’t there more academics who are bothered by the lack of academic freedom? Why are scientists and engineers, not part of the movement to demand and defend the right to speak, discuss and reflect? The academics in science and engineering are able to work on the problems of their choice because someone else is fighting for their right to do so. It’s time they recognised that a loss of academic freedom will swallow and spit the entire system — including them.

Finally — a question for all of us, myself included. Do we want to build a future or repeat the past?

Published in The Express Tribune, March 23^rd, 2021.

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