The dinner table test

US Representative Nancy Mace recently declared that "every single Muslim holding public office in America is a Trojan horse, and a threat to both national security and our republic."

Glenn Greenwald responded with the obvious question: replace "Muslim" with "Jew". What would happen if a member of Congress declared every Jewish officeholder a Trojan horse and national-security threat? We know the answer. It would rightly be condemned as blatant antisemitism, with demands for serious consequences.

The point is not that antisemitism is taken too seriously. It should be taken seriously, particularly given its horrific history. The question is why comparable statements about Muslims remain within the bounds of respectable political discourse. Mace was not criticising Hamas, Islamism, terrorism or a particular politician. She said every Muslim holding public office is a threat. Muslim identity itself becomes evidence of questionable loyalty.

There is nothing particularly new about this. Since 9/11, mosques and charities have been surveilled, Muslim organisations scrutinised and Muslim political activity routinely viewed through a national-security lens. Muslims are expected to condemn crimes committed by strangers thousands of miles away simply because the perpetrators claim the same religion. Views on Palestine or Western foreign policy can quickly become another loyalty test.

After I shared Greenwald's post, someone responded with what he called the "dinner table test". He described a Pakistani acquaintance who denied the Holocaust and praised Hitler, and a Jewish acquaintance in Canada who justified killing Arab Muslim children because they might grow up to become jihadists. His point was that prejudice often becomes acceptable in private before people are willing to express it publicly.

There is something to that, but I disagreed with framing this principally as a Muslim-Jewish problem. Bigotry is much more universal. Antisemitism has deep roots in Christian societies and certainly exists among Muslims. Islamophobia exists among Christians, Jews, Hindus and others. Hindu nationalism has increasingly targeted Muslims and Christians in India, while Buddhist nationalism has contributed to the persecution of the Rohingya. Muslim societies have plenty of their own sectarianism and religious prejudice to answer for.

That last point is especially important for Pakistan.

Pakistanis are right to object when Muslims in America, Europe or India are treated as inherently suspect. But we cannot credibly demand equal citizenship for Muslims abroad while tolerating conditional citizenship for minorities at home.

The most obvious example is the treatment of Ahmadis. Christians and Hindus have faced their own discrimination and violence, including the devastating consequences that can follow accusations of blasphemy.

Pakistan has occasionally drawn the appropriate line. In 2019, Punjab Information Minister Fayaz-ul-Hassan Chohan was removed after making derogatory remarks about Hindus. That was the right response. A public official should not be able to demean an entire religious community and explain it away as politics. But the principle has to apply regardless of who is being targeted.

This is where the dinner table test becomes useful. What are we prepared to say about others when we think only our own community is listening? What jokes and stereotypes do we tolerate? Would we accept the same language if it were directed at us?

Muslims need to ask ourselves these questions too. Holocaust denial is not criticism of Israel, and praising Hitler is not solidarity with Palestine. Nothing Israel has done to Palestinians makes hatred of Jews acceptable. If we reject collective guilt when Muslims are blamed for Hamas, ISIS or al-Qaeda, we cannot impose collective guilt on Jews for the actions of Israel.

The same principle applies elsewhere. Those who condemn anti-Hindu prejudice should oppose the demonisation of Muslims and Christians in India. Those who rightly insist that antisemitism be taken seriously should recognise the dehumanisation of Palestinians. And Muslims who demand equality when we are minorities must defend minorities when we are the majority.

Of course, power matters. A bigoted remark at a dinner table is not equivalent to the same sentiment coming from a legislator, minister or the state. The danger is that prejudices migrate. Yesterday's dinner-table stereotype becomes tomorrow's campaign slogan and eventually the justification for policy.

Pakistan, of all countries, should understand this. Whatever one's interpretation of Partition, the demand for Pakistan grew in significant part from Muslim anxieties about majoritarian rule. That history ought to make Pakistan particularly sensitive to majoritarianism. There is a profound contradiction in demanding protection from majority domination when Muslims are the minority and accepting religious exclusion once Muslims become the majority.

Greenwald's substitution test therefore works just as well in Lahore or Karachi as in Washington. When Nancy Mace says every Muslim officeholder is a Trojan horse, replace "Muslim" with "Jew". But then perform the same exercise at home. When we speak about minorities, replace their identity with ours.

Would we accept for ourselves the laws, suspicions and limitations we accept for them?

We can condemn Islamophobia without minimising antisemitism, defend Palestinians without hating Jews, and demand equality for Muslims in America and India while demanding the same for minorities in Pakistan.

Otherwise, we are not really defending a principle. We are defending our tribe.

And that may be the most revealing dinner table test of all.