The ‘enemy’ within
Today, the lack of freedom of religion has made us a nation devoid of empathy, scruple and humanity.
The writer, a Fulbright Scholar and recent graduate of The Fletcher School at Tufts University, US, is a senior sub editor at The Express Tribune
I was in my school’s Christmas choir. Sneaking into the church and the sisters’ chapel, exploring the altar and traversing through the pews make for some of my fondest childhood memories.
“You do understand the context of the word chamaar, right?” asked my Christian friend, which made me realise that I was one of the few to have fond memories of ‘growing up in interfaith harmony’.
Christians, among other minorities, are called chamaar in Pakistan, stemming from the chamaari communities or the Hindu scheduled castes — the working class and the untouchables.
A similar term is choora, mostly used in Punjab, which is a slur for dark-skinned people, mainly Christians, who are stereotyped as cleaners, she ‘educated’ me.
These terms are used loosely, nonchalantly. A few hours after the Peshawar church blasts, a news anchor on Dunya News thought it was witty to say, “Those who sweep have been swept away today”. Such affronts are also extended to the Hindus, stereotyped as ‘dirty’, their idols ridiculed. Their community is mostly ghettoised, with zero chances of upward social mobility.
Shias are killed almost every day. Interestingly, they claim the discrimination is not new and many have grown up with it. But it does not end there. The Deobandi Sunnis claim to be the ‘real Muslims’. A professor at the University of Karachi derisively termed Barelvis ‘halvay walay’ (those who make sweet confectionaries on religious occasions) in class. The Barelvis deem the Deobandis hardliners, with some clerics even declaring the Deobandis kuffaar (non-believers).
Worse off are the Ahmadis who lead dual lives — secret lives, rather.
Faith is an integral classification of identity in Pakistan. You are what you believe. And on this belief, we are divided — and we are killed.
Pakistan was created for minority rights, because the Muslims were a minority. With a bloody, abrupt partition, coupled with the largest exodus in modern history, we gained independence in terms of freedom of religion. Today, the lack of this very freedom has made us a nation devoid of empathy, scruple and humanity. There have been 19 attacks and bomb blasts, this year alone, on the basis of faith. The figure does not include targeted killings, which would spike up the number manifold. Terrorist organisations or a mass of incensed people were responsible for the violence. Not RAW, not Mossad, not the CIA. This is not a conspiracy to divide Muslims and destabilise Pakistan by ‘foreign actors’. The perpetrators are within us. The state and society has marginalised and alienated ethnic groups and religious communities for over 60 years, hence depriving them of economic, political and social participation.
At a micro level, we cannot bear differences of opinion, identity, or even tastes, be it at work, in educational institutions, among families and even in places of worship. And we have no one else to blame.
The decades-long discrimination, prejudice and scorn is so deeply instilled in our social fabric that every aspect of our socialisation begins and ends with hate and abuse.
We cannot talk, discuss or deliberate without preconceived ill-judgment, contempt and accusations. If you don’t believe me, just read the comments under this article.
Published in The Express Tribune, September 28th, 2013.
“You do understand the context of the word chamaar, right?” asked my Christian friend, which made me realise that I was one of the few to have fond memories of ‘growing up in interfaith harmony’.
Christians, among other minorities, are called chamaar in Pakistan, stemming from the chamaari communities or the Hindu scheduled castes — the working class and the untouchables.
A similar term is choora, mostly used in Punjab, which is a slur for dark-skinned people, mainly Christians, who are stereotyped as cleaners, she ‘educated’ me.
These terms are used loosely, nonchalantly. A few hours after the Peshawar church blasts, a news anchor on Dunya News thought it was witty to say, “Those who sweep have been swept away today”. Such affronts are also extended to the Hindus, stereotyped as ‘dirty’, their idols ridiculed. Their community is mostly ghettoised, with zero chances of upward social mobility.
Shias are killed almost every day. Interestingly, they claim the discrimination is not new and many have grown up with it. But it does not end there. The Deobandi Sunnis claim to be the ‘real Muslims’. A professor at the University of Karachi derisively termed Barelvis ‘halvay walay’ (those who make sweet confectionaries on religious occasions) in class. The Barelvis deem the Deobandis hardliners, with some clerics even declaring the Deobandis kuffaar (non-believers).
Worse off are the Ahmadis who lead dual lives — secret lives, rather.
Faith is an integral classification of identity in Pakistan. You are what you believe. And on this belief, we are divided — and we are killed.
Pakistan was created for minority rights, because the Muslims were a minority. With a bloody, abrupt partition, coupled with the largest exodus in modern history, we gained independence in terms of freedom of religion. Today, the lack of this very freedom has made us a nation devoid of empathy, scruple and humanity. There have been 19 attacks and bomb blasts, this year alone, on the basis of faith. The figure does not include targeted killings, which would spike up the number manifold. Terrorist organisations or a mass of incensed people were responsible for the violence. Not RAW, not Mossad, not the CIA. This is not a conspiracy to divide Muslims and destabilise Pakistan by ‘foreign actors’. The perpetrators are within us. The state and society has marginalised and alienated ethnic groups and religious communities for over 60 years, hence depriving them of economic, political and social participation.
At a micro level, we cannot bear differences of opinion, identity, or even tastes, be it at work, in educational institutions, among families and even in places of worship. And we have no one else to blame.
The decades-long discrimination, prejudice and scorn is so deeply instilled in our social fabric that every aspect of our socialisation begins and ends with hate and abuse.
We cannot talk, discuss or deliberate without preconceived ill-judgment, contempt and accusations. If you don’t believe me, just read the comments under this article.
Published in The Express Tribune, September 28th, 2013.