Meeting Malala
I notice she touches her hair, face frequently, even when on stage. Does she wonder at her face still being intact?
The writer is a research scholar at Jawaharlal Nehru University in Delhi
Sixteen. She’s 16, but has the calmness and stoicism of a monk. That is what an encounter with death teaches one at a tender age, I suppose. Her shy, humble presence should not, however, befool one into thinking she is like any other 16-year-old. Underneath the meek, unassuming, modest schoolgirl’s mien is the iron will that overturns a tyrant’s edicts; underneath the gentle, becoming folds of her hijab lies a stubborn resistance to ostensibly ‘religious’ dogmas subjugating her sex; underneath her humour lies the twitching flame eager to leap out and burn an ordinary teenager’s complacency: “When no one speaks, when the whole world is silent, then even one voice becomes powerful.”
Almost 900 members of the elite audience in Sander’s Theatre, located in the Memorial Hall at Harvard University, hold their breath as the world’s most famous teenager rips apart the collective will of patriarchs all over the globe: “The so-called Taliban were afraid of women’s power…they were afraid of the power of education,” Yousafzai breathes, “… At that time, we did not keep silent. We raised our voice for the right of education.”
Suddenly, her bashful voice has gathered strength and is ringing over a vast audience, who break into frequent applause and standing ovations. Her now-forceful articulation weaves through subjects such as the oppression of girls “in the name of cultural norms and traditions”, sexual violence, trafficking and lack of access to food and clean water for young children seamlessly. At 16, she has learnt to address a world audience about the world’s issues — concerns about “Syrian schoolchildren, homeless and deprived of education, children of Pakistan and Afghanistan [who] are victims of terrorism, …children of India that are suffering from child labour…Let us not forget that in many countries like Nigeria, girls are suffering from early forced marriages”, she extolled.
“I know that you must have your personal legends and dreams, which is your due right to have. But all of us must have one dream in common. That’s education and peace. We must think of a bright future,” she urges the audience in an effort to spark that fire in a world gone comfortably numb.
I can see why people might want to silence her — it is rare to see a voice so courageous that her criticism is directed not merely to mortal enemies but to allies as well. The American spectators are not, for instance, spared the sting of her words. “Even in developed countries, women are not given the right to move forward and be what they are,” she succinctly reminds them. Yes, the Americans are her allies in this ruthless battle. It's probably that the world has already done the choosing on her behalf, and she has conceded with the well-mannered nod of a diplomat biding her time. She does not, however, neglect to mention what she thinks is incorrigibly and inherently wrong with American politics: "We demand of the world powers, we demand of them to realise that a war can never be ended by another war…We can fight wars through dialogue and education.” We demand of the world powers that if you want to achieve peace in Syria, in Pakistan, in Afghanistan, then", she cries, "instead of sending guns, send pens; instead of sending tanks, send books; where you send soldiers, send teachers." Barack Obama, are you paying heed to the accusatory finger of this 16-year-old?
At the reception in Winthrop House in her honour a few weeks ago, we have the briefest of tete-a-tete. She is once again her humble self, following the Harvard president and other dignitaries, sitting on her sofa unsurely, looking about as though she were wary of so many people. I notice she touches her hair and face very frequently, even when on stage. Does she wonder at her face still being intact? Does she have nightmares about her potentially fatal attack, that shattering bullet that pierced her ear and jaw and hit her brain and sent her into a coma? Is that why her beautiful, blossoming face framed by the youthful pinkness of her scarf is alight with a certain alertness when there is a crowd?
I shake her hand. She hugs me in return. “It is so very nice to meet you”, she says, when I inform her that I’m planning to write about her Harvard visit. I introduce my companions standing within some distance — the Winthrop House tutor, and my friend, Mariam Chugtai, who is the President of the Pakistan Students’ Association in Harvard. She nods to them amicably.
What was so nice about meeting me, Malala? I, who am double your age and yet mystified as to the source of your voice, the tensile strength of your courage, the secret of your infallible, indomitable will. I, who have no personal stakes in the achievement of world peace or the end of wars, as is true for most human beings on this planet. Why are you torturing our conscience, Malala? You’re 16— you’re supposed to plan dates over an appropriately trendy Android device with your high school friends at cinemas and have unhealthy fried food at chain stores. Why are you here instead, telling us what to do to ease the suffering of women who are, in your words, “not even considered human beings”? What kind of a 16-year-old are you, Malala?
Published in The Express Tribune, October 31st, 2013.
Almost 900 members of the elite audience in Sander’s Theatre, located in the Memorial Hall at Harvard University, hold their breath as the world’s most famous teenager rips apart the collective will of patriarchs all over the globe: “The so-called Taliban were afraid of women’s power…they were afraid of the power of education,” Yousafzai breathes, “… At that time, we did not keep silent. We raised our voice for the right of education.”
Suddenly, her bashful voice has gathered strength and is ringing over a vast audience, who break into frequent applause and standing ovations. Her now-forceful articulation weaves through subjects such as the oppression of girls “in the name of cultural norms and traditions”, sexual violence, trafficking and lack of access to food and clean water for young children seamlessly. At 16, she has learnt to address a world audience about the world’s issues — concerns about “Syrian schoolchildren, homeless and deprived of education, children of Pakistan and Afghanistan [who] are victims of terrorism, …children of India that are suffering from child labour…Let us not forget that in many countries like Nigeria, girls are suffering from early forced marriages”, she extolled.
“I know that you must have your personal legends and dreams, which is your due right to have. But all of us must have one dream in common. That’s education and peace. We must think of a bright future,” she urges the audience in an effort to spark that fire in a world gone comfortably numb.
I can see why people might want to silence her — it is rare to see a voice so courageous that her criticism is directed not merely to mortal enemies but to allies as well. The American spectators are not, for instance, spared the sting of her words. “Even in developed countries, women are not given the right to move forward and be what they are,” she succinctly reminds them. Yes, the Americans are her allies in this ruthless battle. It's probably that the world has already done the choosing on her behalf, and she has conceded with the well-mannered nod of a diplomat biding her time. She does not, however, neglect to mention what she thinks is incorrigibly and inherently wrong with American politics: "We demand of the world powers, we demand of them to realise that a war can never be ended by another war…We can fight wars through dialogue and education.” We demand of the world powers that if you want to achieve peace in Syria, in Pakistan, in Afghanistan, then", she cries, "instead of sending guns, send pens; instead of sending tanks, send books; where you send soldiers, send teachers." Barack Obama, are you paying heed to the accusatory finger of this 16-year-old?
At the reception in Winthrop House in her honour a few weeks ago, we have the briefest of tete-a-tete. She is once again her humble self, following the Harvard president and other dignitaries, sitting on her sofa unsurely, looking about as though she were wary of so many people. I notice she touches her hair and face very frequently, even when on stage. Does she wonder at her face still being intact? Does she have nightmares about her potentially fatal attack, that shattering bullet that pierced her ear and jaw and hit her brain and sent her into a coma? Is that why her beautiful, blossoming face framed by the youthful pinkness of her scarf is alight with a certain alertness when there is a crowd?
I shake her hand. She hugs me in return. “It is so very nice to meet you”, she says, when I inform her that I’m planning to write about her Harvard visit. I introduce my companions standing within some distance — the Winthrop House tutor, and my friend, Mariam Chugtai, who is the President of the Pakistan Students’ Association in Harvard. She nods to them amicably.
What was so nice about meeting me, Malala? I, who am double your age and yet mystified as to the source of your voice, the tensile strength of your courage, the secret of your infallible, indomitable will. I, who have no personal stakes in the achievement of world peace or the end of wars, as is true for most human beings on this planet. Why are you torturing our conscience, Malala? You’re 16— you’re supposed to plan dates over an appropriately trendy Android device with your high school friends at cinemas and have unhealthy fried food at chain stores. Why are you here instead, telling us what to do to ease the suffering of women who are, in your words, “not even considered human beings”? What kind of a 16-year-old are you, Malala?
Published in The Express Tribune, October 31st, 2013.