Losing my religion

Since Zia’s desecration of Islamic thought, more and more of us are practicing our faith away from harm’s way.

My recent brush with Death was so close I practically saw his cloak and scythe. After passing the Abdullah Shah Ghazi shrine I heard a loud, dull thud. Twin suicide bombers had blown themselves up by the entrance, killing at least 10 people and injuring 60. Thirty seconds earlier and this newspaper may have been looking for a new columnist.

Arriving home that night, my distraught wife threw her arms around me and thanked God for my safety. Why thank God, I flippantly thought. After all it was in God’s name that these delusional teenagers were killing themselves and attacking a shrine of supposed heretics. Whilst my wife was giving sadqa, the first few lines of John Lennon’s humanist prayer, “Imagine”, popped into my head.

Living in Pakistan and witnessing regular despicable acts done in God’s name has severely tested my faith. Nor has it been just the acts of violence that have fed my doubts, everyday life has also had an impact. I resent how we are defined and labelled by our faith. For something inherently so private it came as a shock arriving in Pakistan to be constantly asked by strangers what my religious beliefs were. “Why does it matter?” became my stock reply.  But whether we like it or not in Pakistan we are defined by our religious beliefs. An office janitor used to warmly greet me each morning with a hearty “Brother George”. One morning the salutations stopped. Upon inquiry I found he was upset with me. He had discovered I wasn’t a “Brother”. Although I was still the same person, in his eyes I had irredeemably changed. Why did our friendship become tainted because our beliefs differed?

Nor am I alone in having my beliefs shaken. Anecdotal evidence suggests more and more Pakistanis are having moments of spiritual doubt. Whilst there is no empirical evidence available, it would be interesting to know what effect, if any, the recent upsurge of violence has had on people’s faith. What is certain is that the public practice of religion is not what it was. This paper carried a recent poll in which 54 per cent of participants no longer felt safe visiting their mosque/place of worship. Thirty years ago, practicing one’s faith openly in Pakistan did not endanger your life. We had religious harmony in cities such as Quetta, Multan, Sukkur between the various sects. In these cities, there were (almost) joint processions conducted amongst Shia and Sunni worshippers. Up until a few years ago, a contingent of Sunni volunteers would help marshal Shia processions in Karachi. Sufi shrines bustled with worshippers without fear of attack. But that was then. Today Zia’s children roam amongst us.

The irony is that since Zia’s desecration of moderate Islamic thought, more and more of us are practicing our faith at home, away from harm’s way. So whilst Islam is more visible in the public sphere — ayats on billboards, the azaan in shopping malls etc — fewer people are comfortable displaying their faith openly.

It hasn’t just been Pakistan that has been adapting to the role of religion in public life. Post-9/11, the west has witnessed a polarising debate on religion’s role in society. Strident atheists such as Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens have written polemical tomes lambasting the role of religion. Meanwhile, believers have countered with their increasingly shrill works. But where does that leave those who believe, but who are fed up with their faith being hijacked by extremist using it for political gain?

Following the blast, it was only after seeing my son I offered up a silent prayer to my Maker, quietly thanking Him for sparing me. That night, having prayed for those who had lost their lives and the survival of the injured, I offered up one final prayer. I prayed that I wouldn't lose my religion.

Published in The  Express Tribune, October 20^th, 2010.