The Tell Tale Heart: The Smiling Assassin - Mehreen Aziz Khan

A gut reaction of hatred engulfs me when I see the triumphant face of Qadri, Governor Salman Taseer’s bodyguard who shot him so cold bloodedly on Tuesday evening at Islamabad’s Kohsar market. To my liberal-minded, upper-middle class psyche, this Qadri stands for everything that I currently hate about my increasingly Talibanized and radicalized country. Violence in the name of religion, maddening intolerance, crippling narrow-mindedness, annoying self-righteousness.

But after some soul-searching, I realise that I think the way I do because of my relatively privileged life experiences. My family and I have never known poverty. We are relatively well read, well travelled and have had the opportunity to receive a well-rounded education. I am currently living in a first world country with a very cushy lifestyle.

Its all very well for me and others like myself to read the headlines and register our outrage and anger against the ‘inhuman’, ‘brutal’, ‘disgusting’ man who shot Taseer, and the equally ‘misguided’ and ‘abhorrent’ religious right that is applauding the killer and declaring him a hero. It defies what to our minds is well-reasoned logic about the ‘true message of Islam’ and shakes our ‘moderate’, ‘tolerant’ selves to the core. How could our country come to this? What’s going to become of us? And once again, as the battle lines are drawn across social media platforms like Twitter, Facebook, blogs and opinion forums between those who are condemning the killing and those who are celebrating it, the widening chasm that exists between the two diagrammatically opposed ideological groups becomes even more painfully clear. And its posing a threat to our very co-existence as a nation.

The background story to the killing seems straightforward enough. A poor Christian woman became the latest victim of the (outrageously unjust) blasphemy law. Governor Taseer, unusually one of the most controversial and widely derided political leaders of the country, found a soft spot for her plight, and became a champion for her rights. For once he was not making headlines because of corruption, self-serving politics or lavish lifestyle, but standing up for the downtrodden. This made him a target of the ‘mullah brigade’ who drummed up their usual hate-mongering vitriol and issued angry fatwas. But the Governor’s stance resonated with us - the ‘liberal’ and ‘educated’ segment of society, who could identify with his sentiments and are finding overt Islamization a threat to our Western-influenced lifestyles and belief systems. We might consider ourselves patriotic Pakistanis and proud Muslims, but there is no denying the heavy influence of the West in things that shape our opinions, like our education and media consumption (books, magazines, movies, music, television, internet etc.), as opposed to the lower middle class and working class, which have a more indigenous viewpoint about things.

So with such widely differing influences and life experiences at play, it’s only fair to ask: Is demonising Qadri and his huge number of followers a constructive approach on our part?

Aren’t we guilty of being as intolerant as the group we are so eloquently condemning since the past few days?

Aren’t we being as small-minded as the Americans who divide humanity into ‘us’ and ‘them’ and indiscriminately bomb countries and citizens without addressing the root cause of the resentment in those parts of the world?

Shouldn’t we think about what makes a ‘Qadri’ in the first place?

I believe its simplistic to think his ideological opposition to Salman Taseer’s blasphemy law stance was the only reason that caused him to pummel 20 rounds of ammunition into the chest of the man he had been recruited by the state to protect.
Is he not the product of the complex matrix of the region’s geopolitics, the warped ‘war on terror’, the cruel policies of the West and their cohorts that pan the fires of resentment in the local people? Not to mention a reaction to the self-serving elite of our country whose corruption and greed knows no end and who would never part with a penny to help their poor fellow countrymen.

And poverty and deprivation and social injustice all play a role. Back in 2005 when I was working with a media company in Islamabad, I worked on a documentary about police reforms. I remember visiting the living barracks of the Punjab’s Elite Force Guard, the outfit that Qadri belonged to. They were housed in a makeshift ancient Hindu mandir and there was certainly nothing ‘elite’ about the place. These guys, clearly the cream of the police crop in terms of fitness, training and ability – were sitting around swatting flies in the stifling heat, made to live in a place barely fit for animals to live in.

What kind of life-prospects do men like Qadri and their families have to look forward to? They are the ‘have-nots’, and as the country plummets deeper into economic crises and basic amenities become harder to afford and access, the extravagant lives of the ‘haves’ must be becoming harder to stomach. It should come as no surprise that signs of a social revolution have begun to surface. And with some of the ‘have-nots’, these frustrations are readily channelled into an extremist mindset, with religious self-righteousness fuelling the need for their ego to somehow feel superior to the elites of the country whom they are forced to serve every day, and the Western superpowers who walk all over their rights. Thus Qadri’s deep-rooted resentment towards the ridiculously rich, well-dressed, well-educated, partying Government functionary was turned into a deluded sense of self-belief of being a better Muslim – a ‘custodian of the ‘honour of the Prophet p.b.u.h.’, a cause higher and more ennobling than his own life of drudgery and deprivation could ever offer.

And thus he shot the ‘atheist’, and hence he smiles.

He knows he is not a nobody anymore, and probably expects to be showered in rose petals in Jannat just like he was in the courtroom yesterday.

Deluded mindsets like these must be battled against, and we must speak out against the pervading extremism and those who espouse violence in the name of religion – but we shouldn’t hold our breaths as to what that would achieve. After all, what credibility do us privileged but apathetic lot have when making statements? We can choose to look at this simplistically, or try and scratch beneath the surface to confront the uncomfortable truth. There is a grossly unfair social divide that is helping to fuel this twisted, bigoted thinking. We need to come off our high horses and start thinking about ways we can lessen this divide and give back to the less fortunate. We need to think up of ways to share our wealth and privilege, and work tangibly towards improving our society and the plight of the poor. Only then might we have some credibility when we preach a doctrine of tolerance and non-violence to the ‘other side’. In his own way, Salman Taseer was doing his bit right before he died – using his status and influence to speak out against religious intolerance, and trying to protect the rights of a marginalized community. And since he died so dramatically because of it, he is being hailed today by many as a hero who stood for something – not a petty politician with a shady past.

We must ask ourselves what we are prepared to do to wash away our sins. It might not be long before the pitchforks reach our own gates.


Mehreena Khan
6th January 2011

The Tell Tale Heart: Soul Jam - Mehreena Aziz Khan

In the last few days, many of my fellow countrymen have been posting videos from Coke Studios second season airing this month on Pakistani television channels. Sitting in my apartment unit in Sydney, Australia, the status updates and YouTube posts keep me well updated on what is happening back home, whether it’s the bewailing of another deadly bomb attack, jubilation over restoration of the judiciary, or the laments and joy over cricketing performances.

For one accustomed to chilling reportage of the Swat operation, shedding tears over fallen martyrs in the war against the Taliban or cringing at videos of young girls being flogged in public, the Coke Studio videos were a veritable breath, nay gust of fresh air.

For one accustomed to chilling reportage of the Swat operation, shedding tears over fallen martyrs in the war against the Taliban or cringing at videos of young girls being flogged in public, the Coke Studio videos were a veritable breath, nay gust of fresh air.

This is the Pakistan I know and the one I grew up in. Rich with talent both folk and pop, both classical and modern. Where talented music and video producers have the skill to conduct creative experiments and come up with top-notch productions despite meager resources and training. Knowing a lot of the people behind the project personally, I know for a fact that most never attended a musical academy or formally studied production. They just have raw talent and determination, while their skills are self-taught. Whether it was learning to strum the guitar or the keyboard keys through books, or learning the ropes of music and video production from the internet.

One by one, the performances began and ended with aplomb, with every performer putting their soul into it, and the jam sessions began to feel like a balm for the embittered Pakistani soul - a soul wounded by violence and internal strife. This is the Pakistan that easily married the glory and timelessness of traditional folklore with modern pop. Where globalization and modernization enjoyed a peaceful and respectful camaradie with the historical and classical.

When two girls from Peshawar sang timeless quatrains of Omer Khayyam at the melodious strumming of the rabab, they evoked nostalgia for the beautiful heritage of the war-torn mess Afghanistan and parts of NWFP have become. Before the time where girls had their faces burnt with acid, their schools shut down and their teachers shot. Before CD shops were burnt, before ancient statues were ruthlessly bombed and before classical musicians were issued death threats and boycotted into oblivion. If only we could manage modernization and progress while preserving our culture as smoothly as the adept synchronization of western percussion instruments with the classic rabab by Rohail Hyatt's team.

All the performances were marked with the same characteristic. Saieen Zahoor's melodious rendition of verses of ancient wisdom reminded one of the Sufi poetry and mindset that once helped spread Islam in the Subcontinent. A time when love, poetry, tolerance and a deep respect for human values was the mode for propagation of religious sentiments. How the scene has changed since then. And as Saieen's voice died down, a fashionably bearded Ali Noor and his brother Ali Hamza took up the tune… both dressed in western attire, both ably carrying the tune forward and representing the modern face of Pakistani music with a sensibility and respect for their musical heritage.

The performance evoked memories of Zia-era PTV when Muhammad Ali Sheikhi and Allan Fakir's "Allah Allah kar bhayya" became hugely popular as the original pop-meets-folk ditty. A time when the likes of Nazia and Zoheb were banned from television. The triumphant re-emergence of pop music after the end of the Zia era, when youthful raw talent like Vital Signs and Jupiters sang jubilant and hope-filled anthems on the eve of Benazir's promised era of liberalization.

When I had returned to Pakistan in 2004 after spending a number of years in Germany, I found a vastly changed media landscape in the wake of the satellite television revolution. But a stark dichotomy was visible in television content as one click would take you from devout rant of Aalim Online or bearded mullahs talking about the intricacies of performing ablution, to the tantalizing gyrations of the likes of Nimra or scantily clad local models at a glitzy fashion show. The neutral majority found itself feeling alienated by both.

When I had returned to Pakistan in 2004 after spending a number of years in Germany, I found a vastly changed media landscape in the wake of the satellite television revolution. But a stark dichotomy was visible in television content as one click would take you from devout rant of Aalim Online or bearded mullahs talking about the intricacies of performing ablution, to the tantalizing gyrations of the likes of Nimra or scantily clad local models at a glitzy fashion show. The neutral majority found itself feeling alienated by both. The Coke Studio performances on the other hand seem to symbolize a balanced middle ground between the two extremes. At the same time they are a quantum leap from the pre-millenium PTV era of uninspired performance clips featuring rubab, tabla and other folk instruments that would dot the broadcast back then.

So hats off to all involved with the production and that, along with the welcome news of Pakistan's victories in the Twenty20 World Cup at the moment, is what I want my news of Pakistan to keep on being filled of: feats in arts and sports rather than deadly bombings and floggings.

Until next time its cheers from Aussie mate!

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