Monday, July 18, 2011

Why My Father Hated India




  From The Wall Street Journal (16/7/2011)

 

     By Aatish Taseer 
( Ten days before the father was assassinated in January,)

  My father,  Salman Taseer, sent out a tweet about an Indian rocket that
  had come  down over the Bay of Bengal: "Why does India make fools of
  themselves  messing in space technology? Stick 2 bollywood my
  advice."My father  was the governor of Punjab, Pakistan's largest province,
  and his  tweet, with its taunt at India's misfortune, would have
  delighted his  many thousands of followers. It fed straight into
  Pakistan's unhealthy  obsession with India, the country from which it was carved
  in  1947.Though my father's attitude went down well in
  Pakistan, it had  caused considerable tension between us. I am half-Indian,
  raised in  Delhi by my Indian mother: India is a country that I
  consider my own.  When my father was killed by one of his own bodyguards for
  defending a  Christian woman accused of blasphemy, we had not spoken for
  three  years.

To understand the Pakistani obsession with India, to
  get a sense  of its special edge & its hysteria, it is necessary
  to understand  the rejection of India, its culture and past, that lies at
  the heart  of the idea of Pakistan. This is not merely an academic
  question.  Pakistan's animus toward India is the cause of both its
  unwillingness  to fight Islamic extremism and its active complicity in
  undermining the aims of its ostensible ally, the United States.The idea
 of  Pakistan was first seriously formulated by neither a cleric
  nor a  politician but by a poet. In 1930, Muhammad Iqbal,
  addressing the  All-India Muslim league, made the case for a state in which
  India's  Muslims would realize their "political and ethical
  essence." Though he  was always vague about what the new state would be, he was quite clear  about what it would not be: the old pluralistic society of
  India, with  its composite culture.Iqbal's vision took concrete shape in
  August  1947. Despite the partition of British India, it had seemed
  at first  that there would be no transfer of populations. But
  violence erupted,  and it quickly became clear that in the new homeland for
  India's  Muslims, there would be no place for its non-Muslim
  communities. 

 Pakistan and India came into being at the cost of a million
  lives and the largest migration in history.This shared experience of
  carnage and  loss is the foundation of the modern relationship between
  the two  countries. In human terms, it meant that each of my
  parents, my father  in Pakistan and my mother in India, grew up around
  symmetrically  violent stories of uprooting and homelessness.

But in Pakistan, the  partition had another, deeper meaning. It raised big
  questions, in  cultural and civilizational terms, about what its
  separation from  India would mean.In the absence of a true national
  identity, Pakistan  defined itself by its opposition to India. It turned its
  back on all  that had been common between Muslims and non-Muslims in the
  era before  partition. Everything came under suspicion, from dress to
  customs to  festivals, marriage rituals and literature. The new country
  set itself  the task of erasing its association with the subcontinent,
  an  association that many came to view as a contamination.Had
  this  assertion of national identity meant the casting out of
  something  alien or foreign in favor of an organic or homegrown
  identity, it  might have had an empowering effect. What made it
  self-wounding, even  nihilistic, was that Pakistan, by asserting a new Arabized
  Islamic  identity, rejected its own local and regional culture. In
  trying to  turn its back on its shared past with India, Pakistan
  turned its back  on itself.

But there was one problem: India was just across
  the border,  and it was still its composite, pluralistic self, a place
  where nearly  as many Muslims lived as in Pakistan. It was a daily
  reminder of the  past that Pakistan had tried to erase.Pakistan's
  existential confusion  made itself apparent in the political turmoil of the
  decades after  partition. The state failed to perform a single legal
  transfer of  power; coups were commonplace. And yet, in 1980, my father
  would still  have felt that the partition had not been a mistake, for
  one critical  reason: India, for all its democracy and pluralism, was an
  economic  disaster.Pakistan had better roads, better cars; Pakistani
  businesses  were thriving; its citizens could take foreign currency
  abroad.  Compared with starving, socialist India, they were on much
  surer  ground. So what if India had democracy? It had brought
  nothing but  drought and famine.

But in the early 1990s, a reversal began
  to occur  in the fortunes of the two countries. The advantage that
  Pakistan had  seemed to enjoy in the years after independence evaporated,
  as it  became clear that the quest to rid itself of its Indian
  identity had  come at a price: the emergence of a new and dangerous brand
  of  Islam.As India rose, thanks to economic liberalization,
  Pakistan  withered. The country that had begun as a poet's utopia was
  reduced to  ruin and insolvency.The primary agent of this decline has
  been the  Pakistani army. The beneficiary of vast amounts of American
  assistance  and money, $11 billion since 9/11, the military has
  diverted a  significant amount of these resources to arming itself
  against India. 

 In Afghanistan, it has sought neither security nor
  stability but  rather a backyard, which, once the Americans leave, might
  provide  Pakistan with "strategic depth" against India.In order to
  realize  these objectives, the Pakistani army has led the U.S. in a
  dance, in  which it had to be seen to be fighting the war on terror,
  but never so  much as to actually win it, for its extension meant the
  continuing  flow of American money. All this time the army kept alive a
  double  game, in which some terror was fought and some, such as
  Laskhar-e-Tayyba's 2008 attack on Mumbai, actively
  supported.The  army's duplicity was exposed decisively this May, with the
  killing of  Osama bin Laden in the garrison town of Abbottabad. It was
  only the  last and most incriminating charge against an institution
  whose  activities over the years have included the creation of the
  Taliban,  the financing of international terrorism and the running of
  a  lucrative trade in nuclear secrets.This army, whose might
  has always  been justified by the imaginary threat from India, has been
  more  harmful to Pakistan than to anybody else.

 It has consumed
  annually a  quarter of the country's wealth, undermined one civilian
  government  after another and enriched itself through a range of
  economic  interests, from bakeries and shopping malls to huge
  property  holdings.The reversal in the fortunes of the two countries,
  India's  sudden prosperity and cultural power, seen next to the
  calamity of  Muhammad Iqbal's unrealized utopia, is what explains the
  bitterness of  my father's tweet just days before he died. It captures the
  rage of  being forced to reject a culture of which you feel
  effortlessly a  part, a culture that Pakistanis, via Bollywood, experience
  daily in  their homes.This rage is what makes it impossible to reduce
  Pakistan's  obsession with India to matters of security or a land
  dispute in  Kashmir. It can heal only when the wounds of 1947 are
  healed. And it  should provoke no triumphalism in India, for behind the
  bluster and  the bravado, there is arid pain and sadness.

  Mr. Taseer is the author of "Stranger to History: A Son's
  Journey  Through Islamic Lands." His second novel, "Noon," will be
  published in  the U.S. in September.




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