Editoral-Lost territory By Hajrah Mumtaz

GIVEN that Pakistan presents not only a daunting but even an actively hostile environment for the arts, one is thankful that the people who employ culture to beat back obscurantism are soldiering on.

In a country where bombings and targeted attacks are now the norm, which is a frontline state against the war on terror and fighting a hydra-headed insurgency within its borders, it would perhaps seem unlikely that cultural activities of various sorts continue to exist.

In Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad, the scene at first glance appears alive and kicking, albeit in Pakistan’s relative terms. And the ranks of old stalwarts such as the Rafi Peer Theatre Workshop, Ajoka Theatre, Tehrik-i-Niswan, Lok Rehas, Katha and the Karachi Drama Circle have swelled over the years.

But a closer look shows that such activities are increasingly under direct attack. Ajoka has faced threats and bans. The RPTW World Performing Arts Festival was the target of a fortunately small incendiary device in 2008, as were two theatre halls in Lahore. Karachi’s Shanakht Festival was disrupted last year when certain quarters objected to an artist’s depiction of a political figure.

Everywhere, the space, money and interest for cultural activities is on the decline. And, as the country moves slowly but surely towards the right, so is there growing intolerance for multiple or less pedestrian points of views. The deep-rooted prejudice against the arts that was fostered during the Zia era is returning with a vengeance and while performance artists soldier on, they are increasingly forced to do so under wraps, in protected spaces.

They are forced to work mainly in large urban areas, Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi, to be precise, where space, audiences and interest for their sort of work still exist. The growing lack of space is exemplified, to me, by the death of a student at the Peshawar University this March: he was severely beaten up by members of a right-wing political party because — and this is the really crazy part — he was playing music in his hostel room.

Most people seem to agree that things in Pakistan will probably get worse before they get better.

What future does this spell for cultural space in Pakistan? Should we learn from the fate of poor Adnan Abdul Qadir, the Peshawar University student, and stifle our desire to listen to music, even in a private space? Should we abandon the country’s theatre halls, cinemas and exhibition halls because they may at any moment be targeted? Let them moulder away in disuse, to be resurrected a couple of times a year to deliver sycophantic presentations on the country’s greatness and its achievements? Or worse, leave them to be converted into giant shopping malls that only a fraction of the population can afford to enter?

Concerts on any notable scale have already disappeared. It’s not an official ban; it’s just that the relevant provincial government or city administration inform would-be organisers that security cannot be assured for a large, public and possibly volatile gathering of people. So, no more concerts. Festivals are going the same way. The RPTW World Performing Arts Festival, one of the country’s best ambassadors to the world at large, could not be held last year because of both the lack of funding — the economy is in no good shape — and security concerns.

There is no end to the path we are in the process of irrevocably committing ourselves to. After music, theatre and cinema, what will we lose next? Literary gatherings, conferences, mushairas and poetry readings? Many of our most celebrated poets were at different times thought controversial enough for even the state to ban. What will the extremists think of them?

So, the answer lies not in pulling ourselves in a little further every time the extremists shout, but in fighting back — not only to retain control of what we have but also to regain the cultural and public space that we have ceded. It is not only our right but also a vital avenue of countering the wave of medievalism that is poised to engulf us wholly.

Culture and its associated activities are not just about entertainment; at root they’re about exploring and creating a national identity, debating who we are and where we came from and where we now want to go. The arts are a vital avenue of education and self-awareness. Through these means a society examines its characteristics, orientation and politics, and forges links with its history and context.

This function is crucial to Pakistan, given how much the question of our identity is in flux. We should learn the lessons taught by a range of realities from Lal Masjid to the Taliban to the revenge of our erstwhile jihadi friends: that even in the apparently unshakable edifice of Pakistani-hood combined with Muslim-hood, there are major, even murderous differences of opinion.

The generation now consolidating power is one that was raised with confused and half-truthful notions of history, religion, nationalism and politics, and the interplay between them. Most of us have for so long been force-fed manufactured constructions about this country’s history, context and destiny that they are taken as assumed truths. An unnoticed casualty has been our cultural truths. The resulting project to forcibly homogenise society and viewpoints is today manifested in attacks on our freedoms that range in gravity from the Peshawar University student’s death to making us shun public places and fear any forum that the right-wing extremists may take a dislike to.

To bring ourselves back from the brink, we must not only reassert ourselves culturally but also re-stake our claim to all the public space that the extremists have made us fear, not just the cinemas and theatres but even the parks that women enter under threat of harassment. We must retake all the streets and towns and boulevards from which regressive forces have forced us out.

Meanwhile, let us remember that the performing arts and literature are powerful tools that can be used to the great advantage of the country’s liberal and peaceful elements. There are times when a side, and a stand, has to be taken: by stepping back, we do nothing other than yield space to the extremists who will for ever hanker after more.

hajrahmumtaz@gmail.com

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