I thought this time it would be different. I read
article after article of thoughtful, nuanced commentary. I applauded writers,
Muslim and non-Muslim alike, who referenced Islam’s rich history and diversity.
I nodded gravely at the equivalences that some writers and cartoonists were
drawing between the latest spate of cartoons and the racist and anti-Semitic
cartoons of the past (http://www.theguardian.com/world/ng-interactive/2015/jan/09/joe-sacco-on-satire-a-response-to-the-attacks?CMP=share_btn_fb).
I cheered at those who pointed out the inconsistencies of our stance on free
speech. I grieved for the cartoonists – he who takes a life, it is as if he has
killed all of mankind. And I thought, maybe we’ve grown up. Maybe we can deal
with complexity. Maybe we can examine ourselves and acknowledge the complicity
of our nations, corporations and political leaders in horrific events taking
place in the world – that we see and do not see. And then I read the comments
below Pankaj Mishra’s latest Guardian article and I finally snapped. (http://www.theguardian.com/news/2015/jan/20/-sp-after-paris-its-time-for-new-enlightenment)
Because after hearing yet another person mock
religion as being a childish sky-God fantasy of no value, and hearing yet
another person naively champion the Enlightened West against the Backward Other
of Islam, and hearing yet another person confidently state that Islam is
inherently conservative, inherently violent, and so dismiss 1400 years of a
complex history, I have had enough. Enough being told what I believe by
complete strangers. Enough mockery of a tradition by whose wisdom I do my best
to live, even as I challenge and critique it and sometimes even rail against it.
Enough implications (no matter how subtle) that no matter how white I look, or
how middle-class and law-abiding my lifestyle, or how liberal and pluralistic
my values, or how straight-up BBC my accent, I do not belong simply by virtue
of my religion. Enough valuing of some lives more than others. Enough looking
the other way as the political leaders for whom I did not vote are complicit in
the mass killing of innocents in the guise of stopping terrorism.
I am not opposed to the careful critical analysis
of the doctrines and history of the different interpretations of Islam. I am
not opposed to speaking truth to power, even (especially) when that power is
conservative religious clerics who take their partial, punitive, historically
myopic interpretation of Islam and try to impose it by their military and
economic might. But I don’t think the Charlie Hebdo cartoons were either of
those things. There were a million other ways of satirising some of the more
ridiculous, or oppressive, interpretations of Islam. The cleric who condemned the
building of snowmen as idolatry is a pretty soft target. Western journalists
could even have taken a leaf out of the books of the Persian and Central Asian
cultural traditions and told Molla Nasreddin jokes, many of which poke fun at
the presumptions of the religious establishment. By targeting the Prophet, by
demonising Islam rather than those who oppress others in its name, the
so-called upholders of free speech do no more than alienate their potential
allies, those Muslims who are deeply critical of the oppressive policies of
many Muslim states and who see themselves as proud citizens of the countries in
which they make their homes. I count myself in that.
I am on the liberal fringe of an already-liberal
Muslim community, one that has assimilated into British life without much
fanfare and got on with the business of being productive citizens and giving
back to society through volunteering, a community that places emphasis on human
dignity, has built girls’ schools in remote regions of Northern Pakistan, and
is often persecuted in Muslim-majority countries. I am deeply grateful for the
freedoms that I have in Britain and deeply appreciative of the rich artistic,
scientific, literary, academic and cultural heritage I have grown up with
living in London. And even I have had enough. I would suggest that when even
your most liberal, proud-to-be British, Muslim citizens are trying to tell you
that there’s a problem with the way that some people demonise and mock Islam
and Muslims, maybe there’s a problem.
I did not expect that I would be this angry. I will
channel my anger into fighting back with the pen (or the keyboard), into
showing at least my small corner of the world how much wisdom, how much
richness, there is in this religion that I love and live by, while not being
blind to the oppression and injustice carried out in its name. I will continue
to speak truth to power. I will channel my rage into seeking to listen and
learn and understand and find better ways of living together. But I now
understand, in a way that I did not before, that were I less privileged, more
marginalised, more excluded, less hopeful, this same anger would have found
more destructive outlets.
We cannot afford to go on mocking, marginalising
and provoking our minorities, be they “benefit cheats” or “sky-God fanatics.”
We may not agree with each other, indeed, we may think that the other is
fundamentally wrong or misguided or even dangerous, but that does not take away
the other’s humanity and dignity. And while words may not be sticks and stones,
they have power – to hurt or heal, to dehumanise or uphold. So I find
underneath my anger a resolve to be more sensitive to my own language and to
use words to seek to understand, rather than to denigrate. It’s not much, it’s
hardly a drop in the ocean in the face of these seemingly insurmountable
problems, but it’s what I have.
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