A crass decision by the Punjab government – Guest post by Sakib Ahmad
The government of the Punjab has made a decision to require all schools in the province to introduce English as the medium of instruction from the beginning of the next school year. I cannot find words strong enough to condemn this absurd educational policy, which will have a monumental effect on our development as a nation. If we are to extend Pakistan’s current low literacy rate of around 45% to full literacy in the shortest possible time then the only realistic option is to educate the population in the language they can understand, that is, Urdu. Spread of education will open up people’s dormant abilities and enable them to express their suppressed genius in all sorts of ways – to enrich their own lives and the life of the nation.
Historical background
Politically, Pakistan has been independent since 14 August 1947 but, in a deeper sense, it seems never to have enjoyed true freedom. The country’s Establishment and the middle class servicing it, comprising at most less than 5% of the population, receive their education in English, much as they would have done under the British in the pre-1947 era. Consequently, much of the business of the state continues to be transacted in a similar manner to that the British had imposed on their subjects. The Pakistanis who have managed to arm themselves with an English education may be said to comprise the new Raj, lording over the remaining 95% of Pakistan’s population educated in Urdu.
Quaid-e-Azam understood the danger of the newly independent Pakistan’s descent into intellectual slavery if nothing was done to wean it away from its attachment to the language of its colonial masters. He felt that the colonial language of government and administration, English, had to be replaced by an indigenous solution. The only language that could meet this requirement was Urdu, which the Muslims living in India habitually used for communicating with each other. This remains true today. The Punjabis, the Sindhis, the Pakhtuns, the Balochis and the Kashmiris, all have their own regional languages but they are never at a loss to communicate with each other because of the existence of Urdu. Moreover, none of the regional languages is as well developed as Urdu and some are merely spoken languages. As a Punjabi, I have come across Punjabi poetry in the Urdu script but there is scant evidence of the existence of Punjabi fictional or non-fictional works.
English, on the other hand, is a foreign language which only a small minority of Pakistanis understands but it has been foisted on the nation by a privileged class which has clung to it throughout Pakistan’s existence.
Our national inferiority complex
The continuation of an essentially colonial system has had a devastating effect on the Pakistani psyche and on the country’s economic development. The exaggerated importance given to an alien language and, inevitably, the culture associated with it, has produced a Pakistani elite suffering from a deep-seated sense of inferiority. They assume a fawning attitude before the Americans and the British but act with extreme haughtiness towards fellow Pakistanis who lack the vulgar trappings of ill gotten wealth and power. This is clearly seen when a relatively junior American official such as Richard Holbrooke visits Pakistan and receives red carpet treatment. This uncouth American delivers humiliating lectures to members of Pakistan’s governing class – the president, the prime minister and other grandees among them – who breathlessly hold on to his every word. No one dares to tell the bully that:
- the Americans’ Asian wars have cost Pakistan some 50 billion dollars;
- that we have lost well over 20,000 officers and men of the Pakistan army while the American losses amount to a tiny fraction of our loss;
- that we have a right to demand that the USA compensates for our losses;
- that the twisted policies of the USA administration have directly threatened the life and property of our citizens;
- that our military is horribly stretched and we wish to call a halt to the military advance and consolidate our position;
- that it is now time for the USA and NATO to “do more” – while Pakistan has achieved military success the Americans and the Europeans have failed miserably;
- that the USA should withdraw its army of spies and private contractors (Blackwater/Dyncorp) from Pakistan (whose presence in Pakistan the American Secretary of Defence, Robert Gates, has admitted);
- that our room for manoeuvre is limited because of the intransigence of our neighbour on our eastern border, who refuses to resolve long festering issues;
- that the American legislation following upon the heels of the Kerry-Lugar bill is an abomination that we could do without – we need trade not aid but when our Prime Minister raises this issue with the American bully he gets a firm rap on his knuckles;
- above all, that we are sick of being an American client state and we wish to snap out of that state of almost total dependence.
A national deception
The privileged Pakistani class which has rammed English down the throats of Pakistanis is fond of justifying this abomination by dishonestly claiming that Urdu is a “foreign” language spoken by a minority of Pakistanis! They reinforce this deception by presenting the regional languages of Pakistan as rivals to Urdu for imparting education to our children. I know of no Punjabi who has ever claimed that Punjabi should be introduced as the medium of instruction in schools. Only members of Pakistan’s westernised sub-class, cut off from our historical and cultural links, would make this ridiculous claim. The fact is that our forefathers, irrespective of their regional backgrounds, contributed to the development, enrichment and popularity of Urdu. Iqbal, Faiz, Qudratullah Shahab, Manto, Dr Syed Abdullah, Mumtaz Mufti, Inayatullah Khan Al-Mashriqi, and hundreds of others, were all non-Urdu speakers and yet their love of Urdu was boundless. They accepted that, realistically, this was the only language which could claim to be the language of communication among the Muslims of India and the people of Pakistan.
The link between economic development and language
As for the effect of Pakistan’s colonial system on its economic development, this was the subject of an e-mail exchange between me and a well-known Pakistani columnist. He was of the opinion that the slow pace of Pakistan’s economic development, and widespread poverty in the country, stemmed exclusively from the kind of rotten leadership that we have had over the years. My position was that the leadership issue was important but it was overshadowed by the more fundamental factor of not being able to harness the full potential of the intellectual resources of the Pakistani nation because of the stranglehold of English on our national life. The points I made are summarized below:
- We have a culture in Pakistan where, by and large, people refuse to recognize intelligence unless it is expressed through the medium of a language which is alien to the vast majority of Pakistanis. Our national psyche has been conditioned to such an extent that we consider a mediocre person speaking bad English to be more intelligent than a near genius from a poor background whose intelligence manifests itself only in Urdu. A lot of these mediocre people then go on to occupy positions of influence and power while the real brainpower of the nation rots unrecognized!
- In my opinion, it is this mental subjugation to our erstwhile colonial masters – and, indeed, to our current de facto colonial masters, the Americans – which is the greatest obstacle to our economic progress as a nation and to our shameless capitulation before the Americans. Our national inferiority complex in relation to the English language has resulted in criminal waste and destruction of our intellectual capital on a massive scale, affecting perhaps more than 95% of our population. The remaining 5% of the population, which is able to educate its children in the foreign language that dominates our national life, simply cannot produce able people in sufficiently large numbers to meet the needs of the country.
- At one time China and South Korea were both categorised with Pakistan as ‘developing nations’ but they have since broken out of that straitjackjet while Pakistan has stood still. The reason is that those countries were able to harness the talent and genius of their populations by the simple means of spreading education in the language that people spoke. Thus, they were able to utilise their full intellectual resources for national development while we unfortunate Pakistanis depended, to a very large extent, on the 5% or so of “English educated” exploiting class. The Chinese, the Koreans, the Malaysians and the Japanese managed to develop their languages to a point where the whole population could participate in the development of the country but we Pakistanis continued with our love affair with English at the expense of Urdu. It is still not too late – the amazing developments in computer software have made it possible for us to follow the example of so-called “Asian tigers”.
- In view of the significant position that English occupies in the world today it would be in our interests to continue to teach it as a foreign language in our schools while introducing Urdu as the medium of instruction in ALL schools in Pakistan (the Punjab government’s crass decision is quite the reverse of this policy).
- We need to take concrete steps to raise the status of Urdu in Pakistan and to enable it to progressively replace English in an ever-widening sphere of our national life. For example, the country’s leadership should adopt a simple rule to always address the nation in Urdu, all official correspondence between members of the public and government departments/ institutions should be conducted in Urdu, proceedings in a court of law, so far as possible, should take place in Urdu, and so on.
- There are supplementary factors which play an important part as well – political stability is important but the type of governance less so. Among the success stories are: communist China, the constitutional monarchy of Japan and democratic nations with varying degrees of civic freedoms: South Korea, Malaysia and Taiwan.
Conclusion
We Pakistanis have wasted our years of independence serving foreign masters and getting the wealth of the country plundered by greedy and power hungry civilian and military dictators. Our unstable political system can, at best, be described as a fake democracy where the large political parties are merely vehicles to serve the interests of a particular family or a privileged class. Elections are held only nationally, not within the so-called political parties. This system gives rise to weak institutions, social and economic injustice, and exploitation on a massive scale.
Saleem Safi, who seems to me to be a rising star of Pakistan’s journalistic firmament, has written an excellent article in Urdu concerning the nature of Pakistan’s politicians, and the political parties they belong to: “Jamhooriyat ya khaandaani baadshaahat” can be read by clicking here.
A thought provoking post. While I agree with your idea that Urdu needs to be supported, and that we need to have a uniform system of education in Pakistan, I think it is not only Urdu but also various regional languages, e.g. Sindhi, Pushto, Balochi, Punjabi and others, which need to be supported in the respective region, along with Urdu. Unlike English, all of these languages are indigenous to the country, and hence supporting them will strengthen, not weaken, Urdu.
I do agree that children should learn at least primary education in the language that they feel comfortable speaking at home. However I wish the author had been more as critical of Jinnah sahib’s promotion of Urdu over other regional languages as he was of the promotion of English by our colonial masters.
Dear Abdul and Rabia,
The article is primarily concerned with the Punjab government’s decision to replace Urdu by English as the medium of instruction in all schools throughout the Punjab. The emphasis, therefore, is on Urdu because it is the only indigenous solution which is acceptable to all Pakistanis as the lingua franca.
As for Pakistan’s regional languages, certainly they must be allowed to flourish within each region where they are spoken. As a Punjabi myself, I wouldn’t wish it otherwise. The relationship of our regional languages to Urdu can be likened to that of Welsh in relation to English in the United Kingdom. The Welsh tend to be bi-lingual in Welsh and English, which enables them to revel in the richness of the local language and culture and still be able to play a full part at the national level.
Jinnah’s own language was Gujarati and he spoke little Urdu. His command of English, however, was impeccable as he lived almost his entire life under the British Raj. It was because of his close contact with western civilisation, and his insight into the human condition, that he insisted on adopting an indigenous language at the national level for the newly created Pakistan: to give a sense of pride to the new nation and to treat all citizens fairly. If he erred at all it was in relation to Bangla, which is a developed language in the sense that Urdu is and which arouses passionate devotion among the Bengalis. So far as Pakistan is concerned that is now a dead issue and further discussion is pointless.
The story of how our feudal society resisted the spread of education in Pakistan, and the way our civil servants outsmarted government ministers to perpetuate the hold of English in our national life, is described in considerable detail in the incomparable ‘Shahab Nama’ by Qudratullah Shahab.
This is from The News today:
Plain words
Monday, January 25, 2010
Chris Cork
A discussion about an academic paper on teaching methodologies was the blue touch-paper for this week’s musings. There was nothing wrong with the paper; it laid out the arguments, detailed the research and came to a satisfactory conclusion. I know personally — rather than at a cyber-distance — the person who wrote it and they speak impeccable ‘BBC’ English. Highly intelligent and articulate, an education professional for many years, and whilst I could not fault the paper itself, there was a lot we had to discuss about the language — because the language of the paper was very different to the cut-glass English that they spoke in daily usage.
English as spoken in England varies enormously from place to place. A person from Glasgow might be almost inbomprehensible to one from London and vice-versa. Local dialects are sprinkled with vernacular words that mean nothing to those living in a different set of valleys or county. The English spoken in Wales — a province to the west of the UK — is heavily laced with the Welsh language, and road signs are in English and Welsh. Gaelic is still spoken in the western isles of Scotland and it was only in the last decade that the last speaker of the Cornish language died. Cumbrian shepherds count their sheep using a numeric that is probably Nordic — yan, tan, tethera, tethera, pethera, pimp, sethera, methera, hovera, dik — and the Fenlands of eastern England still have remnants of ‘Olde Englysshe’ in the dialect. So…English as spoken in Pakistan has its variations as well, they are fewer as it tends to be more homogenous being taught as a foreign language, but even so I can detect a difference between ‘Karachi English’ and ‘Lahore English’, for instance. It has evolved as a dialect of English and will continue to do so. All linguistically very healthy and right and proper. But the written word…now that is a different matter.
If there is one single characteristic that stands out for me after reading countless thousands of essays, papers, reports and begging letters in Pakistani English (would anybody be offended if I called it ‘Paklish’?) it would be ‘grovelling.’ There is a wheedling sycophancy, a needless deployment of unwarranted hyperbole amongst the esteemed authors and aspiring students. It is almost Dickensian in its hand-wringing unctuousness. It was there in the paper that set me scribbling this week and I thought it worth mentioning to the author. They agreed, but said that if the ‘polishing’ element, the groveling and sucking up, was omitted it would be seen as a sign of disrespect by the person to whom the paper was directed and that it might harm the authors chances of advancement — all of which I understood immediately and knew subliminally anyway.
On further discussion we arrived at a position where there wnuld be a cover sheet for the document that explained that it was written in plain English, without embellishment or artifice, and that no slight was intended to the esteemed and honourable recipient thereof, who under normal circumstances would be weighed down with accolades and testimonials to their undying whatever-it-was, and could they please read in the knowledge that the author will continue to pay adoration to their relatives no matter how distant for the rest of their lives.
Whether or not this will ever get through the firewall of cultural conservatism I have no idea, but may I conclude this week with a plea for plain English in the written form? Moreover, an English that reflects the dignity and worth of the author rather than panders to the vanities of the person to whom it is addressed. Message ends…over and out.
The writer is a British social worker settled in Pakistan. Email: manticore73@gmail .com
http://thenews.jang.com.pk/daily_detail.asp?id=220570
پنجاب پنجابی پر شرمندہ!
اسد علی | 2010-01-27 ،12:37
کچھ عرصہ پہلے لندن یونیورسٹی میں ایک پاکستانی طالبہ بتا رہی تھیں کہ کیسے بچپن میں جب وہ پہلی بار لندن آئیں تو انہیں یہ دیکھ کر حیرت ہوتی تھی کہ یہاں پاکستانی بچے صرف پنجابی اور انگریزی بولتے تھے۔ انہیں اردو نہیں آتی تھی۔
میں نے حیرت کی وجہ جاننی چاہی تو جواب ملا کہ پاکستان میں تو انہیں یہی معلوم تھا کہ ‘پنجابی نوکروں سے، ان پڑھ لوگوں سے یا گلی محلے کے بچوں سے بولتے ہیں۔ بات جاری رکھتے ہوئے انہوں نے کہا کہ اس کے علاوہ پنجابی اس وقت بھی سننے کو ملتی تھی جب امی ابو میں لڑائی ہوتی تھی۔’
ان کا پنجاب میں گزرے بچپن کا یہی تاثر تھا کہ پنجابی صرف وہ بولتا ہے جسے انگریزی یا اردو نہیں آتی۔
اس کے اگلے روز ہی لندن کی الفورڈ لین میں سندھ سے تعلق رکھنے والے ایک وکیل سے ملاقات ہوئی۔ باتوں باتوں میں موضوع گفتگو ‘پنجابی طالبان’ ہو گیا۔ اسی دوران پھر انہوں نے جاننا چاہا کیا واقعی پنجاب میں لوگ بچوں کو پنجابی میں بات چیت سے روکتے ہیں۔
پنجاب کے موجودہ ماحول سے واقف لوگ اتفاق کریں گے کہ اس کا جواب یقیناً ہاں میں ہی ہو سکتا تھا۔ پنجاب میں ایک طبقہ ہے جو مادری زبان کی اہمیت پر زور دیتا ہے، پنجابی کے ادبی ورثے پر فخر کرتا ہے لیکن اپنے بچوں سے انگریزی یا اردو میں بات کرتا ہے۔
ان میں ایسے لوگ بھی شامل ہیں جن کے بچوں کے نام مقامی ورثے سے لیے گئے ہیں لیکن وہ بچے اس ورثے سے ناواقف ہیں اور مادری زبان نہیں بول سکتے۔
اس کے برعکس ایک دوسرا طبقہ ہے جو بچوں کو پنجابی زبان بولنے سے روکتا ہے، بلکہ کئی لوگ اس معاملے میں سختی بھی کرتے ہیں۔ ان سے بات کرنے پر جواب ملتا ہے کہ سارے دانشور خود تو بچوں کو انگریزی یا اردو سکھاتے ہیں اور چاہتے ہیں کہ ہمارے بچے زندگی میں پیچھے رہ جائیں۔
پاکستانی اشرافیہ میں ایسے لوگ بھی ہیں جن کے خیال میں پنجابی صرف ‘بات چیت کی زبان ہے اس کا پڑھائی لکھائی سے کیا تعلق’۔
بات پھر ‘پنجابی طالبان’ کی طرف پلٹ گئی۔ نتیجہ یہی نکلا کہ کسی بھی معاشرے کی اقدار اس کی شاعری اور ادب، المختصر اس کی زبان میں محفوظ ہوتی ہیں اور جب لوگ زبان چھوڑ دیتے ہیں تو ان اقدار اور روایات سے بھی دور ہو جاتے ہیں جو ایک تاریخی عمل سے وجود پاتی ہیں۔ پاکستانی معاشرے میں انتشار اور شکست و ریخت کی بھی شاید یہی وجہ ہے۔
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/urdu/2010/01/post_582.html
Those who have read this article may like to know that further comments have been posted at my blog. These can be read here:
http://sakibahmad.blogspot.com/2010/01/punjab-governments-own-goal.html#comments
If, having read those comments, you are moved to add your own comments, please do.
Promote Urdu – and reform it
Monday, February 08, 2010
Asif Ezdi
In November, the Karachi Arts Council hosted the “Second Alami Urdu Conference” (Urdu International Conference). The event attracted an impressive constellation of literati from within Pakistan, besides a few from abroad, and produced many learned discourses on Urdu literature, mostly its past. But whatever the meeting might have done for Urdu literature, it is not likely to be remembered for any contribution it made to the promotion of the language. Judging from the programme and the papers read, that does not seem to have been on the minds of either the organisers or the participants.
Since Independence, Urdu has no doubt made great strides in its geographical spread and popularity. It is the mother tongue of less than a tenth of the population but is understood and spoken in all corners of the country. It is accepted because it does not seek to displace, or even compete with, the local mother tongue and because it has been naturalised in Pakistan. It is spoken in different regional idioms and accents, each of which is as authentic as any in its original habitat across the border. This Pakistani Urdu is a national treasure of inestimable value, facilitating communication and cementing human bonds between people of different ethnicities living in different parts of the country and proud of their own languages and local traditions.
All this has taken place not because of any official patronage but in spite of step-motherly treatment from state. No government has been seriously interested in implementing Article 251 of the Constitution, under which arrangements were to be made by 1988 for the use of Urdu for official and other purposes. Government policies have actually had the effect of discouraging Urdu. English has been retained as it helps the bureaucracy to keep its grip on power and the ruling class to hold on to their position and privileges. Those who aspire to acceptance by the ruling elite also see English as a passport for entry into the club.
To 18th-century writer Samuel Johnson is attributed the dictum that languages are the pedigree of nations. In his days, this was probably largely true for a nation’s ethnic as well as its cultural lineage. Because of mass movements across national frontiers since then, language and ethnicity cannot be equated today. But Johnson’s aphorism remains true as far as the correlation between language and culture is concerned.
Language is the main vehicle for cultural expression and nations which take pride in their culture also take pride in their language. The way we treat Urdu is symptomatic of a bigger problem. It reflects also the way we – or at least our ruling elite – look at our own cultural pedigree. Nothing illustrates this attitude better than the fact that, instead of speaking in the national language, Zardari chose English when he took the oath of office as president and in both his speeches to parliament, although his delivery was halting and one could see how he was struggling to read from the prepared text.
Urdu is made up of a rich mix from three great linguistic streams: Sanskritic, Persian and Arabic. Words and constructions derived from all of these have been absorbed in a natural process spread over centuries. From time to time, proposals are made for the adoption of the roman script. This would be a folly. It will not only deprive future generations of access to much of our cultural heritage, but it will also cut off Urdu from two of three major sources of enrichment.
That is not to say that the Urdu script is perfect. A good alphabet is one in which each symbol or combination of symbols represents one and only one sound. If this criterion is to be met, a reform of the Urdu alphabet would be required in five areas:
First, the Urdu alphabet does not make adequate distinctions between some of the vowel sounds. This is because the Arabic script, on which Urdu writing is based, has eight vowels, while Urdu has ten. The two additional sounds are the following. (1) The vowel pronounced as ay in English, which is written in Urdu in the same way as ee. Thus the same Urdu word is pronounced as sher (lion) as well as shir (milk). (2) The vowel pronounced as “oh” in English, which is written in Urdu in the same way as oo. The same word can therefore be pronounced both as bo (the verb “sow”) and bu (“smell”). In Pashto, the first of these two problems has been solved by the introduction of a new diacritic to be placed below the letter ye and consisting of two vertical dots. This mark stands for the English ay. The same solution could be adopted in Urdu. Similarly, a new diacritic could be introduced to distinguish the sound o from oo.
Second, there are two vowel sounds from English which have now become a part of Urdu and will have to be accommodated in the script. These are (1) the English aw, as in the word form, which is written in Urdu exactly as the word “farm”; and (2) the English e as in set, which is written in Urdu exactly as sat. Sometimes, as in the Urdu word for pencil, the vowel e is not written, though it is pronounced. To overcome this problem, new diacritics will have to be devised for aw and e. In Hindi, a new diacritic has already been created for aw.
Third, since the letter vao and ye can be used both as vowels and consonants, a new diacritic could be introduced to signify the consonant form in order to distinguish it from the use of these letters as vowels. The place name Swat would be pronounced as sawat if vao is a consonant and as soat if vao is a vowel. The place name Lyari would be pronounced as liari if the letter ye is a vowel and as layari if it is a consonant.
Fourth, when two consonants come together at the beginning of a word of foreign origin without an intervening vowel, Urdu sometimes introduces a vowel between the consonants (e.g., English “glass” becomes gilas in Urdu) and sometimes it does not (e.g. English “school” is skul, not sakul or iskul.) For some Hindi words as well, the additional vowel is inserted in some cases, but not in all. Hindi brahman could either become barahman or remain brahman in Urdu. But Hindi kripan could become Urdu kirpan. A diacritic therefore needs to be created for cases where two consonants are pronounced together without the insertion of a vowel between them.
Fifth, to distinguish the use of the letter noon as a consonant from its use for nasalisation (noon ghunnan) in the middle of a word, a new diacritic could be introduced for the latter. This is important, because a word can have different meanings depending on whether the letter noon is being used as a consonant or for nasalisation. An example is the word hans. If noon in the middle is a consonant, the word means “swan” and if it is used for nasalisation, it means “laugh.”
In all, seven new diacritics would have to be introduced. Such a reform would not be too radical. Besides, the advantage of making the Urdu orthography more phonetic, it would also standardise the written form as well as the pronunciation.
The task of promoting Urdu is much broader than that of just making it the official language. It must also become the language of education, science and business. Granted, a huge effort is required. But the fruits will also be rich: not just better administration but also a more cohesive nation, cultural and intellectual flowering of the country and scientific and technological progress. The government’s attitude has so far been a hindrance rather than a help. A radical change of policy and approach will be necessary.
The writer is a former member of the Foreign Service. Email: asifezdi @yahoo.com
http://thenews.jang.com.pk/daily_detail.asp?id=223050
The retreat of the elite —Zaair Hussain
How has this schism become so advanced that the well-heeled have become aliens in their own land, by their own hand? There are many culprits, but few so guilty as language. The language of power and the language of the people are profoundly divided
A Pakistani comedian once remarked that the country’s elite were cloistering into ever-smaller bubbles. Like all good humour, the comment provoked reflection long after laughter had faded.
To recognise our bubble is to recognise how we view those outside; from within those curved lenses, all without is distorted and alien. Even the best-meaning of us will crush the labourer in with the farmer, the beggar with the shopkeeper, the postman with the servant. We affix upon “the masses” a homogenous mask, stripping them of their humanity. So ingrained is this habit, writing around that phrase was a painstaking task.
We dismiss them and they, for their part, resent us. They see us born into bubbles that rise effortlessly, for that is the nature of bubbles, and begrudge our sneering misconception that we rise because of some inner greatness. If you, sir or madam, were on the ground looking skywards, would you not pray with wicked delight for a sharp, terrible pop?
How has this schism become so advanced that the well-heeled have become aliens in their own land, by their own hand?
There are many culprits, but few so guilty as language.
The language of power and the language of the people are profoundly divided, just as when greater India was the jewel in the colonial crown. Pakistan has no monopoly on class divides and inequality. But in, say, England, the reduced and the royal alike hear the same speeches, can read the same poets, can engage in the same ideas. Closer to home, Iran and Bangladesh can boast the same.
Our schools, conversely, have failed us in language. No one poor in English, or poor in Urdu, has been greatly improved. The indigenous literature that was once the fierce pride of mailmen and mayors alike has evaporated to a curiosity, a hobby of the eccentric. We have lost Ghalib, and we never truly had Shakespeare. The falcon cannot hear the falconer.
I do not cast aspersion upon English; its versatility is unmatched, its literature rich. But we have unwisely decided to medicate our colonial hangover with a perverse mixture of an inferiority and superiority complex. Both are unfounded.
We have come to imagine that someone not educated in ‘proper’ English medium schools (like Dr Abdus Salam) is a prima facie simpleton.
The prime symptom is our obsession with the ‘correct’ accent. Woe unto those whose inflections are imperfect; their qualities will be lost to this pettiest of failings. When people launch into vicious mockery at a self-made actress’s pronunciation of “photographer” or “eyes”, they are spearheading a grotesque defence against what they see as a crack in their bubble.
The plummeting standards of local universities have deepened the divide; elite parents have pulled their progeny from Pakistani higher education institutions with all the deliberate subtlety of an 18th century dentist. Where once we were likely to remember the less privileged as our talented classmates, they are now absent from our worldview, labourers outside the glass divide, shadows without substance. In the halls of ideas, we have bid our adieus.
The state must shoulder a goodly share of the blame for our alienation. When we were snatched into darkness, we bought our own light. When we were left parched, we opened our wallets to private water that sprung up like costly oases in the desert. Left in fear, we hired and armed our own security. If the roads crack and fail, we will buy All-Terrain Vehicles. If legal justice fails us, we too will turn to the jirgas that spring up in every void left by the law like mushrooms in the dark places of the world. Things fall apart. And what then? A thousand, a hundred thousand self-important and insignificant micro-states will burst from the corpse of the old, and our alienation will be complete and irrevocable.
In our fear and frustration, we have created a false Eden and set before it an angel with a golden sword. Our homes, our offices, restaurants and retreats, clubs and celebrations. We protect these with a frenzied passion, and the password is always money. Great energy is expended jostling inwards, deeper into the bubble, until the world proper disappears from our senses altogether. We shuttle ourselves to and fro in smaller bubbles, our windows rolled all the way up. We live in a manmade chrysalis (chrysos = from gold) in which butterflies are formed, but never emerge. The centre cannot hold. This, the third and final line I purloin from Yeats’ masterpiece ‘The Second Coming’ applies here save for this: we barely have a centre to speak of, merely two peripheries in accelerating retreat, connected only by a rickety bridge creaking ominously in the wind. Soon that frail structure shall sigh its last and the two groups, needing each other desperately, will be left exchanging suspicious glances across a pitiless void.
But we are not yet beyond hope. The spiritual muscle that unites us in camaraderie has grown weak, but is not yet vestigial. When the ground opened beneath our feet in 2005 and hell itself seemed poised to break what it had not already swallowed, the men and women of Pakistan came forth in an effort that must have moved the most cynical of hearts. With their sinews and wallets, however great or small, they came to the aid of their countrymen.
Is it the reason we so cherish our cricket victories? When we cheer as one nation, we are for a fleeting moment linked to the mass of humanity that we otherwise reject, ignore or exclude.
It is not charity I advocate. Our compassion is ours to give or withhold. What everyone is entitled to is kinship, our acknowledgment that we and they are cut from the same mysterious cloth. Without kinship, wealthy and impoverished alike are beggared.
At the least, let us lobby for our sports, our arts, our culture (whether traditional pottery or desi rock). All persons, whatever else they lack, have souls that can swell and fall in unison. That which grew weary in isolation can revive itself in commonality, in knowing the full, true scope of experience that lies just beyond reach.
Let us refuse to accept that our best schools are incapable of teaching us our own language; they have taught us so much, so well. They must teach us how to speak so we can be heard, write so we can be read.
Let us tear away some morsels to fund our universities. We deserve it. Not we, the elite, but we, the people. We deserve to engage intellectually with the best our country has to offer. Let us feud and bicker our college years away, attacking ideas rather than accents, and come away enriched.
Let us sit on the patio of cafés and watch the world go by. Walk when we can and be jostled and irritated and marvel at the textures of life we too often handle with gloves that are velvet on the inside and iron on the outside. Demand and embrace parks and libraries and other public places until we become, once more, members of the public.
Only when our bubbles seem less like palaces and more like prisons shall we escape them.
Zaair Hussain is a Lahore-based freelance writer. He can be reached at zaairhussain@gmail.com
http://dailytimes.com.pk/default.asp?page=2010\02\19\story_19-2-2010_pg3_5
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