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verdict artist In
the name of festivals
verdict
Historians tend to look at
bottom lines. By Adnan Rehmat The deed is done. An elaborate legal dance on one set of speculations is over: whether the prime minister is guilty of contempt of court or not, the Supreme Court has decided he is. Its taken two years for
the apex court to determine for the first time in 65 years that a sitting
prime minister deserves punishment for at least 30 seconds for disobeying it
on its order to him to write a letter to Swiss authorities to reopen cases
of alleged corruption against the president. For the media in general that’s the crux of this issue. Miles of columns and years of airtime in Pakistan have mostly focused on the optics of the issue and being partial, wondering aloud why is the prime minister not submitting to judicial dictates and justice. The reportage by media and musings by political actors (mostly the opposition) have revolved around opinion, not analysis. There have been few voices from the martial media, point-scoring political actors and even civil society on the impact side of this elaborate play and the consequences on the body politic. Historians tend to look at bottom lines. The bottom lines in this case are clear: The judiciary has once again struck at an elected government in general and a democratically and constitutionally elected prime minister whose mandate comes from the people, not any other self-imposed actor-player. The traditionally entrenched military, which thrives on birthing, nurturing and promoting political chaos and crises, benefits hugely again by this verdict by getting to build on the artificial question of the legitimacy of both the prime minister and the PPP-led coalition government. The judiciary has once
again strengthened non-political forces by its traditionally selective
approach to ‘justice’ by sentencing non-military leaders only. And the
principal political opposition — Nawaz Sharif — has once again resisted
the temptation to contextualise the issue of political power and the issue
of legitimacy of democratic forces by siding with the forces that wanted
power politics de-legitimised by bringing it into disrepute. His call for
the prime minister to resign because he has been declared guilty by a court
should mean he was also rightly guilty of hijacking a plane but he fails to
see the irony. But then that is another story. If contempt of court is all about defying the judiciary by not obeying its orders, then what could be worse than actually arresting most judges of the Supreme Court and the high courts en mass and detaining them along with their families for months on end? Did General Musharraf, the sitting army chief and president back then, who did all this, get a contempt of court notice? Did the military backed prime minister Shaukat Aziz get orders by the court to write a letter to American authorities to confirm if he had handed over people to the US government, as alleged in petitions filed in Supreme Court by families of missing persons, and thereby indict him for violations of the country’s laws? Did the apex court assert that President Musharraf enjoyed no immunity against handing over citizens to another country without going through the legal process? Did the Supreme Court, which itself defied executive authority, order either Aziz or Musharraf to present themselves in court when the chief justice was abducted and forcibly dismissed? Was that not contempt of court? While the stance of the ‘independent judiciary’ that law is blind and that it’s not their responsibility to consider consequences of the dictates of justice is understandable, what is not understandable is that whether it is an ‘independent judiciary’ or a ‘pre-independent judiciary,’ some accused are administered more ‘justice’ than others. And one can’t but help think the difference between these two sets of accused is the fact that one is in uniform and the other is not. The military coups of Generals Ayub, Zia and Musharraf (and the reign of Yahya) were legitimised by the judiciary. The dismissals of the sitting governments by the military, including those of Bhutto and Sharif, were also upheld as legal, as were the governments of Benazir Bhutto. The only exception was that of Musharraf’s second coup, which wasn’t against a government (because it was his own government!) but because it was against the judiciary. So if the military moves against the judiciary in 2007, it’s okay to resist (even though it was the same general who was judged as legal coup maker in 1999 by the same judges). But if the military moves against elected government brought to office by legal mandates through elections, it’s okay to NOT resist and to actually declare these as valid. How come ‘unvarnished
justice’ — the kind that that seems to come easily to the Supreme Court
(as evidenced not by opinion but by history) when it comes to civilian
leaders with legitimate mandates who needed to be sorted out? Witness
Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. He was not even the principal accused in the murder
case he was convicted and hanged. Or Benazir Bhutto and Asif Zardari who
have been continuously dealt by the courts as guilty until proven innocent
on charges of corruption and abuse of office. Or Nawaz Sharif who was guilty of hijacking a plane and exiled even though it was his government that was hijacked by an army chief. Or now Yousaf Raza Gilani who has been convicted in a case in which he was neither the principal accused nor in which the issue of immunity of the president against prosecution has been ruled on! It is also strange justice that both the elected president and prime minister — and their government, party and cabinet by extension — have been convicted both directly and indirectly for a crime that has not been proven in the first place: that Zardari is guilty of corruption. The irony is that Zardari, Gilani and their government are not even saying the president cannot be proceeded against — only that the proceedings against him continue where they were left off as soon as his presidential tenure ends. The double irony is that the president has already spent 11 years in prison for a crime that Nawaz Sharif, Farooq Leghari, Pervez Musharraf and now the army and judiciary together haven’t been able to prove. For the prime minister — who commands a majority in National Assembly, and thereby has the people’s mandate — it must hurt to be convicted by a judiciary for a second time: it failed to give him justice when he was jailed by a military ruler who had no public mandate, only a mandate from the judiciary. In that sense this is not new for him or the People’s Party. Although Nawaz Sharif, as an elected leader, too has been wronged by a judiciary that owed its allegiance to the Establishment, it is really the Pakistan People’s Party that epitomizes how wronged the people of Pakistan have been if their judgment by court is anything to go by. In the eight elections that have been held in Pakistan’s history, the PPP got the highest number of votes by a party seven times, of which five times it actually formed a government (twice by Bhutto one of which was short-circuited by the military, twice by Benazir and once by Zardari-Gilani). The other two times we know what happened: ask Asghar Khan. For winning these elections, PPP leaders (and by extension Pakistan) had a huge price to pay: one prime minister was hanged, another was murdered in the streets and now another has been shown the door ‘legally’. Where is the justice in all that? That’s what happens when you lead the PPP. You either lose your life or they attempt to kill you off politically. We have the law and we certainly have the courts and we have the judges — plenty of them, it appears, whether in the courts or outside. But do we have justice?
I had the
experience of a summary review of Meher Afroz’s exhibition, using SMS with
a friend and fellow art critic. “Can we call her work spiritual?” read
her text message. “Yes, maybe” I responded. The exchange continued but
it made me think how we tend to define an artist’s work in a few words and
how once we have put the label, arbitrarily, we start to believe in our own
folly. Usually, works of art and
great works of art are beyond these restricted descriptions which, in any
case, keep changing with the passage of time, shift in taste and evolution
of ideas. Thus, a piece of art that was hailed as modern at one stage is now
considered conservative. Not only in visual arts, but in literature, too,
some writings known for their ‘progressive’ content had the capacity to
outlive that categorisation and are now enjoyed for many other reasons.
Faiz’s poetry immediately comes to mind as an example. Like other forms of
literature, marsiya writing has also been classified in a niche. Religious,
devotional and grief-laden are a few terms how critics and readers describe
it. But the great poets of marsiya, like Mir Anis and Mirza Dabir, transcend
these limited description as while reading them one is also impressed by the
visual and physical description of events and details of settings, human
suffering, intensity of emotions and the lyricism of words, composed in such
a scheme that the sound of words has an intense effect on the
reader/listener. Their marsiyas are still
popular and widely-read not because a person wants to know about the
incident from early Islamic history through them but because of their formal
strength and aesthetic sophistication. The recent work of Meher
Afroz could be seen in this backdrop. Afroz is an accomplished artist who is
distinct for certain aspects of her pictorial practice. From her earlier
prints shown in Pakistan to the latest body of work exhibited in Karachi,
one can detect her fascination for the tactile in art. In an earlier
meeting, she had mentioned her fondness for the work of Antonio Tapies, the
Spanish artist, known for employing textures to create sensory element in
his work. His paintings, due to his use of marks and colour, allude to the
subject in an indirect way; yet they leave a lasting impact on the viewer.
In addition to that, his use of certain colours and forms suggest his
political position with regards to Catalan nationalism. In Meher Afroz’s work,
sensitive layers of varying shades and occasional marks help in creating a
surface which, despite the rotating imagery, has become a subject or
obsession in itself. Painterly quality and minimal strokes play a part to
evoke the feeling of depth (not much dissimilar to Mark Rothko), and keep
one’s eye tangled and glued to whatever is made through thin and thick
coats of colours. However, along with the
formal refinements, Afroz has been interested in conveying issues that are
important in the society. Often, these concerns are dealt with in a way that
the content is transformed from immediate response to a lasting comment.
Like in poetry, for instance in marsiya, references to actual characters,
sites or events are just means to extrapolate on profound and penetrating
thoughts. Because, when we hear or read a marsiya of Anis, we are already
aware of the tragic incident at Karbala and its aftermath in the prisons of
Syria, but what we experience is the aesthetically-constructed ‘texture’
of language besides identifying with the human experience and emotion. Thus,
in a way, the actual story or plot does not seem to be the real intention of
the author or even the reader; it leads to other, more crucial, content. Likewise, in Meher
Afroz’s work, whether it is from her previous ‘Zindaan’ series or the
recent ‘Naqsh Bar-e-Aab’ (image on water) series (exhibited from March
28 to April 5, 2012, at Chawkandi Art, Karachi), the apparent theme is an
occasion to create and communicate other meanings. Probably this aspect of
Afroz distinguishes her from other artists who are too involved with the
current happenings and, in their attempt to be clear and conscious, rely on
unaltered rendering of events. In that sense, their approach is not much
different from the now defunct trend of social realism; one could also call
them ‘political realists’! Meher Afroz offers
something beyond merely political or public. It is the personally-felt and
privately-shaped narrative about the outside world. The artist selects,
transforms and presents whatever she feels are the significant elements in
our physical, social and psychological surroundings in a manner that her
work is not limited to one specific reading. Hence, in her canvases, one
locates words such as hamara gulistan (our garden) dar-o-rasan (prison and
punishment), tama (greed), fana(extinction), baqa (survival), rooh (spirit),
khudkush (self annihilating), inscribed either sparsely or in the form of a
grid on the surface, alluding to multiple concepts. Also, these carefully
chosen words suggest matters of existence and extinction in the present
context. Explaining her choice of motifs and language, Afroz shares her
deep-rooted interest in the way our traditional literature, myths and sacred
writing explored the realities of world. She mentions verses by Sa’adi and
Hafiz which can help to comprehend current conditions. For her, the past can
serve to explain and understand the present as certain societal features and
human characteristics are shared through generations, especially belonging
to a particular region and culture. In her recent work, Meher
Afroz has painted the image of Chahar Baagh (square garden), which
symbolises Garden of Eden or the quest for it. In another work, one finds
lines from devotional poetry like Salam-e-Akhir (the last tribute). The
artist, while talking about these religious references, discusses her
opinion on utilising cultural heritage; this in the beginning was
questionable to her but she later decided upon creating works around these
‘loaded’ terms and phrases which remind of resistance, defeat, sorrow,
sacrifice and eternal mourning. As she focuses on our
spiritual and poetic tradition to signify the political/personal conditions,
Afroz picks a formal element that is connected to this region yet not widely
recognised or recycled in the domain of high art. In her new body of work,
Meher has incorporated patterns and designs which are usually spotted in the
urban surroundings. These visuals, even though used in ordinary objects, are
not classified as ‘popular’ art; a genre that is connected with
decoration on vehicles and has been picked by a number of artists in our
country. Contrary to flamboyance of ‘popular truck art’, Meher has
assimilated familiar patterns in her imagery with occasional glimpses of
face, flowers or traces of text, all embedded in sensitive surfaces. Hence, her approach is not
of an outsider who stumbles upon the ‘pictorial’ power of popular art;
instead, she operates in harmony with the untrained maker of images. Like
him, Afroz also constructs these as pure form but, for her, this act becomes
a spiritual activity as well. Perhaps, that is why a repeated inclusion of
some words in her compositions echoes the practice of chanting God’s name
(further emphasised by putting word tasbeeh in one work). Along with its connection
to political content and adaption of indigenous forms and patterns, the
infusion of religion in her aesthetics may not come as a surprise in a
society where religious matters (and feuds) are the main concerns; they
concern every sphere of life, including art.
Two melas in the
last week or so were held in Lahore — one at the Alhamra and the other at
the Minar-e-Pakistan in which a large number of people participated. Both
the melas were state-sponsored in the sense that they were organised by
government bodies — Alhamra and the City Government — and hence had the
tinge of being stage-managed affairs. It should not be forgotten
that the biggest state sponsored festival used to be the Horse and Cattle
Show in Lahore and it has been discontinued for the past few years. Besides
the horse and cattle being paraded and graded, it included a light and sound
(tattoo) show and other acrobatics by the various military and paramilitary
organisations. Then allied activities
like theatre and music programmes were held in various parts of the city,
mainly at the halls run by the various government bodies in the city. Some
years ago Canal Mela was held, concentrated on the Lahore canal with boats
and other temporary structures lit up at night. It was also participated in
fully by the people for the few years that it lasted and was able to retain
its novelty. The cities’ cultural
life is measured by the involvement of the people in the various festivals
and this participation by the general public ensures certain continuity. Of
the two biggest festivals of Lahore, one is no longer held and the other is
a shadow of its former glory. Basant, unique to Lahore, has been banned by
the government and Mela Chiraghan due to the shrinking space and
urbanisation is a much smaller affair now. Probably basant was celebrated
with equal fervour in Kasur but Lahore’s basant was fully reflective of
people’s involvement. The most visible part of
the festival was the flying of kites. Dawn to dusk, the sky of Lahore was
adorned by hundred and thousands of kites flown from mainly rooftops. The
kites flown in open spaces was not usually done on basant for, being a more
professional affair, only certain days of the week were designated for it.
The participation of the ordinary people, the man in the street, gave so
much verve and abandonment to basant. In the last few years, night basant
became a bigger affair than day basant as kites were flown under
floodlights. Due to metal
wire/synthetic string, the number of accidents and power failures increased
and the authorities found an excuse to ban the festival altogether. Instead
of addressing the specific problem, it did away with the festival; robbing
the common man of revelry and enjoyment that was easily affordable. The main
feature of the festival was that the entire city participated in it and that
made it truly a people’s festival. People also held music and other
programmes to indulge in revelry. Basant and baisakhi are
both seasonal festivals — one celebrating the anticipation of spring and
the second the celebration of successful harvesting. If the first was a
signal of fructification, the second a gratitude to plenty, both totally
natural human responses to activities that sustain life. Both these festivals have
been celebrated for as long as mankind can remember and such festivals are
celebrated all over the world. There was nothing particular about the
celebration of spring and if it was not celebrated it would have raised
eyebrows and questions about curbing natural responses. Unfortunately, both
these festivals were tagged by a section of the society to religion, one to
the Hindus and the other to the Sikhs. It would be of interest to
note that Buddhism too celebrates with great fervour Vesakha, probably
calling it the birthday of Buddha or the day he achieved nirvana. And Nauroz
which was celebrated in Sultanate and Mughal eras as well as Iran and the
former extended Iranian territories is also the celebration of spring when
day and night of equal duration is considered to be propitious. This tagging of the
seasonal festivals to various religions appears to be an act of
retrospection — a seasonal festival observed and participated in by the
people given a slant and incorporated into the larger cultural scheme of
things. The sufis did exactly the same with basant as the festival was
celebrated on the shrines of the various Sufis during the spring season. The Mela Chiraghan was an
extension of the festival labelled as urs of a sufi, in this case that of
Shah Hussain, the celebrated Punjabi iconoclast and poet. He led a life that
was unconventional and wrote about the merit of authentic experience rather
than inured by tradition. This urs was also held in the last week of March
every year and was also tagged to spring. Its occurrence between basant and
baisakhi, is evidence enough that the festivals were held on regular
intervals, especially during the extended spring season. If the celebration of
spring was limited to one religion or region then it could be held to be
specific but if it is a universal phenomena, then why shy away from it. Why
have we killed our traditional festivals, which were part of the cultural
life and instead tried to hold state sponsored events calling them a
jashan-e-baharaan? As we have a full series of festivals dedicated to bahar
all this appears to be mere duplication and that too a tardy one. The regular time-tested
festivals should be revived and if there is any state support needed it
should be extended to these festivals for the people to realise and fully
experience their integration with their land. Spring and the monsoon are
seasons to celebrate and may be given any name, for what’s in a name when
it is in accordance with the natural human response; and if an expression of
the collective, so much the better.
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