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review Why
some countries fail?
Zia Mohyeddin column
review Title: Sindh: Stories from
a Lost Homeland Author: Saaz Aggarwal Publisher: Oxford University Press, Pakistan Pages: 326 Price: Rs 895 It is interesting to note
that Saaz Aggarwal’s book under review, ‘Sindh: Stories from a Lost
Homeland’ published by the Oxford University Press (OUP), Pakistan was
first published in India as ‘Sindh: Stories from a Vanished Land.’ The
author’s selection of the words ‘vanished land’ was made when she wrote
the book from the point of view of telling the stories of all those Sindhi
Hindus she has included in the book who migrated from Sindh to India at the
time of Partition, and the land of their ancestors went missing: gone…it
‘vanished’ from their lives. They didn’t go back to it, didn’t seek
it out and, according to some of those interviewed in the book, they didn’t
miss it either. However, when the OUP
decided to publish and launch the book at the 4th Karachi Literature Festival
in February 2013, the title was changed, as the land of Sindh has not ceased
to exist since 1947 but the Sindhi Hindus who decided to leave it, have
certainly ‘lost’ their ‘homeland’. The author is a humour columnist,
a literary critic and a painter, known for her paintings of contemporary
urban life, ‘Bombay Clichés’, which she paints in a traditional folk
style. At the beginning of the
book, Aggarwal documents her mother Situ’s recollections about the years
spent in the land of her birth — Sindh, the very mention of which she would
shrug off in family discussions. Aggarwal is herself only partially Sindhi
(from her mother’s side), and it was at her maternal grandparents’ home
in Bombay, where she lived for three years during her college days, that she
became conscious of her Sindhi heritage. She heard them converse in Sindhi
between themselves and with their older children who were born and raised in
Sindh. She writes that it was only much later, after reading Alice
Albinia’s ‘The Empires of the Indus’, that it occurred to her that
there was a land not too far away where Sindhi was spoken in the streets… The author, who lives in
Pune near Mumbai, writes that she was lucky to meet people in India who could
tell her “about life in rural Sindh; their experiences as members of the
Arya Samaj and RSS; life in the refugee camps; their resurrection in
business; the discrimination they faced in the communities they settled in;
life in exotic lands as members of a ‘Sindworki’ family; the Partition
experience of the Bhaiband women; the feelings of a dedicated freedom fighter
when Independence led to Partition — and more.” However, it is a bit
strange as well as sad when she also states that “almost none were aware of
the history of Sindh or the origins of their families.” The book mentions at length
the different shades of divinity that spoke of Sindh’s syncretism but on
the other hand it also makes the reader in Pakistan sit up and take notice of
the fact that “in India, to be a Sindhi is to be a Hindu — the very
concept of Muslim Sindhis is an alien one.” The author points out that
perhaps for an Indian, in general, and a Sindhi Hindu in particular, there is
no awareness about the change that came about in Pakistan “with the
withdrawal of a large number of its wealthy and educated citizens.” Following the Partition, a
majority of the Hindus left Sindh, and many of them moved to Bombay, which
was perhaps the most expedient thing to do, i.e. to embark on a ship from the
port city of Karachi in Pakistan to the closest port city in India. Similar
to the plight of thousands of Muslim refugees from India who moved to
Pakistan, many of the Sindhi Hindus who moved to India by train arrived
there, stripped of all their belongings, and spent the initial period of
their displacement in refugee camps. The Diaspora later also
scattered to other countries around the world. They never looked back, nor
did they tell their stories. The explanation given in the book about this
apparent aversion to nostalgia, or wish to share their stories, is said to be
their determination to adapt to their new home and to get on with their new
lives. Whereas it is well known that the migrant Sindhi Hindus have done well
for themselves, it was for most a long and hard struggle: the material wealth
that many of them gained over time was not offered to them on a platter. The text is interspersed
with a few old black and white photographs from the collection of those who
were interviewed and also images of mementoes, newspaper clips, maps,
recipes, etc. They merely leave the reader yearning for more. The book also
has an interesting matrix towards its end, in the chapter named “So —
what happened to Sindhi culture?” This records trends by sociologist
Subhadra Anand in a survey conducted among a hundred Sindhi Hindus aged sixty
to eighty years in 1996 in Ulhasnagar and Bombay. To a question whether they
recall their days in Sindh with friends, 89 per cent have answered in the
affirmative. Only 12 per cent said they sent their children to Sindhi-medium
schools, and a mere 7 per cent have given their grandchildren typical Sindhi
names. An overwhelming 92 per cent now identify with Mumbai. One of the features that I
find refreshing about the book is that it is mostly about ordinary people and
not only those who were prominent citizens of Sindh. It is vital that their
memoirs are preserved and celebrated, or there will be scarcely any record
left for posterity. For instance, in ‘My lost cultural heritage’ Madhuri
Gurnani who now lives in the US (p179), reminisces about old Sukkur, to which
she belonged, and has strong memories of the Independence movement and, among
others, of Hemu Kalani, the Sindhi revolutionary and freedom fighter who was
sentenced to death. Madhuri remembers his cremation behind the primary school
where she studied. He was only 19 years old. Although Hemu Kalani could have
been pardoned by the British Viceroy “on condition that he divulge the
identities of his co-conspirators” (in activities of the Quit India
Movement), he refused. In Pakistan we have conveniently forgotten the Hemu
Kalanis of the freedom movement. Besides documenting the
memories/spirit, anecdotes/stories, happenings/history of the Sindhi Hindus,
Aggarwal has, in many ways, created a fresh and valuable dossier of
dislocation, placelessness and relocation of a migrant community. This
relates not only to readers on the other side of the border, but also to all
those who live on the land of Sindh, or the millions who migrated from India
to Pakistan, from ‘there’ to ‘here’. In the aftermath of the
redistribution of territories, as happens so often, we should not undermine
the trauma of the dispossessed. While acknowledging the successes of the
enterprising, we must not overlook the struggles of the less privileged, who
may have had an equally significant contribution and personal stories,
without which a narration of history would not only be incomplete, it would
be distorted and quite misleading.
Why
some countries fail? Title: Saints and Sinners Author: Ali Mahmood Publisher: HarperCollins
India Pages: 448 Price: INR 599 Want to read an array of
tales of mega corruption or the most horrible atrocities committed around the
world in recent times — then ‘Saints & Sinners’ is the book for
you. The book attempts to explain one of the biggest and oldest questions of
the statecraft — “why some countries grow rich, and the others
don’t?” Ali Mahmood, a Dubai-based
author, a leading Pakistani businessman, who dabbled in politics as a senator
of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s PPP, takes the reader on a fast-paced and
action-packed tour of conflict-ridden countries of Africa, Middle East, South
Asia, Far East and Eastern Europe in his search for an answer to the question
why some countries fail. In most countries, the
conflicts were home-grown and stemmed from their ruling elite’s inability
to resolve their internal contradictions. At others, the global powers,
including the United States, played a leading role in igniting and
intensifying such conflicts, but in rare instances also attempted to resolve
them. Mahmood got a firsthand
glimpse of oppressive state machinery during the days of Zia-ul Haq, when he
was sentenced to 14-year jail term. This forced him into an exile for the
same number of years in the calm water of the United Kingdom, where he
managed to get political asylum. His interest in politics
and political questions did not wane with time. And the fruit of his musings
and research is this highly readable work in which he builds the premise that
“conflict and corruption” remain the “most deadly traps” for the
developing countries. Mahmood’s effort reminds one of a momentous work done
by two leading US-based academics, Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson under
the title — Why Nations Fail. The two authors too tried to find answer to
the mother of all questions that why there remain such huge differences in
incomes and standards of living that separate the rich countries of the
world, such as the United States, Great Britain and Germany, from the poor
such as those in sub-Saharan Africa, Central America and South Asia. While
Mahmood’s work appears more of a journalistic reportage, the US authors’
book is more academic, analytical and scientifically researched. Here, a comparative study
of the two books is not the aim, but the similarity of question, raised by
these works, is indeed significant to underline. Mahmood raises
thought-provoking questions on whether democracy helps or hinders development
and admits that, “some of the most successful states across the world have
not been democratic.” Along with corruption and
conflict, Mahmood sees that relations with the world’s sole superpower —
the United States — also remain vital in deciding fortunes of a state in
our times. “The US can make you or break you, not just by war but also
because of its overwhelming economic power,” the author argues in his
preface. The first section of the
book deals with conflict — taking readers into the horrors of civil war,
mass slaughters, rape, devastation and plunder in places like Angola,
Liberia, Sierra Leone, Ethiopia, Eretria, Israel and Palestine and Iraq and
Iran. The stories of conflicts in Yugoslavia and Russia are no less chilling.
The second section of the
book focuses on corruption and describes how it “effects and obstructs
development.” In the words of the author, “economic activity is slowed
down, efficiency falls, the rule of law is weakened as the courts fails to
deliver justice, while the police prey on the populace.” The author has managed to
highlight both these challenges in a well-argued manner, giving some solid
background and useful information from his exhaustive research from various
sources. Although one can draw many lessons and parallels from this book
regarding the multiple challenges faced by Pakistan, the book is not
Pakistan-focused. It has a broad canvas and tries to understand factors that
why some nations plunge into chaos, anarchy, civil wars and economic
meltdowns, while others prosper. According to the author, only Israel emerges
as a state, which benefited even from the conflict — but then it has the
unwavering support of the United States, which plays an important part in
strengthening and stabilising this small country locked in a hostile
neighbourhood. The book is a treasure
trove for scholars and general readers who want to know about the major
conflicts of recent times, their background, the factors driving them and
even the lead personalities who remained responsible for them. Each conflict
is packaged in small, highly readable doses of few pages, giving their gist.
One meets larger than life characters — or should we say villains —
responsible for the plight and killings of tens of thousands of people. It is
a whirlwind, but highly informative tour of Egypt and Algeria where hardened
Islamists are seen locked with corrupt and insensitive secular
establishments. In Liberia and Sierra Leone
one meets the “lords of war” who dehumanised the entire populations,
committing atrocities, which can appear too gruesome for the faint heart. In
Angola, if there is a politics of oil versus diamonds, the reader would also
find the tales of horror from the long war of Ethiopia and Eritrea. The
Yugoslav war — described as Europe’s own horror story — happened not
too long ago to fade from our collective memory. And of course, Pakistan and
India also feature as the main players of the nuclear conflict zone of South
Asia. Pakistan own tales of
corruption and sleaze would appear small time affairs when one reads the
magnitude of corruption in capitalist Russia and the exploitation of Iraq
both by Saddam Husein and its successors — the mighty US corporate
interests. The other section of the
book focuses on issues of democracy – including Islamic democracy,
superpowers’ role and some success stories including from Singapore, China,
Dubai, Israel and Malaysia. Pakistan again features in
the second last chapter under the title — “failed or failing.” The conclusion focuses on
the quality of leaders, who in the words of author make the ultimate
difference. One can argue against this rather simplistic premise, but
Mahmood’s Saints and Sinners remains a story of greed, corruption and
conflict which is well told.
Zia
Mohyeddin column The excitement
about the forthcoming elections as well as the comical twists that this
exercise is taking has overshadowed all our other concerns about our
existence. Thousands of people were recently grilled to prove that they were
‘true’ Muslims. This time the process was confined to those who were
ambitious (and greedy) enough to contest the elections. It is more than
likely that soon every would-be voter would be allowed to vote only if he is
au fait with the correct Islamic method of bathing a dead body. The late Majid Ali —
Majid Bhai to those of us who had the good fortune to have spent time in his
company — was a wit, par excellence. He once recounted that during the
reign of General Zia-ul-Haq he was the guest at a friend ’s house in Swabi.
One morning, when he was reading his newspaper, there was a knock on the
front door. The servant who had gone out to open the door came back and said
that two strangers wanted to meet him. Majid Bhai went out and was confronted
by two young, bearded zealots in proper religious garb. “Recite the Kalima if you
know it” they demanded. “Why, has it been
altered?” he asked with mock seriousness. * * * * * The savagery that was
perpetrated following the announcement of the partition of the sub-continent
was unprecedented in its scale and method. The fabric of life was torn to
shreds. Entire communities that had lived together for centuries had turned
against one another and the carnage that followed resulted in millions of
refugees who arrived in Lahore and Karachi, bereft of all their possessions.
What kind of a future the hapless country would have was a question on the
lips of every thinking individual. But thinking individuals
have never been able to exert any influence over the affairs of a Third World
country. Pakistan had been created in the name of Islam and so the religious
parties, most of whom had opposed the idea of Pakistan largely because the
movement had been spearheaded by an English speaking, highly westernised
leader, became vociferous about an Islamic polity. I was in Lahore at the time
and I remember the ‘Zamindar’, a local Urdu daily, condemning music in no
uncertain terms and calling upon the authorities to stop young minds,
especially university students, from being polluted by a ‘Hindu’
practice. Soon the music department of the Punjab University was closed by
the order of its Vice Chancellor. The Government of West Punjab which
controlled the affairs of the university remained silent. The newly appointed
Vice chancellor, Umar Hayat Malik, a mathematician of some reputation, issued
an edict that, henceforth, all sciences were to be taught in conformity with
the teachings of Islam. The circular was only distributed to the departments
of science. He, obviously, thought that it was the sciences that needed to be
Islamised. The circular puzzled Dr
Nazir Ahmed, a zoologist by profession, but a man with an extraordinary
perception of Persian and Punjabi mysticism as well as classical music. How
zoology and botany — and chemistry for that matter — were to be taught to
comply with the new mandate was an anathema to him. When he approached his
friend, Sufi Ghulam Mustafa Tabbasum with the quandary, the genial Sufi had a
ready answer. Tell your students that animals should no longer be studied by
their structure but by the order in which they accepted Islam. The newly established Radio
Pakistan in Lahore also came under a cloud for broadcasting music that was
infidel in name and, it was alleged, character. Overnight, ragas called Shiv
Ranjani, Ram Kali, Jai Jai Vanti, Bageshwari, Durga et al were proscribed.
The raga that now dominated the air waves was aimen. Hameed Naseem, one of
the main producers at Lahore, never stopped telling his cast (of which I was
a member now and then) that the true implication of the Persian word aimen
(meaning august) was security and well-being. No one dared to point out that
in scale and structure they were all playing the raga Yemen which had been
sung in India for thousands of years and which is probably as old as the
Shastras. It would be wrong to think
that after the partition Islamic idealoges had their sway in all field of
activity. Even with the trauma felt by everyone in the wake of the massacre
that had taken place, a haphazard normalcy began to surface. Co-educational
classes were resumed in the university; men, in the cities dressed as they
wanted to, and the middle class — as well as some lower middle class —
women shed the Burqa when they went out shopping, or to a social gathering.
Radio Pakistan may have shunned ragas whose names sounded Sanskritic, but
classical music continued to be played and sung though not with the same
frequency. The rejection of music in
the university was condoned by the government because music was the last
thing they wanted to think about. It would be ridiculous to suggest that
every bureaucrat and official was anti-music. Many people within the
administration felt that unless something was done, the upholders of
classical music would vanish altogether. It was with the approval (and
financial assistance) provided by the provincial government that the newly
formed Arts council initiated training in music. It is worth noting that
girls too, enrolled as pupils. * * * * * We have been debating the
question of our identity for over sixty five years. It is incredulous that
this question should arise at all. The state of Pakistan was formed on an
ideological platform of Muslim nationalism in South Asia. The rulers were so
wrapped in the ideology of Muslim nationalism that they never bothered to see
that cracks had begun to appear in the constructed edifice of a united Muslim
community. Within the first year of its existence the state which proclaimed
to be rooted in the concept of one nation one faith, one language, was
severely put to test by regional and nationalistic claims of diverse ethnic
groups. Bengali citizens refused to accept Urdu as the national language. Over the last sixty years
the sects and groups have proliferated. The followers of each Islamic sect
narrow-mindedly, blindly follow the dictates of their High Priests. Some of
the theological institutions have, quietly and assiduously, built themselves
into a fanatical militant force to defend the faith which in their view has
been corrupted by the state and its western educated functionaries. They have
the ability to strike deadly blows whenever — and wherever — they want
to. It is not beyond the realms of imagination that some of them form
inquisition committees to determine which one of us is not a ‘true’
mussalman and therefore deserves to have his throat slit. |
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