The Everyday and the Absurd

The Lesser Observed Sides of Ethnic Conflict in Pakistan in Oskar Verkaaik’s ‘Migrants and Militants: Fun and Urban Violence in Pakistan’ and Laura A. Ring’s ‘Zenana: Everyday Peace in a Karachi Apartment Building’

By Nabeeha Chaudhary

Ethnic conflict and violence is not an issue to be taken lightly, but it might be valuable to think of the “casual” ways in which it manifests itself and its link to what Oskar Verkaaik calls “fun”. In recent years, Pakistan has seen a sharp rise in ethnic conflict. Tolerance among all levels of society — regardless of education level or socioeconomic status — seems to be at an all-time low. Understanding this phenomenon requires a multi-disciplinary, multi-faceted approach; it cannot be explained through politics or religion alone, because these forces do not act in isolation but feed off of deeply rooted historical and cultural biases and fears. Take, for example, Oskar Verkaaik’s ‘Migrants and Militants: Fun and Urban Violence in Pakistan‘ and Laura A. Ring’s ‘Zenana: Everyday Peace in a Karachi Apartment Building’,  books that look at the picture from different angles and are valuable for understanding the present situation in Pakistan.

Both Verkaaik and Ring look at ethnic violence from around the political lens, rather than directly through it. Published within two years of each other, both are ethnographic studies dealing with a very specific section of Pakistani society: the urban, middle-class, Karachi-based, domestic women in ‘Zenana’, and the urban, middle-class, Karachi and Hyderabad-based, young MQM (Muttehida Qaumi Movement) men in ‘Migrants and Militants’.

Whereas the former is focused on a domestic, private space, the latter is more concerned with public spaces and happenings. Ring’s book explores how the private space of home contributes to what happens in the public space of the city. She talks about private space being essentially the domain of women, though many of their actions may be dictated by the desires of men. Verkaaik looks at the men’s side of the story, specifically how it relates to spaces outside the home, including streets, parks and college campuses.

‘Migrants and Militants’ argues that one of the main reasons why MQM [1] supporters are drawn to the controversial party is not because of their oft-voiced concern of ethnic discrimination, or simply because they are frustrated with their lack of power within the state, but because the party provides an avenue of thrill, excitement, adventure and fun, along with an opportunity to emphasise their individuality while being part of a collective movement. He takes care to point out that, even during public MQM meetings, though there is a sense of collective action and an aspect of peer pressure, it is not just herd mentality syndrome that marks these events. “There is plenty of room for individual wit, recklessness and bravery during MQM public meetings,” he says [3]. Questions of identity and individualism are important for the MQM’s ideology and recruitment, and the author suggests that one of the reasons for Altaf Hussain’s popularity is that multiple identities can be mapped onto him. By presenting himself as an ordinary man “almost without character traits of his own,” he enables his followers to project their own interpretation of what constitutes “Muhajirness” onto him.

The word “Muhajir” literally means “migrant”, and the term is used to refer to the Urdu-speaking people who migrated from India to Pakistan at the time of the partition.  The whole idea of the Muhajir identity forms the base of the MQM movement mainly because Muhajirs are not recognized as a distinct ethnic group within state nationalism; however, they see themselves not only as a separate community, but also as distinctly superior in terms of culture, education and contribution to the nation in the form of migration and sacrifice.

The MQM focuses on, and sometimes exploits, the needs of Muhajirs for its own gains.

As a child I was often puzzled about why people in a city like Karachi were not more cosmopolitan, and so obsessed with ethnic identity when it is a multi-ethnic city, as compared to a place like Lahore where the majority of people are all Punjabis. “Should they not be used to differences by now?” Was one of my questions. Humeira Iqtidar, in ‘Secularizing Islamists?: Jama’at-e-Islami and Jama’at-ud-Da’wa in Urban Pakistan’, points out that pre-partition Lahore was largely free from inter-communal violence because it was such a multi-ethnic society.[4]

That goes sharply against the common explanation provided of there being less ethnic strife in Lahore today because it is not multi-cultural. Ring offers an explanation — people in Karachi are not what they are supposed to be, which makes them misfits and even more conscious about their ethnic identities. As one of her characters proclaims: “If you want to know about real Punjabis, you have to go to Punjab… The Punjabis here, they’re not real Punjabis.”[5]

The people who move out of villages and homogenous communities to come to a multi-ethnic, urban city like Karachi are considered “different” by their new home communities. For good or evil, their ideas and lifestyles change and they are unable to fall into neatly defined categories. Yet, or perhaps because of this, even when the city is steeped in blatant acts of ethnic violence these heterogeneous communities manage to live together in peace. The situation is very complicated, and Ring correctly states that we do not know much about “the micro-mechanics” of day-to-day coexistence amidst civic strife.

The day-to-day activities of the MQM youth are a different story altogether.  Exaggeration, absurdity, tamasha (spectacle) are all part of the appeal that lies in the party. For the MQM youth, being funny/witty is one way of gaining esteem. Starting right from the party leadership who hire copywriters, poets and songwriters to come up with witty slogans and catchy lyrics, down to a young Muhajir child at a public meeting who cracks a joke that ridicules her own community — it’s all about being funny within the party.

As far as outsiders are concerned though, it is, for the most part, presenting a violent, angry young man image. These people are not in on the joke, the joke being that there is nothing special going on inside. At various instances in ‘Migrants and Militants’, Verkaaik talks about the role of the media in making the MQM, and some of their activities, seem much more exciting than they actually are. The party oath, for instance, is said to be “a rather dull ceremonial affair,” [6], but over time enough hype was created over it by outsiders, including the press, to make it out to be something scandalous and exciting. It was associated with a state of trance, with worship of Altaf Hussain, and with shirk, among other things. The controversy surrounding the MQM and the moral indignation of the press made MQM membership seem much more adventurous than it was. [7]

The topic of media irresponsibility is also brought up briefly in other places in the book, one instance being the Karachi riots of 1985, which initially did not have much to do with ethnic differences. When ethnic factors did come into play, rumours and newspaper reports oversimplified these riots as ethnic strife without portraying the complexity of the matter or the numerous parties involved. [8]

The fun, then, is more about appearances than reality. However, at times, these boundaries tend to become blurred and fun turns into violence, or violence becomes fun.

One individual’s narrative that helps illustrate the fluidity of these boundaries is that of a young man, Najeeb, who is persuaded to buy a gun but does not know how to use it. He does not need to know how to use the gun, he is just expected to show it off to scare away anyone who might want to harm “the leader”. With no clue as to who the leader is, Najeeb does what he is told. When a man with a video camera passes by, Najeeb cannot resist the temptation to take the gun out, pose “like Sylvester Stallone,” and shout “Take my picture! Take my picture!” Later in the book Najeeb recounts an occasion when he and his friends went to a mithai shop and ate their fill, then told the shopkeeper that their money was outside in the rickshaw. Taking the shopkeeper outside, they scared him by showing him their rickshaw full of ammunition, so he told them they did not have to pay. The way Najeeb relates the incident makes it sound like a harmless, fun-filled outing with a group of young friends; the harrowing twist is taken out of it altogether. Versaaik remarks that such was Najeeb’s way of narrating the story that on first hearing it he actually laughed, “realizing the brutality of the story only later.” [9]

It becomes easier to see then, how these young men, even among themselves, reach a point where differentiating between fun and violence becomes difficult.

Like the communities discussed in ‘Migrants and Militants’, the community of women in ‘Zenana’ also see male anger as a mark of masculinity and thus, in a way, allow it to prosper. These women see themselves as being more capable of dealing with day-to-day “tensions” and male anger than the men themselves. The underlying idea is to “absorb, receive, and tolerate” men’s anger in the vicinity of the house so that it can be prevented from spilling out into the public sphere and causing “greater” harm. [10]

This anger is viewed as something irrational and impulsive which gives them (the women) a sort of power because they then have the responsibility of being mediators of peace in the community. Yet, peacemaking is also, to a great extent, regulated by the risk of angering the men.

Women’s voices are conspicuously absent in Verkaaik’s narrative, a point that he admits to in the book.[11]

Other than a brief discussion about their vital role and symbolic value in the May 1990 carnage, and the part played by them in Altaf Hussain’s hunger strike, there is hardly any mention of them. Even regarding these events, we hear about them, but not from them. The author does, though, repeatedly emphasise their significance.

A 2012 article by Rafia Zakaria, ‘The Women’s Vote’, talks about the MQM’s organization of a women’s rally earlier in the year, in a way that Zakaria claims “has never been done before on a comparable scale in Karachi.” [12] From biryani and henna application, to songs and speeches, the MQM provided lots of “fun” for the women of Karachi. Zakaria talks of the rally as an advertisement geared toward the women of Pakistan by the MQM, who now view them as an important voting constituency, and are thus eager to please them. In the light of Verkaaik’s study we can easily understand the typical, “geared towards fun,” recruitment approach of the MQM. ‘Migrants and Militants’ is set in a time that is the “day of the young men” [13]. It looks like it is now time for “fun” for the women too, and hearing their voices has become increasingly important.

Ring’s book, on the other hand, is all about the women living in urban Sindh, though some of them come from other regions of the country. Her apartment complex (called the Shipyard) is like a mini-Karachi, a multi-ethnic building. If having a Muhajir identity is the key to gaining admission into the MQM circle of fun, then knowledge of Urdu is the way to gain access to friendships and the society of the women of the Shipyard. Those who are unable to converse in Urdu end up being isolated, raising the question of mobility and how genuine hurdles exist for people who might want to integrate with other communities but are unable to do so. Linked to the question of mobility is Ring’s brief exploration of how purdah differs in cities versus villages. Women in villages often tend to be more mobile and less dependent on their men than the women who come to live in the city, according to Ring. These restrictions on mobility (language barrier, stricter purdah observance, living away from family and community) are a major force that drives women to seek friendships within their neighbourhood and across ethnic divides. In the daytime, when the men are away at work, doors are flung open in the Shipyard and women come and go in and out of each other’s apartments. It is only upon the men’s return that the doors are shut again.

The one incident in the book where public and private spaces come together directly is during a brief emergency, when the electrical boxes in the building catch fire one night and everyone comes to stand outside. Though the residents are inconvenienced in the middle of the night, Ring points out that the mood is festive amongst the women on the portico. They stand around chatting and speculating while the men try to deal with the problem in the gully. Her next sentence reminds me, eerily, of Verkaaik’s book: “The roving boys, however, seemed exhilarated, sharing in the festive mood of the portico, while at the same time sampling the adventure and danger of the gully.”

It is during this event that a Sindhi boy comes up to the author’s husband, Sheheryar, and asks him if he is Sindhi. Upon hearing that Sheheryar’s mother is Sindhi and his father Muhajir, the boy remarks, “So, you’re half Sindhi.” The boy then asks if he speaks Sindhi and when Sheheryar replies that he does not, the boy cracks a joke along the lines of “Oh well, then, you’re one-third Sindhi,” and runs off laughing. Ring argues that this moment of being amidst his neighbours in a public space, at a moment of crisis when normally suppressed ethnic bonds can be voiced, is what empowered the boy to speak to Sheheryar in such a way. [14]

Verkaaik’s fieldwork was spread out over several years and this publication was preceded by his books ‘A People of Migrants: Ethnicity, State, and Religion in Karachi’, and ‘Sayyid Pakistani and the Wedding of the Dead’, which included some common themes. Both before and after ‘Migrants and Militants’, he produced a number of publications that are inter-connected. His research  is extensive, and his extended familiarity with the subject comes across in his writing. Verkaaik’s initial interest in Pakistan and its problems was probably through the lens of a journalist, as he worked as a freelancer for various Pakistani news media. Ring’s involvement with the country, and her initial questions about peace in an apartment building, arose from her position as a foreign wife of a Pakistani, Sindhi-Muhajir man and her interaction with his family and communities. None of them lets personal bias come through for the most part, but it needs to be kept in mind that these are ethnographic studies focused around a small segment of society, and provide a mainly one-sided view of the scenario. I would not go so far as to claim that Verkaaik speaks out in defense of the MQM, or that his views are biased, but at times the book comes dangerously close to advancing a sympathy vote for the party. His comparison of the MQM men on motorbikes spreading the message to wandering Sufi preachers, for example, is taking it a bit too far. [15]

His arguments, though, are much more well-structured than Ring’s, which is partly why his book manages to create a sense of urgency about why it is important to look more deeply into the issues he is discussing. He is obviously also at a slight advantage because he is analyzing a political party which is already a hot topic of debate in Pakistan, and he is able to pull from similar recent studies conducted in other parts of the world, like Thomas Blom Hansen’s ‘Wages of Violence: Naming and Identity in Postcolonial Bombay’, with which he draws some explicit parallels, albeit briefly. Many of the ideals of the MQM youth can be compared to Hansen’s analysis of the Shiv Sena men in India — rebelling against convention, manliness, attempting to change the stereotype of femininity associated with their communal/ethnic group, desiring social respect and recognition, loyalty to ones’ ethnic group taking precedence over other values, and even the concept of “fun”. “Why should we not enjoy,” says the Shiv Sena/BJP Minister of Labour to Hansen and, as we have seen, the MQM is all for having fun. [16]

Ring’s approach to her narrative is almost too casual at times and she fails to entirely convince the reader. However, the issue she addresses is a vital one and can lead to further exploration of women’s roles, especially the question of women as perpetrators, or aggravators, of ethnic conflict through these domestic spaces. That is an area largely unexplored in Pakistan, except maybe in the realm of literature and television. Such issues are not considered relevant or important enough to be thought of as a serious social problem, when in fact they are an underlying factor in many a dismal situation facing the country today. Women, consciously or unconsciously, planting and nurturing seeds of ethnic and gender biases in domestic spaces is a very critical problem that requires urgent attention. Though ‘Zenana’ touches upon this particular aspect only indirectly, it is a good start to opening a discussion.

The neighbourhood, or mohalla, in ‘Migrants and Militants’ is important because, after the universities, it has become the main location of recruitment for the MQM. The neighbourhood in ‘Zenana’, on the other hand, is a place where women make a strenuous, often unconscious, effort to maintain peace in a multi-cultural environment amongst members of different communities who might not interact with each other if circumstances had not forced them to. The activities of young men in the former neighbourhood involve the exaggeration of often dull and ordinary acts, whereas the activities of the women in ‘Zenana’ are said to be the opposite. They look simple and ordinary, but are much more complex and significant then the women themselves might realize. How do these two versions of a neighbourhood come together in the larger picture of ethnic relationships in Sindh, and in Pakistan? Is it simply a matter of men versus women, or of public versus private space? These two books open up a number of questions and avenues to be explored. They are well worth one’s time in helping to make sense of what is a very complicated and critical issue in Pakistan today.

Nabeeha Chaudhary is a Communications professional with an MA in International Studies from the University of Washington with a research focus on women’s issues, education and cultural media in South Asia. She occasionally writes for different publications including The Seattle Globalist and The Aerogram, and is a jury member on the national South Asia Book Award committee.

Notes and Bibliography

[1] The MQM (Muttehida Qaumi Movement), previously known as the Muhajir Qaumi Movement, is a political party in Pakistan that is dominant in Karachi and Hyderabad.

[2] “Muhajir” is the term used to define Muslim migrants from India. Its literal meaning is “migrant”.

[3] Verkaaik, Oskar, ‘Migrants and Militants: Fun and Urban Violence in Pakistan’. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2004. 47,53.

[4] Iqtidar, Humeira, ‘Secularizing Islamists?: Jama’at-e-Islami and Jama’at-ud-Da’wa in Urban Pakistan’. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2011. 32.

[5] Laura A. Ring, ‘Zenana: Everyday Peace in a Karachi Apartment Building’. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2006. 18.

[6] Verkaaik, 116, 125.

[7] Shirk: Idol worship. Verkaaik, 72-74.

[8] Verkaaik, 63-64.

[9] Verkaaik, 134.

[10] Ring, 127.

[11] This is mainly because he did not have access to the women or to domestic spaces in the neighbourhood. Verkaaik, 15.

[12] Zakaria, Rafia. “The women’s vote.” Dawn, February 26, 2012.

[13] Verkaaik, 82,137.

[14] Ring, 56.

[15] Verkaaik, 62.

[16] Hansen, Thomas Blom, ‘Wages of Violence: Naming and Identity in Postcolonial Bombay’. Princeton, NJ : Princeton University Press, 2002. 195.

Editor’s Note: Featured artwork is by Ilona Yusuf. Courtesy Artchowk Gallery.