PEN American Center: ‘The Hijacking of Human Rights’ by Chris Hedges

The appointment of Suzanne Nossel, a former State Department official and longtime government apparatchik, as executive director of PEN American Center is part of a campaign to turn U.S. human rights organizations into propagandists for pre-emptive war and apologists for empire. Nossel’s appointment led me to resign from PEN as well as withdraw from speaking at the PEN World Voices Festival in May. But Nossel is only symptomatic of the widespread hijacking of human rights organizations to demonize those—especially Muslims—branded by the state as the enemy, in order to cloak pre-emptive war and empire with a fictional virtue and to effectively divert attention from our own mounting human rights abuses, including torture, warrantless wiretapping and monitoring, the denial of due process and extrajudicial assassinations.

Nossel, who was deputy assistant secretary of state for international organization affairs under Hillary Clinton in a State Department that was little more than a subsidiary of the Pentagon, is part of the new wave of “humanitarian interventionists,” such as Samantha PowerMichael Ignatieff and Susan Rice, who naively see in the U.S. military a vehicle to create a better world. They know little of the reality of war or the actual inner workings of empire. They harbor a childish belief in the innate goodness and ultimate beneficence of American power. The deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocents, the horrendous suffering and violent terror inflicted in the name of their utopian goals in Iraq and Afghanistan, barely register on their moral calculus. This makes them at once oblivious and dangerous. “Innocence is a kind of insanity,” Graham Greene wrote in his novel “The Quiet American,” and those who destroy to build are “impregnably armored by … good intentions and … ignorance.”

There are no good wars. There are no just wars. As Erasmus wrote, “there is nothing more wicked, more disastrous, more widely destructive, more deeply tenacious, more loathsome” than war. “Whoever heard of a hundred thousand animals rushing together to butcher each other, as men do everywhere?” Erasmus asked. But war, he knew, was very useful to the power elite. War permitted the powerful, in the name of national security and by fostering a culture of fear, to effortlessly strip the citizen of his or her rights. A declaration of war ensures that “all the affairs of the State are at the mercy of the appetites of a few,” Erasmus wrote.

There are cases, and Bosnia in the 1990s was one, when force should be employed to halt an active campaign of genocide. This is the lesson of the Holocaust: When you have the capacity to stop genocide and you do not, you are culpable. For this reason, we are culpable in the genocides in Cambodia and Rwanda. But the “humanitarian interventionists” have twisted this moral imperative to intercede against genocide to justify the calls for pre-emptive war and imperial expansion. Saddam Hussein did carry out campaigns of genocide against the Kurds and the Shiites, but the dirty fact is that while these campaigns were under way we provided support to Baghdad or looked the other way. It was only when Washington wanted war, and the bodies of tens of thousands of Kurds and Shiites had long decomposed in mass graves, that we suddenly began to speak in the exalted language of human rights.

These “humanitarian interventionists” studiously ignore our own acts of genocide, first unleashed against Native Americans and then exported to the Philippines and, later, nations such as Vietnam. They do not acknowledge, even in light of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, our own capacity for evil. They do not discuss in their books and articles the genocides we backed in Guatemala and East Timor or the crime of pre-emptive war. They minimize the horror and suffering we have delivered to Iraqis and Afghans and exaggerate or fabricate the benefits. The long string of atrocities carried out in our name mocks the idea of the United States as a force for good with a right to impose its values on others. The ugly truth shatters their deification of U.S. power.

Nossel, in the contentious year she headed Amnesty International USA before leaving in January, oversaw a public campaign by the organization to support NATO’s war in Afghanistan. She was running Amnesty International USA when the organization posted billboards at bus stops that read, “Human Rights for Women and Girls in Afghanistan—NATO: Keep the Progress Going.” Madeleine Albright, along with senior State Department officials and politicians, were invited to speak at Amnesty International’s women’s forum during Nossel’s tenure. Nossel has urged Democrats to stay the course in Iraq, warning that a failure in Iraq could unleash “a kind of post-Vietnam, post-Mogadishu hangover” that would lamentably “herald an era of deep reservations among the U.S. public regarding the use of force.” She worked as a State Department official to discredit the Goldstone Report, which charged Israel with war crimes against the Palestinians. As a representative on the U.N. Human Rights Council she said that “the top of our list is our defense of Israel, and Israel’s right to fair treatment at the Human Rights Council.” Not a word about the Palestinians. She has advocated for expanded armed intervention in countries such as Syria and Libya. She has called for a military strike against Iran if it does not halt its nuclear enrichment program. In an article in The Washington Quarterly titled “Battle Hymn of the Democrats,” she wrote: “Democrats must be seen to be every bit as tough-minded as their opponents. Democratic reinvention as a ‘peace party’ is a political dead end.” “In a milieu of war or near-war, the public will look for leadership that is bold and strident—more forceful, resolute, and pugnacious than would otherwise be tolerated,” she went on. In a 2004 Foreign Affairs article, “Smart Power: Reclaiming Liberal Internationalism,” she wrote: “We need to deploy our power in ways that make us stronger, not weaker,” not a stunning thought but one that should be an anathema to human rights campaigners. She added, “U.S. interests are furthered by enlisting others on behalf of U.S. goals,” which, of course, is what she promptly did at Amnesty International. Her “smart power” theory calls on the U.S. to exert its will around the globe by employing a variety of means and tactics, using the United Nations and human rights groups, for example, to promote the nation’s agenda as well as the more naked and raw coercion of military force. This is not a new or original idea, but when held up to George W. Bush’s idiocy I guess it looked thoughtful. The plight of our own dissidents—including Bradley Manning—is of no concern to Nossel and apparently of no concern now to PEN.

Coleen Rowley and Ann Wright first brought Nossel’s past and hawkish ideology to light when she became the executive director of Amnesty International USA a year ago. Rowley and Wright have written correctly that “humanitarian interventionists,” in or out of government, see no distinction between human rights work and the furtherance of U.S. imperial power. Nossel, they noted, “sees no conflict between her current role and having been a member of the executive staff whilst her President and Secretary of State bosses were carrying out war crimes such as drone attacks in Pakistan and Afghanistan and shielding torturers and their enablers in the Bush administration from prosecution.” (For more on this see Rowley’s article “Selling War as ‘Smart Power.’ ”)

Is this the résumé of a human rights advocate in the United States? Are human rights organizations supposed to further the agenda of the state rather than defend its victims? Are the ideas of “humanitarian interventionists” compatible with human rights? Are writers and artists no longer concerned with the plight of all dissidents, freedom of expression and the excesses of state power? Are we nothing more than puppets of the elite? Aren’t we supposed to be in perpetual, voluntary alienation from all forms of power? Isn’t power, from a human rights perspective, the problem?

The current business of human rights means human rights for some and not for others. Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, Physicians for Human Rights, the Peace Alliance, and Citizens for Global Solutions are all guilty of buying into the false creed that U.S. military force can be deployed to promote human rights. None of these groups stood up to oppose the invasion of Iraq or Afghanistan, as if pre-emptive war is not one of the grossest violations of human rights.

The creed of “humanitarian intervention” means, for many, shedding tears over the “right” victims. Its supporters lobby for the victims in Darfur and ignore the victims in Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen and Gaza. They denounce the savagery of the Taliban but ignore the savagery we employ in our offshore penal colonies or our drone-infested war zones. They decry the enslavement of girls in brothels in India or Thailand but not the slavery of workers in our produce fields or our prisons. They demand justice for persecuted dissidents in the Arab world but say nothing about Bradley Manning.

The playwright and fierce anti-war critic Arthur Miller, the first American president of PEN International, fearlessly stood up to McCarthyism and was blacklisted. He denounced the Vietnam War. He decried the invasion of Iraq. PEN, when it embodied Miller’s resistance and decency, stood for something real and important. As the U.S. bombed Iraq into submission and then invaded, Miller, who called the war a form of “mass murder,” said indignantly: “It’s a joke that the U.S. government wheels out the Geneva Convention when they themselves have turned away or flouted so many international treaties.”

The posing of government shills such as Nossel as human rights campaigners and the marginalization of voices such as Miller’s are part of the sickness of our age. If PEN recaptures the moral thunder of the late Arthur Miller, if it remembers that human rights mean defending all who are vulnerable, persecuted and unjustly despised, I will be happy to rejoin.

All systems of power are the problem. And it is the role of the artist, the writer and the intellectual to defy every center of power on behalf of those whom power would silence and crush. This means, in biblical terms, embracing the stranger. It means being a constant opponent rather than an ally of government. It means being the perpetual outcast. Those who truly fight for human rights understand this.

“Whether the mask is labeled Fascism, Democracy, or Dictatorship of the Proletariat, our great adversary remains the Apparatus—the bureaucracy, the police, the military … ,” Simone Weil wrote. “No matter what the circumstances, the worst betrayal will always be to subordinate ourselves to this Apparatus, and to trample underfoot, in its service, all human values in ourselves and in others.”

Chris Hedges spent nearly two decades as a foreign correspondent in Central America, the Middle East, Africa and the Balkans. He has reported from more than 50 countries and has worked for The Christian Science Monitor, National Public Radio, The Dallas Morning News and The New York Times, for which he was a foreign correspondent for 15 years. More:
http://www.truthdig.com/chris_hedges#bio

From Truthdig
http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/the_hijacking_of_human_rights_20130407/

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2nd Annual WIN Canada Literary Festival and Dr. Asha Bhargava Memorial Awards – Richmond March 23/13

WIN 2013 Poster FINAL (1)

Writers International Network Canada
The 2nd Annual Literary Festival
Richmond Cultural Centre/Library
7700 Minoru Gate Richmond, BC
Saturday, March 23, 2013
10.00 AM to 4.00 PM
Canada’s Best 2013 Awards & Dr. Asha Bhargava Memorial Awards

For more information call
Ashok Bhargava 604-327-6040, Alan Hill 604-276-4391, Mahendra Kwatra 778-386-2745

The main objective of this event is
to bring together writers of diverse backgrounds and genre
to develop better appreciation and fuller awareness of
the art of creative writing.
And to provide an opportunity to network
socialize and to recognize talent.
WIN also recognizes people who are
community builders and goodwill ambassadors.

Program
• Featured poets and open mic
• Music by Enrico
• Dances:
Bharat Natayam (Arno Komalika)
Kathara Canada (Carlie David, Mutya Macatumpag, Babette Santos, Jade Santos-Gutierrez, Michael Gutierrez, Sacha Levin)
Sampaguita Dancers (Levna Anorico, Helen Villarico, Cleo Tiamzon, Rosalinda Tabag, Aida Bhargava, Celyna Sia Scherst, Ligaya Garcia, Norma Yasay)
• Award Recipients –
Canada’s Best 2013 Distinguished Poets and Writers:
Dennis E. Bolen, Theresa Chevalier, Srinath P. Dwivedi,
Lucia Gorea, Candice James, Surjeet Kalsey,
Bonnie Nish, Ellen Taleon, Valerie B-Taylor

• International Awards:
Dr. Rita Malhotra and Lila Shahani
• Community Ambassadors
Duke Ashrafuzzaman, Jai P. Birdi, Kuldip Jhand, Sharma, Mankajee Shrestha
• Lunch and Refreshments provided
• Entry by donation
• Hosts:
Bernice Lever, Charlene Sayo, Lilija Valis

WIN – Writers International Network Canada is
founded by Ashok Bhargava
to discover, nourish, recognize, celebrate and promote writers and
assist them to connect with other writers.
http://writersinternationalnetwork.wordpress.com/

Ashok Bhargava
bhargava2000@yahoo.com
http://ashokbhargava.wordpress.com/
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‘Dhol ڈھول ‘ – Punjabi poem by Zubair Ahmad

Milna ee taaN mil
ais jahanay
jewndi jaanay
haal gharri vich
aisay saaNheiN
aj de raateiN
aissay pal
mil
milna ee taaN mil

Rooh de baNheiN
akhh de saaheiN
yaad gali vich
ossay nukarray
jithay chad aye saaN
dil
milna ee taaN mil

Dharti ghumdi
badal nachday
paer hawa-eiN
udday udday
asmaaneiN gaye
mil
milna ee taaN mil
..

ڈھول

ملِنا ای تاں مِل
ایس جہانے
جیوندی جانے
حال گھڑی وچ
ایسے ساہیں
اج دی راتیں
ایسے پل
مِل
ملِنا ای تاں مِل

روح دی باہیں
اکھ دی ساہیں
یاد گلی وچ
اوسے نُکڑے
جتھے چھڈ آئے ساں
دِل
ملنا ای تاں مِل

دھرتی گھُمدی
بدل نچدے
پیر ہوائیں
اُڈے اُڈے
اسمانیں گئے
مِل
ملِنا ای تاں مِل

..

From Zubair Ahmad’s new collection of poems ‘Sadd’ (Call), Sanjh Publications, Lahore 2012

Contact Zubair
kitab.trinjan@gmail.com
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‘Serious Men’ By Manu Joseph – Book review by Farah Shroff

seriousmen-cover
W. W. Norton & Company, New York 2010

If you are like me and root for the underdog then you may find this book appealing. The main character of this book is Ayyan Mani, a Dalit father, spouse and clerk at a physics institute in Mumbai. Despite the ‘serious’ in the title the book is actually quite comedic. One of the ways in which Mani wanted to “strike back” at India’s ruling Brahmins was to donate sperm— hoping that Brahmins would purchase his seed and sprout little Dalit babies! Much of the book revolves around his desire to make his one and only son famous for being a genius. His little Adi has been born into a very modest home and has few prospects for ever climbing higher than his father, despite the fact that Mani is a member of MENSA and has a very high IQ.

The physics’ institute’s characters and their professional and personal lives take up another chunk of the story. We meet arrogant, brilliant men who think about extra terrestrials and fight about sending balloons into space to see if life drops down from outer space. When the first woman joins the research team, this hitherto all-male bastion changes in unpredictable ways.

All in all this is a great read albeit slow and rather dull in a few places. Joseph is generally a talented story teller. While his male characters are well developed the women in his book lack believability in some ways and in other ways they are stereotyped as not very interesting people.

The front cover, with a friendly and colourful image of Lord Shiva and his son Ganesha, caught my eye. I’m glad I picked it up and took it home. For part of the time, our 12 year old Zubin and me read the book aloud and enjoyed the fun together. Joseph takes on the heavy theme of caste discrimination and weaves a tale that is light yet provocative.

http://www.amazon.com/Serious-Men-Novel-Manu-Joseph/dp/0393338592

Farah Shroff
fms@ece.ubc.ca

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‘Why Pakistan’s writers must attend the Jaipur literature festival’ by Kamila Shamsie and Salil Tripathi

The Guardian
Thursday 24 January 2013

Once again, religious fundamentalists in India are threatening to disrupt the Jaipur literature festival. The festival has grown over the years to be among the world’s largest such gatherings, bringing together writers from all continents, and, more important, showcasing South Asian writing talent, including the rich and diverse universe of regional languages. The festival has not been without controversies. Last year, Salman Rushdie withdrew after he received credible death threats from a Muslim group.

Five writers protested Rushdie’s absence by reading out excerpts fromThe Satanic Verses. Politicians filed lawsuits against the organisers and four of the authors – Jeet Thayil (whose novel, Narcopolis, was shortlisted last year for the Man Booker prize), Ruchir Joshi, Hari Kunzru and Amitava Kumar – and investigations are ongoing. On the last day of the festival, Muslim fundamentalists refused to let the organisers even telecast a conversation with Rushdie. On 21 January, a few self-described Muslim scholars asked the festival to disinvite the four this year. Of the four, Thayil is the only featured speaker. The organisers have held firm – he should attend.

In parallel, and in a pattern that’s now increasingly, and dismayingly, predictable, the Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party, which is India’s main opposition party, has warned Pakistani writers not to participate in this year’s festival. Among those expected are Mohammed HanifNadeem Aslam (see the interview on page 12), Jamil AhmadFehmida Riaz and Musharraf Farooqi. To their credit, the organisers have also refused to buckle under this threat. The BJP’s demand is technically unrelated to the Muslim call, but it is in line with the fundamentalist Hindu aim, to stop all cultural and sporting contacts with Pakistan, because tensions along the “line of control” – the de facto border that separates Kashmir into parts controlled by India and Pakistan – have escalated. In a series of confusing events, both sides have accused the other of violating long-standing agreements by undertaking construction, firing, and beheading soldiers along the border.

Hindu activists succeeded in stopping two talented Pakistani theatre groups from staging plays of the late Saadat Hasan Manto, a Pakistani writer who grew up in pre-partition India and is regarded as one of the most poignant chroniclers of the partition of 1947. Activists also succeeded in getting Indian Hockey League teams to drop Pakistani players they had acquired in the region’s first professionally run hockey league. Now it is the turn of the Pakistani writers to bear the brunt of Hindu wrath.

This is deeply troublesome, given the vitiated state of relations between the neighbours who have fought four wars since independence. The party-wreckers seek to weaken the festival because it has become one of the few intellectual spaces in India where it is possible for Indian and Pakistani writers to interact meaningfully with one another and their readers. Much to the chagrin of the fundamentalists, Pakistani writers are popular in India, and attract a fond following.

Hindu apologists claim they are only reacting to Muslim intransigence, but that is preposterous. Intolerance cuts across all religions (as we have argued in our respective books, Offence: The Muslim Case and Offence: The Hindu Case (Seagull), outlining fundamentalist attacks on freedom of expression). What’s peculiar in the Indian instance is the notion of competitive intolerance, due to which each side tries to outdo the other in demanding restrictions, narrowing the discourse. That’s terrible for India, for Pakistan and for literature.

Over the years, the Jaipur festival has earned the reputation of being an important destination on the global literary map. Any steps politicians and politically inclined groups take to stamp their authority on it diminishes the world. India and Pakistan may have legitimate grievances with each another, but a literary festival, like a stage or a hockey field, is no place to settle them – on the contrary, those spaces exist so that both countries can expand their views of each other beyond the rhetoric of politicians and generals.

Moreover, both Hindu and Muslim groups who want to keep authors away from Jaipur are hurting India’s long tradition of intellectual freedom. It is for the organisers to remain firm in their resolve and stay on the path and stare back at their philistine critics. And it is for the Indian government to ensure that the festival takes place without any restrictions.

Pakistan-born Kamila Shamsie and India-born Salil Tripathi are co-chairs of English PEN’s Writers at Risk committee.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2013/jan/24/pakistani-writers-jaipur-literary-festival?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+theguardian%2Fbooks%2Frss+%28Books%29

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‘Barbarism in Cultured Soil: Rushdie’s Great Pakistani Novel’ by Shehryar Fazli

Still banned in Pakistan

I.

SALMAN RUSHDIE’S THIRD NOVEL, Shame, which will turn 30 next year, may have an unenviable legacy. Squeezed between its author’s two most famous books — and two of the most famous books of the 1980s — Midnight’s Children and The Satanic Verses — it is seldom given its due in discussions of the author’s body of work, nor does it find much space in his recently published memoir, Joseph Anton. Yet, even with the recent ‘boom’ in Pakistan’s literature, it remains the most ambitious English-language novel about that country, yet to be surpassed in scope, inventiveness, and humor.

It also remains banned in Pakistan.

So, first, a word about my own copy of the novel: it’s a 1984 Picador edition, with the Urdu word for shame, ‘sharam’, written as if by hand with Typex in Arabic script above the English title. I say ‘my’ copy, but it in fact belonged to my father, who bought it in the 1980s at a secondhand bookstore in Islamabad. What’s peculiar about this is that General Zia-ul-Haq’s military government had banned Shame in Pakistan, a decision that attracted more attention to the book than the dictatorship intended, and induced several Western capitals to ship copies to Islamabad through the diplomatic bag for their envoys to read. Once done, these people would sell their copies to one of the many used bookstores in the capital.

There was another book in those years that also made the rounds through these same cramped passageways: Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s If I am Assassinated, which the ex-prime minister wrote from his cell after Zia’s coup. When Zia closed down the printing press that was to print the book, stapled photocopied manuscripts found their way to secondhand bookstores, through which they would circulate widely, even years after Bhutto was hanged, in 1979.

It is amusing to consider these two books, hooked to the same life support, moving clandestinely in the political capital together, under Zia’s nose. Shame, after all, is in part a fictionalized account of the Bhutto-Zia relationship. The story of this particular copy is also apt not only because censorship and suppression are such vital themes in Shame, but because an equally important element is the stuff that evades or finds a way around censorship, the thing that won’t go away — including the words of a dead prime minister.

In the simplest terms, the novel is about the transformation of a country’s identity, the rise and fall of two men, the civilian leader Iskander Harrapa and the dictator-to-be Raza Hyder, fictional parallels respectively of Bhutto and Zia, who try to control the process, and the tragic outcomes of their missions. Its raw material is the history of Pakistan. At first glance, the book’s oft-quoted description of Pakistan as “a failure of the dreaming mind” seems mischievous and intended to provoke. But the failed dream here is an oppressive one: it is the dream of Urdu-speaking migrants who, after Partition in 1947, had to govern an essentially foreign nation, feeling compelled to impose a neat formula — the founding father, Mohammed Ali Jinnah’s ‘one nation, one culture, one language’ — onto a diverse, unwieldy polity. The dream disappoints because the country is too multi-ethnic and multi-lingual, too multidimensional for the imposition.

Shame’s narrator argues, “It is possible to see the subsequent history of Pakistan as a duel between two layers of time, the obscured world forcing its way back through what-had-been-imposed.” This duel forms the novel’s locus. Throughout, the censored and stifled rise to the surface, whether in the real-life secession of East Pakistan and insurgency in Balochistan against a brutal state, or in the gruesomely murderous acts of Sufiya Zinobia, General Hyder’s underdeveloped and repressed daughter. And then there is the deposed Iskander Harrapa, refusing to be quiet even after his execution: “O unceasing monologue of a hanged man!” Hyder wails as he starts hearing the dead prime minister, head still in the noose, taunting his executioner, “Never fear, old boy, it’s pretty difficult to get rid of me. I can be an obstinate bastard when I choose.” That voice goes on harassing Hyder “from the day of Iskander’s death to the morning of his own, that voice, sardonic lilting dry […] words dripping on his ear-drum like Chinese tortures, even in his sleep.”

There are other duels, too: between civilians and generals; between private passions and public customs; between the imagination and censorship; and, of course, between honor and shame. There is also a duel between fact and fiction. Ostensibly, Shame is a fantasy, the country in it “not-quite Pakistan,” everything not-quite real. Mixed into the fantasy, however, are passages of memoir, essay, and commentary on the actual Pakistan. Describing his intentions, the author says, “I tell myself this will be a novel of leavetaking, my last words on the East from which, many years ago, I began to come loose […] It is part of the world to which, whether I like it or not, I am still joined, if only by elastic bands.”

These intrusions, where the narrator (Rushdie or not-quite Rushdie, it’s difficult to tell) speaks and explains himself, are integral to the structure. He says that with his intermittent visits to his family in Pakistan, he “learned Pakistan in slices” — and that’s how he gives us the story. Instead of the perforated sheet of Midnight’s Children, we have “fragments of broken mirrors,” which the author holds up and in which the world ofShame is reflected to us. Throughout, we see him adjusting the angles to refract a little more or a little less. The difficulty in discriminating how much is real and how much is fantasy and manipulation is part of the novel’s tension.

II.

It is difficult to resist the temptation to compare Shame to the now thrice-Booker-winning Midnight’s Children. In a 1995 piece declaring Saul Bellow’s 1953 Adventures of Augie March the Great American Novel, Martin Amis wrote: “Search no further. All the trails went cold forty-two years ago.” Similarly, if there is such a search for the Great Indian Novel, the trail went cold after the publication of Midnight’s Children in 1981. And it would indeed seem implausible that a novel about Pakistan would reach the same peaks as this earlier masterpiece.

At the risk of fidgeting with already tenuous definitions, it does seem that some countries have earned the Great Novel and some haven’t. The deserving nation at minimum evokes a sense of vastness, idealism and possibility, even if the promise is ultimately disappointed. This befits America and India, as it did Britain and Russia once upon a time. Meanwhile the shrunken land of Pakistan seems to have a more modest mandate, the intimate novel with small cast, of which there has been an excellent supply since at least the Lahore-based novelist Bapsi Sidhwa’s work in the late 1970s. In this century, Pakistani writers have taken a piece of their country’s territory and extracted all that they can from it, often brilliantly: Mohsin Hamid’s Moth Smoke (Lahore), Daniyal Mueenuddin’s In Other Rooms, Other Wonders (rural Punjab), Jamil Ahmad’s The Wandering Falcon (the tribal borderlands), Mohammed Hanif’s A Case of Exploding Mangoes (life in the military). Shame, however, goes for broke; it wants the whole nation.

The first few chapters alone go through a rich inventory of the idiosyncratically Pakistani: the three rebellious, irreverent matriarchs in Quetta; a brandy den in the same city; the cantonment school; the corrupt customs officer and post-office man; the eccentric maulana who rides around town on a scooter “donated by the Angrez sahibs, threatening the citizens with damnation”; tribal borderlands; rural Sindh (with a seamless description of its large, almost-desert landholdings: “In these parts, horizons serve as boundary fences.”); and a humorous exposition of the layers of secret deals behind Karachi’s Defense Housing Authority, a result of which “nobody ever questioned how it came about that the city’s most highly desirable development zone had been allotted to the defense services.”

There is great comedy — the corrupt customs officer, for example, throws his daughter out of the house when he “suddenly found that his empty customs house was too full to accommodate a daughter whose belly revealed adherence to other, unacceptable customs”; and pithy, pitch perfect meditations on the condition of Pakistan’s elite that recall Rushdie’s earlier career as an adman: “Little (except freedom) was denied him”; “You can get anywhere in Pakistan if you know people, even into jail.”

Rushdie is also a master of South Asian accents and verbal mannerisms: when, for example, a character asks, “For what you begums want this lock-shock now?” Or when another speaks of “eighteen-inch stiletto blades, sharp sharp,” and another berates, “God knows what you’ll change with all this shifting shifting.” “Dontyouthinkso” becomes one word to reflect its common quirky South Asian usage. As such instances become more frequent — “biskuts” instead of biscuits, “filmi types,” a character describing a crude child as “the junglee boy”— one can share Rushdie’s delight in retooling our vocabulary.

Translations from Urdu are chosen both for comedy and insight: there is the restive Needle Valley, after Balochistan’s Sui district (the word ‘sui’ meaning needle); and a newspaper named War, a translation of jang, which is the name of one of the country’s top media groups and their main daily newspaper, its name such a part of everyday discussion that we sometimes forget its literal meaning. The Urdu term for the man-to-man hug of greeting, galai se milna, sounds charmingly absurd when translated into “allowing their necks to meet.”

He gave us this mix in Midnight’s Children, too, but there’s something else in the tone here that distinguishes the two novels. Returning to Bellow for a moment, the great American writer supposedly found his voice when, seeing water gushing from a fire hydrant, he decided to adopt a literary style that reflected a comparable surge of elements, employing it for the first time in Augie March. The writing in Midnight’s Children could be described in the same way. Throughout, there is a sense of one story or character or place leaking all over the next. In his recently published memoir, Rushdie described it this way: “India was not cool. It was hot and overcrowded and vulgar and loud and it needed a language to match that and he [Rushdie] would try to find that language.”

Shame, meanwhile, is a much smaller, tighter work, in part a reflection of its author’s idea of Pakistan: not hot, not loud, but closed, censored, its possibilities more restricted. Instead of Saleem’s invocation to himself on the first page, “Oh, spell it out, spell it out,”Shame’s narrator prefers leaving “many questions in a state of unanswered ambiguity.” Yet, concealed underneath is nevertheless the same messiness and energy that we find in the earlier novel; the water is still in the hydrant but the internal pressure always high, causing bursts now and again. This gives the sentences a fresh, tantalizing volatility.

Some of the book’s best moments are indeed when Rushdie condenses his material. Harappa’s period in power, for example, which a reader familiar with Bhutto’s rule in the 1970s may expect to be covered in several long chapters, is instead captured in a single paragraph that runs for four pages. It is depicted through 18 embroidered shawls, classified by theme. For example, a slapping shawl:

Iskander a thousand times over raising his hand, lifting it against ministers, ambassadors, argumentative holy men, mill-owners, servants, friends, it seemed as if every slap he ever delivered was here, and how many times he did it [] see upon the cheeks of his contemporaries the indelible blushes engendered by his palm.

On the next page, elections shawls:

[O]ne for the day of suffrage that began his reign, one for the day that led to his downfall, shawls swarming with figures, each one a breathtakingly lifelike portrait of a member of the Front, figures breaking seals, stuffing ballot-boxes, smashing heads, figures swaggering into polling booths to watch peasants vote, stick-waving rifle-toting figures, fire-raisers, mobs, and on the shawl of the second election there were three times as many figures as the on the first […] and of course he’d had won anyway, daughter, no question, a respectable victory, but he wanted more, only annihilation was good enough for his opponents, he wanted them squashed like cockroaches under his boot, yes, obliteration, and in the end it came to him instead, don’t think he wasn’t surprised, he had forgotten he was only a man.

Seven years of revolutionary, autocratic government compressed into four intense pages.

Like Bhutto, Harrapa is deposed in a coup by his until-then sycophantic army chief Hyder; elections are postponed; and Hyder, with his ally the motor-scooter maulana whispering in one ear and the ghost of the hanged ex-prime minister taunting him in the other, and facing women-led insurrection on the streets, becomes an Islamizing dictator.

The novel’s penultimate chapter is titled, “Stability,” the word here of course offered not to suggest genuine peace and harmony, but as the main imperative of dictatorship, a response to the “danger of permitting the imagination too free a rein.” It in fact leaves out five crucial words, revealed later to complete General Hyder’s motto: “Stability, in the name of God.” The chapter begins with a synopsis of a play about the French Revolution featuring Georges Danton who, after playing a lead role in overthrowing the monarchy, is guillotined during Robespierre’s Terror because, in this version, “he is too fond of pleasure.” His indulgences are subversive, whereas the demands of the French public at the time are for order: “The people are like Robespierre. They distrust fun.” And hence the play’s lesson is that the duel between the epicure and the puritan forms “the true dialectic of history. Forget left-right, capitalism-socialism, black-white. Virtue versus vice, ascetic versus bawd, God against the Devil: that’s the game.”

It’s also a blood sport — and Shame is by far Rushdie’s most violent novel, climaxing in this blood-spattered chapter. As the dictatorship seeks “stability, in the name of God,” it has to oppress the public while appearing to be fulfilling the public’s needs. But all stability of this kind, even if it’s in the name of God, proves fragile. General Hyder, proving himself alas to be “only a man,” is overthrown by a terrorizing mob that may or may not be inspired by his repressed daughter, Sufiya. The final section is appropriately titled “Judgment Day.”

III.

The heroes of Rushdie’s novels are tragic because they believe or dream themselves to be larger than they are. In Midnight’s Children, Saleem envisions himself as the embodiment of the Indian nation, and the one causing historical events. Gibreel in The Satanic Verses dreams himself into the archangel. But these are, of course, fantasies, exposed by the end. India, for example, carries on with or without Saleem.

Shame’s declared ‘hero’, Omar Khayyam, never entertains such delusions: he accepts a peripheral role in history, watching “from the wings, not knowing how to act.” But the danger is that people who do influence the times, the Hyders and Harrapas, are just as average. Unlike Saleem and Gibreel, when they enlarge their roles, the consequences are severe.

History was old and rusted, it was a machine nobody had plugged in for thousands of years, and here all of a sudden it was being asked for maximum output. Nobody was surprised that there were accidents.

Those accidents leave long-term traumas, both external — separatism, secession, executions — and internal, as symbolized by the innocent Sufiya’s transformation into a murdering Beast that prowls the very “heart of the respectable world.” While iron rule may produce the trappings of stability and civility on the surface, it fails ultimately to conceal the novel’s innermost secret: “the impossible verity that barbarism [can] grow in cultured soil.” This revelation exposes and undoes the history-workers.

Towards the end of the book, when Raza Hyder has fallen, his wife Bilquis posits: “Once titans walked the earth.” And she reats, “Yes, titans absolutely, it’s a fact.”

“Now the pygmies have taken over, however,” she confided. “Tiny personages. Ants. Once he was a giant,” she jerked a thumb in the direction of her somnolent husband, “you would not believe to look, but he was. Streets where he walked shook with fear and respect, even here, in this very town. But, you see, even a giant can be pygmified, and he has shrunk now, he is smaller than a bug. Pygmies pygmies everywhere, also insects and ants — shame on giants, isn’t it? Shame on them for shrinking. That’s my opinion.”

The ideas in the two passages quoted here crest in a later novel, The Moor’s Last Sigh, to produce one of the finest passages in Rushdie’s work:

A tragedy was taking place all right, a national tragedy on a grand scale, but those of us who played our parts were — let me put it bluntly — clowns. Clowns! Burlesque buffoons, drafted into history’s theatre on account of the lack of greater men. Once, indeed, there were giants on our stage; but at the fag end of an age, Madam History must do with what she can get.

Although the country in this case is India, this treatise could just as easily summarize the tragedy in Shame.

IV.

More than for any other writer of his time, duels from Rushdie’s fiction find their way into real life. Shame is no exception. It is indeed eerie to read the author/narrator musing on the value of the Danton play in the “age of Khomeini,” when, at the end of that decade, Rushdie himself became arguably the most emblematic victim of that Age. At an earlier point, the author says that if he were writing a realistic book about Pakistan, that book “would have been banned, dumped in the rubbish bin, burned. All that effort for nothing!” Fortunately, he contends, “I am only telling a sort of modern fairy-tale, so that’s all right; nobody need get upset, or take anything I say too seriously. No drastic action need be taken, either. What a relief!”

Well, not quite. Realism showed through the fairy-tale, the military did get upset, and the book was banned. But if the narrator here underestimated Zia’s discriminating ear, he also overestimated the state’s ability to fully ban a book. Copies found their way around the regime. And almost 30 years later, the duel continues. Despite significant progress, free expression still contends against state censorship, winning a round here, losing one there. Recently, in the aftermath of an anti-Islam film trailer that provoked riots across the Muslim world, the government in Islamabad blocked Youtube, which remains inaccessible as of the writing of this essay. Meanwhile, insurgency and brutal military suppression continue in Balochistan, the army continues to interfere in politics, and Zia’s Islamization has proven very tough to reverse. If Shame’s political substance makes it relevant reading today, its language, inventiveness, and storytelling force will ensure its importance as a literary work even if — fingers crossed — those issues stop being current.

Despite coming under 300 pages, Shame is a big novel that goes for big ideas, about the individual and power, about state force and its limitations, about the imagination under authoritarian rule. It’s also a kaleidoscope, the broadest and liveliest yet, of this country’s complicated personality, full of pettiness and corruption and tragedy, but also rebellion and defiance and wit.

Given the great energy in Pakistani writing today, it would be hasty to say that the trail for the Great Pakistani Novel has gone cold. The 21st-century books mentioned earlier explore such diverse themes as immigration, conspiracy, bureaucracy, class divide, gender roles, army rule, tribal code, city life, proving how rich the material is. It’s possible that another big book that tries to encompass all of it is already in the works, and this possibility, this feeling that the Pakistani novel is still on the rise, is what makes this period in the nation’s literature so exciting.

But in the meanwhile, if searching for such a book, search no further than Shame.

[*] An earlier version of this essay appeared on theindiasite.com.

From Los Angeles Review of Books
http://lareviewofbooks.org/article.php?type&id=1182&fulltext=1&media#article-text-cutpoint
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uddari@live.ca
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Momentary, Immediate, and Urgent: Amarjit Chandan

Amarjit Chandan joins our Ventures Tour tomorrow, Fri 2 Nov, at Off The Shelf Festival in Sheffield (details here). We asked him some questions in anticipation of his readings in Sheffield, Wakefield, Hebden Bridge, Halifax and Nottingham over the next few days.

How would you describe your poetry?
I have been asked this question many times and each time I evade it saying: I write about any thing – from God to the tomato. I’ve written a poem about the latter and I rather like it.
I think contemporary poets and literary critics including readers are better in describing a poet’s work.

When did you begin writing poetry?
I inherited poetry from my father who was a poet. My first poem was published in the prestigious Punjabi magazine Preet Lari when I was 20.

How have you developed and improved your poetry since you started? What is your writing process? Do you write alone or with the help of others?
One learns all the time. I write alone. It is revealed to me. It can happen any time, anywhere. I have written walking the streets scribbling on pieces of paper.

What encouraged you to take part in the Arc tour? What do you hope to achieve? What are you most looking forward to?
My publishers encouraged me! I’d like to reach more people who appreciate poetry. I’d talk about how the Punjabi listeners respond to poets reading in public. Unlike the English scene it is always lively. They respond to each word, image or a line they like by saying aloud like: Wow! Great! Marvelous! Mukarar – say it again! Bravo! The English tend to reach out to the poet after the reading, saying simply: that poem or line I really liked. A woman in Lancaster (34th Litfest 20th October) came to me telling how she was touched by my poem ‘To Father’ and could not control her tears.

How much does reading in new contexts change the way you think about your work?
Readers’ and listeners’ response is what really matters. I have read in all sorts of contexts – from large gatherings to intimate circles – amongst my own community and non-Punjabis. I feel rewarded even if there is a single person present who you know is touched by your words or a silent pause in your poem.
Sometimes I’ve a weird feeling while reading, which I have shared with my close friends, a parallel track runs in my thoughts that I shouldn’t be doing this – making public my innermost thoughts like a love poem or poems written about my loved ones. It wasn’t meant to be like this. My friends comfort me that it is sharing – that’s what poetry is all about.
Reading while recording in a semi-dark studio is bizarre and overwhelming – the subjects of your poems appear before your eyes and you talk face-to-face with them.

What do you think is most important in a poetry translation? Is fidelity to the original the most important thing, for example?
The original is crucial. The translation has to be faithful to the original in its own way.

What place do you think poetry has in contemporary culture?
Poetry has certain contemporariness about it by its very nature – it’s momentary, immediate, and urgent. It has the central place where our hearts are. It has always been the case and will ever be.

Are there any British poets you have been inspired by or you particularly admire?
I particularly admire John Berger. He is the master. As a man and a writer he is so inspiring. My writing is very much influenced by his work. Other English poets who are my favourite: Dannie Abse, Adrian Mitchell, Owen Sheers and Jackie Kay.

What are the difficulties facing poets in the Punjab?
Their main difficulty is to get published. There are no funding bodies like Arts Council etc. Most of the poets are into self-publishing or they have to pay the publishers and the readership is also shrinking. The poets in West Punjab Pakistan are in dire straits. It is the most populous province of Pakistan, with more than 55% of the country’s total population. Unlike the Indian Punjab, Punjabi has no status there: it has no official recognition in the Constitution of Pakistan. It is not taught at the primary school level. Even Punjabi members of national assembly are not allowed to make speeches in their own mother tongue.

Amarjit Chandan
22 October 2012

Posted by Arc, 1st November 2012
http://www.arcpublications.co.uk/blog.php

uddari@live.ca
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Uddari-Weblog/333586816691660
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Sindhi Poets return Pakistan’s Higher Civil Award

Two prominent Sindhi poets, educationalists, and researchers have returned the higher civil award of Pakistan – Tamgha-e-Imtiaz – in protest against the controversial Sindh Local Government Law, which administratively divides Sindh.

Last week, the veteran poet and educationist Ms. Marryam Majidi returned award; meanwhile yesterday the veteran researcher and poet Dr. Dur Mohammad Pathan returned the award to the Government of Pakistan.

News story
LG ordinance backlash: Sindhi poet to return his Tamgha-e-Imtiaz in protest
By Sarfaraz Memon
Published: October 15, 2012

SUKKUR: Poet, writer and research scholar Dr Dur Mohammad Pathan, expressing his disappointment over the ruling Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) performance, announced on Sunday that he will return his Presidential Tamgha-e-Imtiaz.

Talking to the media, he blamed the PPP and Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM) for ‘trying to harm the integrity and solidarity of Sindh’, which he said could not be tolerated. He was referring to the controversial local government ordinance. Pathan added that despite opposition from all over Sindh, PPP not only encouraged the Sindh governor to promulgate the ‘black ordinance’, but passed it in a record half hour.

Pathan said that these steps proved that the PPP and MQM were working against the interests of Sindh, and had therefore lost the mandate of the people of Sindh. He added that while several PPP MPAs were against the bill, they did not have the courage to oppose the bill openly.

The poet also said that if the ruling party claimed to have an answer to every query about the new local government system, then it should arrange a roundtable conference where all political and nationalist parties can debate the issue. Pathan also lashed out against the Sindh law minister, saying that he had learnt nothing from Benazir Bhutto and had therefore crossed his limits while criticising the writers and poets of Sindh.

Talking to The Express Tribune, Pathan said the Tamgha-e-Imtiaz was given to him last year for his services in the field of poetry and literature, and he had accepted the award because it was conferred by a democratic government. Having proven that it was now an ‘undemocratic party’, he said, he had now decided to return the award.

Published in The Express Tribune, October 15th, 2012
http://tribune.com.pk/story/451555/lg-ordinance-backlash-sindhi-poet-to-return-his-tamgha-e-imtiaz-in-protest/

Information from SPN Newsletter
Zulfiqar Shah: shahzulf@yahoo.com
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Movie ‘Midnight’s Children’ – Beautiful Rendition of the Novel

On October 3rd, Vancouver offered to the movie ‘Midnight’s Children’ the largest attendance recorded for a screening at Vancouver International Film Festival (VIFF). Produced by David Hamilton, directed by Deepa Mehta and written by Salman Rushdie, the film is a(n explosive) treat to watch.

The world of Midnight’s Children, a cellulide incarnation of Salman Rushdie’s classic novel on the partition of India, comes alive from the start and continues to become more vivid, more exciting, more bizarre – as it does. From hillarious to outrageous, it’s a riot to witness a woman in bits and parts through the holed sheet, and then see her emerge as a complete, and somehow baffling young woman; the three sisters, two of whom progress to become wives while the third (‘who marries a book?’) stays sitting on the sofa; the celebrated birth of Salim Sinai, and nurse Mary’s inspirational pro-activism in switching the newborns; the un-sighted black mango with all it’s ramifications on the young mind of Salim; the recurrence of the spittoon; the white-locked lady of all political powers, generals and plans, the killing fields, the homeless, Parvati’s magic, Picture Singh’s supportive appearances; and most of all, an optimistic end.

Tying it together is Salman Rushdie’s first person narration as Salim Sinai that runs through the film like the nadi connecting all the seven chakras across the body. In a world where anything is possible, and at a time when people must experience the violence of doctored political change, the continuity of the narrator’s voice enables the viewer to go with it till the end.

Deepa Mehta has created this film with amazing skill, depth and vision. The chaotic culture of pre-Partition India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, the characters, the atmosphere, the beauty- it is a forceful, moving and fascinating experience in cinema. A profound art film and not a single dull moment.

Actors performed their characters well even when there was not enough time for most. Amazing talent, beauty and hard work shines through the whole team led by Satya Bhabha (Saleem Sinai), Shahana Goswami (Amina), Seema Biswas (Mary), Shriya Saran (Parvati), Rahul Bose (General Zulfikar) and Ronit Roy (Ahmed Sinai). An unexpected disappointment: Shabana Azmi (Naseem).

The movie ‘Midnight’s Children’ remains in the mind as an unforgettable visual experience, and as a worthy preamble to a larger film. Because of the time constraint that may have caused the collage of key events toward the end, the later half, unlike the first, could not establish all of it’s changing worlds for it’s characters to live in. It does work but feels like a tease to a viewer who has read the novel, and confusion to the one who hasn’t.

About the river and the bowl, the river of novel Midnight’s Children is indeed captured and contained in the bowl of a 90-minute film even though brimming, spilling, splashing. It’s spoiling for a slightly bigger bowl of perhaps a 3-hour film or a mini tv series.

Don’t miss it! In Theatres November 2, 2012
http://www.midnightschildren.com/
http://www.facebook.com/midnightsmovie
http://www.hamiltonmehta.com/about/
http://www.salman-rushdie.com/

To be released in India December 2012
http://www.ndtv.com/article/india/

Related content at uddari
- ‘Midnight’s Children’ World Premiere: Toronto Sept 9 & 10 – Vancouver Sept 27
- 2012 Attraction: A Deepa Mehta Film

Uddari Weblog
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Fauzia Rafique
@RafiqueFauzia
gandholi.wordpress.com
http://www.facebook.com/fauzia.zohra.rafique
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Protect Mirza-Sahiban’s Mausoleum in Punjab


Photo by Sohail Abid, 2010

This is the burying place of Mirza Sahiban in Danabad. It is facing the worst neglect because of the stigma attached to the two lovers. There is also danger that there graves may be erased by, the now stronger, conservative section of the local community. It must be declared a National Heritage site. The following information is shared by Sohail Abid on Facebook. Uddari

‘The mausoleum of Miraza-Sahiban, in depilated condition, is located in Danabad union council in Jaranwala. Local men do not let their women visit the mausoleum fearing they might follow the footsteps of Sahiban. People were convinced that visits by women to the mausoleum increased their chances of eloping and thus they banned women from visiting the place.

‘Hayat Kharal, from 384 GB Jhandwali village said Akram alias Akri’s daughter eloped with her lover five years ago when she returned from Mirza-Sahibain’s shrine. Sahadat Ali Kharal, a resident, told Daily Times that their forefathers believed that the “dirt cemetery of Mirza-Sahiban” should be demolished because many women would become immoral. Qasoo Kharal, another resident, said the memory of Mirza and Sahiban must be erased.’

‘That’s from a 2006 Daily Times story. When I visited the place in Dec 2010, it was there. Erasing the graves is not a matter as simple in the muslim tradition of the sub-continent. But yes, the people don’t really want to visit the mausoleum. This photo was taken during my visit in 2010.’

Sohail Abid
http://www.facebook.com/sohailabid

Related content at Uddari
‘SahebaN’s Name’ by Fauzia Rafique
‘SahebaN’s Name’, Part 2
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Release Writers and Publishers arrested in India

Two writers and two publishers were arrested in the Indian Panjab for publishing already published materials that are now deemed ‘casteist or derogatory in nature’. In our view, the local government is appropriating the Dalit issue by imposing this sudden censorship on publishing already published texts. We objects to this appropriation and the attempt to edit texts with hindsight, and demand the immediate release of publishers Amit Mittar and Ashok Garg, writers Jagjit Singh and Sukhwinder Singh. Uddari

Will writers’ penning Waris Shah, Bhai Gurdas next after Rajab Ali, to face police action?
An article by Neel Kamal
Times of India

BARNALA: If celebrated kavishar (folk writer) Rajab Ali’s poetry could get writers and publishers behind bars for reproducing it for it being castiest or derogatory in nature, the state action could also be the same against persons penning words from Bhai Gurdas, Waris Shah’s works having equally castiest content in few chapters! This is the question doing rounds in the minds of Punjab writers and prominent personalities, who have read works of Bhai Gurdas, Waris Shah and eminent Punjabi writer of yore Dhani Ram Chatrik apart from Rajab Ali. The ‘words’ from Rajab Ali’s poetry, which become basis for the arrest of writers and publishers could also been seen in works of other celebrated writers, rue the writers feeling suffocated over the arrests.

It is exactly a week when the two writers and publishers were arrested by Punjab police on the charges of using castiest, derogatory words in two different books pertaining to Rajab Ali. The police had on September 15 arrested the publishers and writers suspecting the books could cause unrest in the state and could lead to rioting or division among communities. Taking the wild imagination of the police head on, the writer fraternity has slammed the state authorities for arresting the writers and publishers only for reproducing the original poetry of Rajab Ali, who had died in 1979. The writers terming the arrests as uncalled for and against the freedom of expression, abuse of law has demanded their immediate release.

Barnala based publisher Amit Mittar, Samana in Patiala based publisher Ashok Garg, village Sahoke in Moga based writer Jagjit Singh and another writer Sukhwinder Singh were arrested on Saturday and are cooling the heels in Barnala and Patiala Jail, waiting to be bailed out.

“The very poem, which allegedly hurt the feeling of dalit community was written decades back by Rajab Ali(1894-1979), whose works have been published by the state run languages department besides various other publishers”, said Shiromani Sahitkar award winner author Om Parkash Gasso.

Many writers and prominent personalities including Institute foe development and communication director and Punjab Governance Reforms Commission chairman Parmod Kumar, Sahitya Akademi award-winning writer Ajmer Aulakh, London based poet Amarjit Chandan, Canada-based writer Navtej Bharti, Professor of Contemporary India Studies, Leiden University, The Netherlands Ronaki Ram, Shiromani Sahitkar Om Prakash Gasso, political scientist and historian Harish Puri, writer Nirupama Dutt, Filmmakers Rajeev Sharma, Jainder Mauhar, Daljit Ami, author Satnam, Mushtaq Soofi and Maqsood Saqib condemning government move of arresting the writers have signed a representation to the government demanding their immediate release, arrested under SC/ST act.

Gasso said “these arrests have started debate on the historical books whether they need to be modified of accept it as it is. It is weird that you book a person for editing or publishing pieces in the book which were originally written more than 50 years back. The book was never banned or opposed”. Reprint of the already written words cannot by any stretch of imagination be considered to be a criminal offence. Rajab Ali’ works and the mention of the then used caste names in his poetry have to be understood in the historical context, said Parmod Kumar adding not only Rajab Ali but Waris’ Heer, Bhai Gurdas’ poetry too have words related to various casts”.

The Punjab government, in its overzealous thoughtlessness, has entered a wrong territory, as this is not the only text containing traditional caste names. Such a cleansing, as the Punjab government has attempted to carry out, will need doing away with all the classical Punjabi literature containing the traditional caste names. This includes poetry by the likes of Bhai Gurdas, Waris Shah, Shah Husain and Dhani Ram Chatrik, who are regularly published by various state departments and universities run by the Punjab government, reads the petition made by the signatories. The members of some organizations few days ago had held protest at Moga against the caste based remarks used in the books.

Who was Babu Rajab Ali

Rajab Ali was born in village Sahoke of Moga district and had migrated to Pakistan after partition. He wrote about one dozen kissa and poems about the Hindu mythology, historic figures, Sikh history and heroes like Bhagat Singh, Saka Sirhind. He wrote long poems in Punjabi folklore like Heer Ranjha, Mirza Sahiba, Dulla Bhatti and Sohni Mahiwal. Even more than three decades of his death, still across the rural Malwa region of Punjab, Rajab Ali’s memories and poems are celebrated.

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/chandigarh/Will-writers-penning-Waris-Shah-Bhai-Gurdas-next-after-Rajab-Ali-to-face-police-action/articleshow/16505768.cms
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‘THE DISAPPEARED – How the fatwa changed a writer’s life’ by Salman Rushdie


Photo from Facebook page Joseph Anton A Memoir

PERSONAL HISTORY
The New Yorker
17 September 2012

1989
Afterward, when the world was exploding around him, he felt annoyed with himself for having forgotten the name of the BBC reporter who told him that his old life was over and a new, darker existence was about to begin. She called him at home, on his private line, without explaining how she got the number. “How does it feel,” she asked him, “to know that you have just been sentenced to death by Ayatollah Khomeini?” It was a sunny Tuesday in London, but the question shut out the light. This is what he said, without really knowing what he was saying: “It doesn’t feel good.” This is what he thought: I’m a dead man. He wondered how many days he had left, and guessed that the answer was probably a single-digit number. He hung up the telephone and ran down the stairs from his workroom, at the top of the narrow Islington row house where he lived. The living-room windows had wooden shutters and, absurdly, he closed and barred them. Then he locked the front door.

It was Valentine’s Day, but he hadn’t been getting along with his wife, the American novelist Marianne Wiggins. Five days earlier, she had told him that she was unhappy in the marriage, that she “didn’t feel good around him anymore.” Although they had been married for only a year, he, too, already knew that it had been a mistake. Now she was staring at him as he moved nervously around the house, drawing curtains, checking window bolts, his body galvanized by the news, as if an electric current were passing through it, and he had to explain to her what was happening. She reacted well and began to discuss what they should do. She used the word “we.” That was courageous.

A car arrived at the house, sent by CBS Television. He had an appointment at the American network’s studios, in Bowater House, Knightsbridge, to appear live, by satellite link, on its morning show. “I should go,” he said. “It’s live television. I can’t just not show up.”

Later that morning, a memorial service for his friend Bruce Chatwin, who had died of AIDS, was to be held at the Greek Orthodox church on Moscow Road, in Bayswater. “What about the memorial?” his wife asked. He didn’t have an answer for her. He unlocked the front door, went outside, got into the car, and was driven away. Although he did not know it then—so the moment of leaving his home did not feel unusually freighted with meaning—he would not return to that house, at 41 St. Peter’s Street, which had been his home for half a decade, until three years later, by which time it would no longer be his.

At the CBS offices, he was the big story of the day. People in the newsroom and on various monitors were already using the word that would soon be hung around his neck like a millstone. “Fatwa.”

I inform the proud Muslim people of the world that the author of the “Satanic Verses” book, which is against Islam, the Prophet and the Koran, and all those involved in its publication who were aware of its content, are sentenced to death. I ask all the Muslims to execute them wherever they find them.

Somebody gave him a printout of the text as he was escorted to the studio for his interview. His old self wanted to argue with the word “sentenced.” This was not a sentence handed down by any court that he recognized, or that had any jurisdiction over him. But he also knew that his old self’s habits were of no use anymore. He was a new self now. He was the person in the eye of the storm, no longer the Salman his friends knew but the Rushdie who was the author of “Satanic Verses,” a title that had been subtly distorted by the omission of the initial “The.” “The Satanic Verses” was a novel. “Satanic Verses” were verses that were satanic, and he was their satanic author. How easy it was to erase a man’s past and to construct a new version of him, an overwhelming version, against which it seemed impossible to fight.

He looked at the journalists looking at him and he wondered if this was how people looked at men being taken to the gallows or the electric chair. One foreign correspondent came over to him to be friendly. He asked this man what he should make of Khomeini’s pronouncement. Was it just a rhetorical flourish, or something genuinely dangerous? “Oh, don’t worry too much,” the journalist said. “Khomeini sentences the President of the United States to death every Friday afternoon.”

On air, when he was asked for a response to the threat, he said, “I wish I’d written a more critical book.” He was proud, then and always, that he had said this. It was the truth. He did not feel that his book was especially critical of Islam, but, as he said on American television that morning, a religion whose leaders behaved in this way could probably use a little criticism.

When the interview was over, he was told that his wife had called. He phoned the house. “Don’t come back here,” she said. “There are two hundred journalists on the sidewalk waiting for you.”

“I’ll go to the agency,” he said. “Pack a bag and meet me there.”

His literary agency, Wylie, Aitken & Stone, had its offices in a white-stuccoed house on Fernshaw Road, in Chelsea. There were no journalists camped outside—evidently the press hadn’t thought he was likely to visit his agent on such a day—but when he walked in every phone in the building was ringing and every call was about him. Gillon Aitken, his British agent, gave him an astonished look… Continued

Read more
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/09/17/120917fa_fact_rushdie#ixzz26MSmJpga

From
“The Satanic Verses,” the Fatwa, and a Life 

‘Midnight’s Children’ World Premiere: Toronto Sept 9 & 10 – Vancouver Sept 27

The movie ‘Midnight’s Children’ by Deepa Mehta is set to enjoy a befitting stage this month by being featured at both Toronto film festival (September 9 – 10) and Vancouver film festival (September 27).

‘Midnight’s Children’ will hold its ‘World Premiere at Toronto International Film Festival, and will be the opening film at Vancouver International Film Festival’.

Toronto festival
http://tiff.net/thefestival
http://tiff.net/filmsandschedules/tiff/2012/midnightschildren
http://tiff.net/thefestival/filmprogramming

Vancouver festival
http://goo.gl/lTrEy
http://www.viff.org/festival
http://www.viff.org/festival/program-guides

In theatres November 2
http://www.facebook.com/midnightsmovie
http://www.midnightschildren.com/

The Author’s view
‘It has been an extraordinary experience to watch my novel brought to life by so many talents working in harmony. Dilip Mehta’s production design, with its meticulous eye for period detail, re-created the world of MIDNIGHT’S CHILDREN, much of it drawn from my own childhood memories, so vividly and accurately that there were moments when I gasped – see, there was my father’s old Rolleiflex! And look, there were my grandmother’s ferocious geese! Giles Nuttgens’s magnificent camera photographed a world that was both epic and intimate, which was afterwards given rhythm and shape by Colin Monie’s editing; Nitin Sawhney’s score lifted scene after scene to new levels, adding layers of emotion; and above all Deepa Mehta’s kindly, ferocious direction orchestrated it all and made a film that’s true to the spirit of the original novel, but that also, I think, possesses its own authority, and establishes itself as a work of art in its own right.’

Salman Rushdie

Excerpt from: http://www.midnightschildren.com/

Related Content at Uddari
http://uddari.wordpress.com/2012/04/09/top-2012-attraction-a-deepa-mehta-film/
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An Afternoon of Bengali Poetry বৈকালিক – Richmond July 28/12

Vancouver Tagore Society & City of Richmond with World Poetry

Present

বৈকালিক

An Afternoon of Bengali Poetry

1:30PM-4:00PM

Saturday July 28, 2012

Rooftop Garden, Richmond Cultural Centre

7700 Minoru Gate, Richmond, BC V6Y 1R9

Admission: Free

Program Schedule

 Welcome Poems: 1:30PM

Two Birds – Rabindranath Tagore / Lee Tan

An Eventual Victory – Alan Hill / Alan Hill

Keynote Speech: 1:40PM

The Evolution of Bengali Poetry – Leena Chatterjee / Anuradha Mitra

Woven Tapestry of Words – World Poetry: 1:50PM

Day’s End – Rabindranath Tagore

Tirthankar Bose (Bengali), Ariadne Sawyer (English, translated by Willliam Radice),

Bong Ja Ahn (Korean), Subrath Shrestha (Nepali), Yilin Wang (Chinese),

Jacqueline Maire (French), Selene Bertelsen (Middle-English), and

Anita Aguirre Nieveras (Tagalog)

Amorous, Rebellious, Humorous: Spirits of Bengal through its Poetry: 2:00PM 

Couple-Confluence – Abul Hasan / Emilia Jahangir & Avik Ranjan Dey

Tryst – Rabindranath Tagore / Sanzida Habib Swati, Amlan Das Gupta,

Shankhanaad Mallick & Arno Kamolika

Banalata Sen – Jibanananda Das / Duke Ashrafuzzaman

Man and Nature – Amitava Das Gupta / Sanzida Habib Swati & Amlan Das Gupta

My Letter to Ranjini – Srijat Bandopaddhaya / Avik Ranjan Dey

Ballad of A Farm-laborer – Nirmalendu Goon / Anika Mahmud, Amlan Das Gupta &

Sanzida Habib Swati

Poem of May Day – Subhash Mukhopaddhaya / Chorus

Oh Great Life – Sukanto Bhattacharja / Emilia Jahangir

Give Me Food, Bastard – Rafique Azad / Sabuj Mazumder

My Rights – Shankha Ghosh / Amlan Das Gupta

The Rebel – Kazi Nazrul Islam / Shankhanaad Mallick, Anika Mahmud & Arno Kamolika

Deep Inside My Soul – Syed Shamsul Haque / Sabuj Majumder

For You, Freedom – Shamsur Rahman / Zeenat Zahan Anita

Truth Absconding – Asad Choudhury / Shankhanaad Mallick

Delicious Food – – Sukanto Bhattacharja / Maisha Haque

Nanda Lal – Dijendralal Roy / Anika Mahmud, Avik Ranjan Dey & Others

Solution to Food Scarcity – Sukanto Bhattacharja / Anika Mahmud & Zeenat Zahan Anita

Doctor Safdar – Hosne Ara / Amlan Das Gupta & Arno Kamolika

Mamur Bari – Lutfar Rahman Riton / Sabuj Majumder

Sound of Words – Sukumar Roy / Shankhanaad Mallick & Sanzida Habib Swati

Distant Journey – Satyandranath Datta / Chorus

Vote of Thanks & Refreshments: 3:00PM 

Wrap-up: 4:00PM

Host – Duke Ashrafuzzaman

Music – Sabuj Majumder & Arno Kamolika

Set Design and Décor – Shakhawat Hossain

Coordination – Raihan Akhter

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