To listen to the debate on cultural identity that takes up far too much of our time here in Pakistan, one could be forgiven for thinking that our experiences of de-colonisation and partition are absolutely unique. The intellectual depth of most of these discussions suggests that we stand alone: first in having been ruled by an occupying force, then in having to come up with a ‘national identity’ that allowed us to be recognisably distinct from the neighbour with which we once shared the house, and lastly in being forced to cobble together some semblance of cohesive consciousness that could draw together the various culturally, ethnically and linguistically diverse regions that comprise Pakistan.

In fact, a great many nations and people have been through similar experiences. Large chunks of the world suffered colonisation and bled copiously whilst winning the right to take the arduous path of de-colonisation. The past century, in particular, produced remarkably prescient works exploring the effects of colonisation and the roads towards de-colonisation.

It would be constructive if we in Pakistan paused whilst airing our views about the evils of westernisation, or pontificating about eastern versus western culture, and thought a bit.

The thing about national identity or cultural consciousness is, you see, that it is neither unitary nor pure. It is fruitless to debate whether those who consider Urdu their first language are somehow more ‘Pakistani’ than those who express themselves more comfortably in English, or whether either language’s proponents are more plugged into the national ideology than, say, Sindhi or Pushto speakers. Likewise the debate on cultural signifiers such as clothing or popular music: is the shalwar kameez more ‘Pakistani’ than a dhoti or jeans? It is fruitless to pursue such lines of questioning because the questions are incorrectly framed. They pre-suppose that there exists an intrinsically ‘Pakistani’ culture which is distinct from and free of all influences of colonisation, our shared history with the rest of the subcontinent, and from the effects of an increasingly shrinking globe. Secondly, such questions carry within them the implication that ‘pure’ Pakistani culture is somehow better than the otherwise adulterated, violated version.

In actual fact, what comes to be recognised as symbolic of an enduring ‘national culture’ is generally an amalgam of that country or region’s particular history and development, a distilled mix of the practices of its various peoples. Cultures are kept alive by their ability to grow and absorb, to embrace change rather than reject it or define itself as exclusionist. The so-called American culture – which in popular discourse in Pakistan has become indistinguishable from ‘westernisation’ – is built of that country’s history of immigrant absorption and the expansion of the federation. American culture is a mix of Italian, continental European, Latin American and many other cultures. They came together and grew into something greater than the sum of its parts. An intrinsically and authentically American culture, something that grew from the land itself would, on the other hand, refer to native American culture.

Pakistani culture must own and own up to the history of this region. In practical terms, this means accepting that the jeans and T-shirt wearing urban youth with Brittney Spears’ pin-ups on his bedroom walls is all much a signifier of modern Pakistan as is the child being educated on a taat and using gaachi mitti to write on his slate. Neither is better or worse, for each represents the unequal and disparate manner in which this land developed, and the myriad realities that exist within it. Pakistan has many faces, and where Eid represents the religious culture of many citizens, Basant represents the regional cultures that existed in this area for thousands of years before Mohammed bin Qasim ever thought of dropping in.

The point was deftly made by India academic Ashis Nandy in an essay envisioning a dialogue between cultures and civilisations. “The new dialogue we envision will insist that we jettison the nineteenth-century evangelist legacy of comparative studies which offsets the practices of one civilisation against the philosophical or normative concerns of another,” he wrote. “Colonial literature is full of comparisons between the obscenities of the caste system in practice in South Asia and the superior humanistic values of Europe articulated in the Biblical texts or, for that matter, even in the rules of cricket. In reaction, many defensive Indians compared the moral universe of the Vedas and Upanishads with the violence, greed and ruthless statecraft practiced by the Europeans in the Southern world, to establish the moral bankruptcy of the West. The time has come to take a less reactive position, one that will allow us to enrich ourselves through a cultural conversation of equals.”

The same applies to cultural discourse within a country. Here in Pakistan, for example, we love to establish the moral bankruptcy of the west by referring to rising divorce rates or racial issues, comparing them to the equitable society envisioned by Islam. This debate forgets to mention that western nations also boast some of the most equitable laws and have in some cases achieved modern welfare states. The situation here in the moral universe of Pakistan is clear for all to see.

Amongst the books that we would benefit by reading are African author and revolutionary activist Frantz’s Fanon’s Black Skins, White Masks and The Wretched of the Earth.

Having witnessed at close hand the effects of colonisation on his home island of Martinique, and later in Algeria and Tunisia, Fanon analysed the role of race, class, national culture and language in the process of de-colonisation and the struggle for national liberation.

Of particular relevance to Pakistan’s eastern vs western debate are the three stages of de-colonisation identified by Fanon with reference to culture and cultural practices. At the first, lowest stage, the educated and usually urban colonised or recently de-colonised people emulate the coloniser’s culture since it is associated with superiority (think about the brown sahibs that we have come to recognise over the decades). At a higher stage of cultural maturity, the locals reject the coloniser’s culture as something alien and inflicted, and yearn instead for a return to the region’s pre-colonial practices (in terms of Pakistan, for example, trends towards Sufism, a return to regional dialects and homespun clothing). Fanon’s highest stage of cultural evolution is achieved when the local population reaches a synthesis of pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial legacies, rejecting none but accepting and drawing upon all the conflicting legacies.

Here in Pakistan, we have so far reached only stage two.

Post script: Debates and explorations of cultural identity are most fruitfully carried out through cultural ‘institutions’ such as academic fora, literature and drama etc. But more on that next week.

— hmumtaz@dawn.com