The media are the routes through which a country or a people export information about themselves to the world at large. In the absence of first-hand experience, for the majority of people these mediums of communication – and that is where the term ‘media’ comes from – form the building blocks of knowledge about much of the world.

In terms of news, this is of course rather blindingly obvious. We know about the cyclone in Myanmar because of the news; we know the world condemns the generals’ refusal to accept aid because that is all over the news too, at least that news in languages that are accessible to Pakistanis. But if we tuned into the Burmese media (if they had an even relatively free press, which they don’t) then we’d have a chance to listen to the views of the citizens of that unfortunate country.

But in the context of exporting knowledge, it is often the entertainment and other forms of the media that have the most effect in moulding the world’s perceptions about a country. The information conveyed by the news is predominantly event-based: the basic wheres, whats, whens and hows. That conveyed by other forms of the media – literature, cinema, academia, etc – has immense cultural value because of its depth and complexity, and its effect is perhaps far more significant in the long term.

Given that so much time is given over to talk about improving Pakistan’s image, it would make sense to examine what our non-news media say about us.

For outsiders looking into Pakistan – and that is most of the world – much of the non-news media produced in the country has little relevance since it is not in a language they understand. So, for example, while icons such as Begum Nawazish Ali or Umar Sharif actually say rather a lot about us as a nation and a people, these sources of information are of no use to the average American or European – whose views are important, by the way, since public opinion in powerful countries affects those countries’ attitudes and policies.

In this respect, therefore, Pakistani literature produced in or translated into English becomes an important source of cultural information, for while it is not the language spoken by the most number of people in the world, it is the most widely spoken across national and continental boundaries.

The first aspect to strike one about Pakistani literature available in English is that there is actually not that much of it. And the books that have been written display a rather depressing lack of variety. True that in recent years, a number of Pakistani authors writing in English have achieved popularity and some have been nominated for prestigious literary prizes. But their subject matter can broadly be unified under what I call the ‘rats for breakfast’ category: life in Pakistan is hard, cruel and deeply unfair … whether you’re rich or poor, you’re lucky to not be eating rats for breakfast.

This view of Pakistan is expressed through many permutations, from journeys into the minds of would-be terrorists to forays into life under the chador and chardiwari, from the trials and tribulations involved in being a society auntie to the anguish of the urban, educated and disillusioned millions.

My purpose is certainly not to denigrate all these works, some of which are very fine indeed and others are, if nothing else, a good pulp read. The point is that in their own ways, they often tend to present a rather one-sided view of life on this side of the fence. And what sticks in my throat is that Pakistani fiction in written in English, particularly that written by the younger crop of writers, is often apologist as well … it’s hard being a Pakistani, whether based here or abroad, history has been cruel to us and we can’t let go of our hang-ups, please try to understand. “Ho hum”, I say, and then I wonder about the image we are exporting.

True, Pakistan’s citizens are very far from being able to take a step back and making a dispassionate analysis. This argument would hold true if it weren’t for the fact that such a wide variety of views and experiences are available in Urdu and regional languages, also written by Pakistanis. There, we find everything from revolutionary poetry to satire, political drama to black humour and social comedies. But not so in English.

I wonder whether this dearth of variety could have anything to do with the class and cultural backgrounds of the people turning their pens towards fiction-writing in English. Certainly, the number of people with the language proficiency to write something publishable are few, and overwhelmingly from the privileged classes. Could the fact that they have been used to being the ruling elites have anything to do with the lack of humour and the sameness of experience revealed in their literary efforts?

Perhaps an anthropologist would like to look into it.

Post-script: Before you say it, yes, it is easier to criticise than to actually do. Perhaps I write a column because I can’t write a book!

hmumtaz@dawn.com