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THE burden of contextualising Pakistan’s politics beyond simplistic post-9/11 views of rampant extremism has been fairly heavy.
A popular line of reasoning used by progressive circles for this purpose — both in the country and abroad — has been the electoral track record of overtly religious parties.
The argument goes something like this: religious parties have never done well in general elections — barring the heavily doctored 2002 exercise — and this particular fact points to the moderate credentials of a large portion of the electorate.
Following from this, and depending on the need to feel optimistic, people have also talked about the silent majority facing a vocal-but-tiny retrogressive minority, and how this majority is a practitioner of syncretic rituals and Barelvi Islam.
The fundamental problem with this analysis is that it relies on two empirical measures to gauge popularity of deeply conservative worldviews — one, voting for religious parties, and two, calculating the number of individuals who profess a preference for religious fundamentalism.
The first, needless to say, is an oversimplification of electoral politics in general. People vote for a whole host of reasons and in a municipalised, bargain-heavy voting culture, ideology comes in fairly low down in the list of determinants.
Even in areas where religious parties have been successful — the Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam-Fazl (JUI-F) in southern Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the Jamaat-i-Islami (JI) in urban Punjab and Karachi (at different times) — it’s been because of their ability to formulate political economy networks with the local peasantry or with middle-class professionals, university students and market associations.
The second refrain — ie the presence of a silent majority — is slightly harder to unpack. The primary counter to this brand of optimism is that in times of populist mobilisation, revolutionary fervour, or even homogenous public opinion, every individual doesn’t become part of the ‘cadre’, nor does he or she openly profess allegiance.
Mass mobilisations are successful precisely because they bring a critical amount of people together and create perceptions of massive resentment and fervour. This number may be less than 5pc of the entire population, but its resonance is far greater than those going about their lives silently.
In fact, what one can and should say is that the success of the religious right in this country has been outside conventional platforms of political power. The proof of this assertion lies in the vernacular press.
A two-month long analysis of city and metropolitan pages, of two major Urdu-language national dailies, reveals that events hosted by one or more religious parties account for approximately 22pc (or roughly one-fifth) of all news stories within local-level reportage.
These events take several forms, first of which is the overtly political — where mid-to-higher tier leadership of Jamaatud Dawa (JuD), Ahle Sunnat Wal Jamaat, JI, JUI-F, Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam-Sami, Jamiat Ulema-i-Pakistan, Sunni Ittehad Council, and others hold their own gatherings for the purpose of disseminating opinions on national events.
Such gatherings often conclude with a local protest, burning of the American flag, and reaffirmation of their commitment to bringing ‘true Islam’ in the country. The second variety encompasses the overtly theological events — these include Seerat-un-Nabi conferences, Khatm-i-Nabuwat conferences, panel discussions on what it means to be a good Muslim, Islam and modernity, debates in jurisprudence, and in some cases, Islam and contemporary business.
The third variety includes those events that engage with students, or more broadly, the youth. These are hosted by various student wings, like the Islami Jamiat-i-Talaba, the Ahle-Sunnat Youth Forum, and cover both political discussions and general debates.
Popular forms include ‘Islam and Education’, ‘Islam and Pakistan’, the ‘Ummah in the 21st century’, naat and hamd competitions, and role of women in Islamic societies.
Finally, the fourth variety includes events to highlight philanthropic contributions — these range from JuD’s (and others) regular updates on earthquake relief and other charitable activities, to financial support for weddings in poor households.
It may very well be argued that sympathetic voices in the Urdu press provide greater coverage to these organisations, but that in itself is quite telling of their reach and societal engagement.
What is certain though is that religious organisations, holding a wide range of bigoted, retrogressive views, have nearly monopolised what is conventionally known as civil society space.
Through their media-related and on-the-ground engagement, they set the social parameters circumscribing discussions and actions on sovereignty and the state, religion in public space, education and philanthropy.
Moreover, their co-option of students, lawyers, academics, journalists and businessmen as volunteers and sympathisers, all in addition to their burgeoning crowd of full-time clerics, has allowed them to achieve something close to critical mass.
Religious organisations have little need to become part of the state simply because they can effect policy and discourse as the primary voice in civil society.
They can get YouTube banned, and blasphemy laws implemented; they can oppose amendments to the Hudood ordinance, and declare Malala an agent of the West; they can muddle the thinking on the Taliban, straitjacket the government, and declare open season on minorities.
All of this because of the space granted by the state’s ideological agenda, their ability to work breathlessly for supposedly divine causes, and the gradual withdrawal of alternate public opinions.
In fact, if all of this wasn’t so deeply troubling for the country, one couldn’t be faulted for admiring the organisational dexterity and voluntary spirit shown by these right-wing groups.
In the aftermath of JI emir Munawar Hasan’s comments, people who have been pointing to the Jamaat’s electoral irrelevance as a sign of its decline are basically pointing to an irrelevant fact.
The Jamaat as a party may have lost its political ground quite some time ago, but Maudoodi’s vision — where Ahmadis are hunted and the state continues its clumsy march towards theological emancipation — has won.
All of this comes down to the difference in decibels between this mythical silent majority and a very vocal minority.
The writer is a freelance columnist.
Twitter:@umairjav
