Pakistani women are at the crossroad. If on the one hand there is this daring working woman, dancing and partying to her heart’s content, on the other hand there is the hijab-wearing traditional female decrying all modern progress. What is the turn that contemporary women are going to take in the future?
My grandmother was the most liberated woman I have ever known. I still remember her as a slim woman, invariably clad in a white sari, smoking a cigarette, walking briskly towards the market with a huge shopping basket tucked under her arm. The period I am talking about is the late ‘40s and early ‘50s — the time when women belonging to good families did not walk to the market to get meat and vegetables on their own. If at all they went, they would go in their cars with their drivers or servants to carry groceries or such stuff for them.
But my grandmother was different. In spite of the criticism hurled at her by several “holier than thou” members of the extended family, she kept on doing so, and soon, besides her own shopping, she would also shop for other family members who found her selection of meat and fish better than the ones brought by their servants.
My grandmother was a true representative of her time. This was the period when Pakistan had just come into being; when women were coming out of centuries of suppression and seclusion and trying to carve a niche for themselves. It was a time of upheavals, of social change, and like every other such period, there were a handful of women who spear-headed the change and became role models.
But, ever since, how far have the women of Pakistan come? Are we better off than our grandmothers? Can we claim to be more liberated?
When we look at our society, we see a strange dichotomy. On the one hand we see women occupying high positions and making more and more inroads into men’s world. (For the first time in our history we have a woman governor of the State Bank and a woman foreign office spokesperson.) But on the other hand we see that the number of girls and women getting killed for ‘honour’ has reached a new height; gang rape seems to have become institutionalized; and girls are still being handed over as compensation to settle tribal feuds or to gain forgiveness for male murderers under the customs of vani and swara, practices legalized under the panchayat laws.
How much progress have we actually made in the last 70 years? Have women gained or lost anything? And what role has the media played in uplifting the status of women in Pakistan? In order to get answers to all these questions, we will have to go back to the early ‘40s when women first came to be reckoned as a separate force in the subcontinent.
For centuries, the Muslim women of India had remained confined to their homes, in strict pardah, complying with the norms of those times. Their social interaction was confined only to men of their respective families or to other women. Of course, a few rebel women broke those bonds and made their presence felt; but they were an exception, and most women belonging to the elite class as well as the middle class continued to abide by the rules.
At the turn of the century revolutionary leaders such as Sir Syed Ahmed Khan and Sheikh Abdullah of Aligarh had done their bit by setting up educational institutions for girls encouraging them to acquire modern education. By 1935, all women were given the right to vote, and under the 1935 act seats had been reserved for women in legislative councils.
However, it was during the struggle for independence that women came into their own. It was the Quaid-i-Azam, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, who encouraged women to come out of their homes and work for the cause of Pakistan by addressing public meetings and taking part in processions and rallies, braving baton charges, tear gas and even jails in the process. Separate women sections of the Muslim League were set up and the national women’s guard was established.
The Quaid-i-Azam’s sister, Fatima Jinnah and the wife of the first prime minister, Begum Rana Liaquat Ali Khan, played a prominent role during this period, standing shoulder to shoulder with their men and encouraging other women to follow suit. In this period we also hear of other prominent women including Shaista Ikramullah who went on to become Pakistan’s first woman ambassador; Begum Jehanara Shahnawaz, Begun Salma Tassaduq Hussain, Lady Nusrat Haroon, Lady Sughra Hidayatullah and some others.
In the early days of Pakistan, it was these women — mainly wives, sisters or daughters of prominent men — who were in the limelight. Most of them had acquired education from modern institutions and were elected as members of parliament or enjoyed leading positions in political parties.
These women also helped other women during the traumatic days following partition and took upon themselves the momentous task of feeding, clothing, giving shelter and caring for the millions of refugees who had arrived in Pakistan. The pioneer in this regard was Begum Rana Liaquat Ali Khan who gave direction to other women and formed the women’s voluntary service. She was joined by hundreds of women volunteers who put in their time and effort for relief work, giving first aid to the refugees, and distributing food and relief goods among them. Begum Rana was also the leading figure in establishing the All Pakistan Womens Association, popularly known as APWA, which emerged as the pioneering women’s welfare organization in the country, setting up hundreds of schools, medical centres, and industrial homes to help the deprived and the destitute. Throughout the ‘50s, social work was the forte of Pakistani women, the so-called “Begums”, who in spite of criticism from orthodox quarters, continued their fund-raising and welfare activities.
Looking at the media of that time, which of course was dominated by the print medium, we see that activities of APWA and other welfare organizations received a fair amount of coverage. One renowned glossy publication of that time was The Mirror, brought out by one of the pioneering woman journalists, Begum Zebunnissa Hamidullah. It was a society monthly, providing detailed pictorial coverage of social activities, parties and functions being held throughout the country and obviously targeting the elite class. It was read avidly by socialites and trend-setters, especially women. Other women’s magazines of the same period included Women’s World and Charm which were again glossy publications targeting the “Begums” by covering social events, fashion, and cookery.
After the ‘40s, which saw women as emerging political activists, and the ‘50s which saw them as socialites and social workers, a new face of Pakistani women started to emerge during the ‘60s — that of the weaker sex as a career woman. Career women were there since the ‘40s. But there were only two fields that had so far been considered suitable for women — teaching and medicine.
The ‘60s marked the start of feminism in Pakistan in its true sense — the “everything-men-can-do-we-can-do-better” syndrome. This was the time of awareness — and challenges. The women of the ‘60s were no more content with finding a suitable match, getting married, and indulging in social work in their spare time. They wanted to do something more, and so they did.
This period witnessed the appearance of the first woman engineer, the first architect, the first commercial pilot, the first bank manager, the first news reporter and so on. Girls wanted to excel in every field, to become super women. The period also saw the appearance of a new kind of women’s magazine exemplified by She in English and Akhbar-i-Khwateen in Urdu. These magazines were low cost, printed on newsprint in black and white, a far cry from the colourful magazines at the time. They did not target the traditional housewife or socialite, but the new go-getter generation of women. Their articles and features were aimed at raising awareness among women, making them conscious of their rights, and included practical advice on careers, interviews with women working in different fields, fashion and make-up tips for working women, practical advice on raising children, advice on relationships and articles on politics, current affairs, science and other topics to increase women’s general knowledge. These magazines had a tremendous effect as more and more women belonging to the middle class made a beeline towards colleges and universities and entered the job market.
The advent of television in Pakistan in the ‘60s also had a tremendous impact. New job opportunities sprung up for women in the form of producers, comperes, announcers, script writers, make-up artists and set designers, besides opening up new avenues in the hitherto taboo field of acting. Educated young girls from good families who would never have even dreamt of watching films came to work on television with the full support of their parents and gave TV a respectable status, a trend that has continued ever since.
Television gave ample opportunities to women to excel in different fields and many women artists and presenters of that early period have now become icons — for example, performers like Roohi Bano, Uzma Gilani, Khalida Riasat, Nayyar Kamal and Sahria Kazmi and presenters like Kanwal Naseer, Rahat Saeed and Ghazala Yasmeen. The plays of that time tended to be realistic and showed the real face of society, touching upon subjects ranging from the poverty in urban areas (as depicted in Khuda Ki Basti) to the exploitative feudal setup of Jhok Siyal.
The decade of the ‘70s was the period when the women of Pakistan came into their own in the real sense. It will always be remembered in history as the golden period when the real Pakistani woman emerged to show her face and flaunt her talent. Though a lot had been done for women during the previous two decades, big strides and the real progress had somehow remained limited to the women of the high class and the upper middle class; to those women who had succeeded in shedding the veil and who enjoyed the support of their fathers, husbands and brothers. Thus far, no effort had been made to tap the potential of the vast number of women belonging to the lower middle class and the working class as well as the huge army of rural women who worked grindingly in the fields, and whose work was never acknowledged or recognized.
This was now done for the first time under the leadership of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, when a massive consciousness raising programme began in the country. Women were made to feel for the first time that they were men’s equal, and for the first time they were given official assurance that they would be given equal rights and equal opportunities in all fields. Women, especially those belonging to the working class and villages, were mobilized and encouraged to come out and play an active role in society.
These women became the most ardent supporters of Bhutto, together with other oppressed classes such as labourers and peasants, and for the first time every woman came out of her home with the new-found confidence that she was not inferior to any man and could look any man in the eye. The Constitution of 1973 provided that “all citizens are equal before the law” and that “there will be no discrimination on th basis of sex”. It also said, “Steps shall be taken to ensure full participation of women in all spheres of national life.”
These pledges were fully redeemed by Bhutto and the doors of employment in all fields, even in the prestigious higher civil service and foreign service, were thrown open for women. This period saw the appearance of the first woman governor, Begum Liaquat Ali Khan, the first vice-chancellor of a university, Dr Kaniz Yusuf, and deputy speaker of the National Assembly, Dr Ashraf Abbasi.
The International Women’s Year was celebrated during this period. Pakistan participated whole-heartedly and a number of seminars, conferences and other events were held to raise awareness among women and make them conscious of their rights and status. The media also played a very positive role. Newspapers, both English and Urdu, took up women’s cause and articles dealing with women issues and women’s legal, social and political rights became a regular feature. The triumphs and achievements of ordinary women who were making their way in a man’s world continued to be highlighted. During this time women had also actively entered the world of sports and their hockey teams were particularly active.
Television, meanwhile, had reached its zenith. Women producers such as Muneeza Hashmi, Shirin Khan, Sahira Kazmi and Shirin Pasha started winning accolades and awards at home and abroad. Like the press, the TV industry also turned its focus on women’s issues and discussed them in dramas, documentaries and talk shows. I would specially like to mention a drama series, Hawwa Ke Naam, which for the first time took up issues dealing with women. A wide range of women’s social, psychological, economic, and family problems were brought to the fore in a sensitive manner. Another popular series penned by Ashfaq Ahmed, Ek Muhabbat So Afsane, though a series of romantic plays, was also noticed for the sympathetic and sensitive treatment it gave to women characters. By and large, the image of women that was projected in television plays at the time was that of an educated woman conscious of her rights and striving to attain them.
At the same time, another image of the fair sex was introduced by another woman writer of that era, Hasina Moin. It was the image of a bold, tomboyish and mischievous heroine, often getting into trouble but getting out of it through her sheer audacity. Her heroines, poles apart from the sweet, shy and dainty heroines of the days of yore, were an instant success with all age groups.
During the ‘70s, the Pakistani woman had found her niche. She was liberated, progressive and had become a part of mainstream life. She could wear what she wanted, do the kind of job that she wished, drive cars, fly aeroplanes, and had no fear of being harassed. It seemed that the only way now for her was forward. Nothing could push her back. But alas, this was just a dream. Soon she was to be rudely awakened to find out that she could be pushed back and that most of the gains she had made in all those years would dissolve into nothingness, as the question of her status and her rights would rear its head again.
When General Ziaul Haq deposed Bhutto and took over power in 1977, he pledged to introduce the Islamic system into the country. This was welcomed by all classes of people as a means to cleanse society of social evils and turn it into a society based on social justice and equality. However, the joy was short-lived. It soon became apparent that the campaign was primarily aimed at women. Not only to take away the gains that they had made in all these years and relegate them to an inferior status, but to push them back into the middle ages and make them invisible. The catch phrase of Chador Aur Char Deewari was used by the regime at first to denote respect for women, but practically the effect was to segregate them, draw them out of the mainstream, and exclude them from public life altogether, pushing them back to the four walls of their homes. Laws were passed which reduced the status of women. The infamous Hudood Ordinance came into being ostensibly to prevent adultery but its main target became the girls who wanted to marry men of their own choice or divorcees who wanted to get married for a second time. Jails became full of such women who faced the extreme sentence of stoning to death if charges of adultery were proved against them.
Since the ordinance did not discriminate between rape and adultery, rape victims found themselves in an anomalous situation, the burden of proof falling on their shoulders, facing punishments of whipping and stoning merely for being victims, while the perpetrators of the heinous crime roamed around freely. As women’s evidence was not considered admissible in Hudood cases, a rapist or murderer could not be sentenced even if a roomful of women testified against him.
In this period, some other laws were introduced to reduce the status of women. The law of evidence laid down that the testimony of two women would be considered equal to that of one man, while the law of qisas and diyat provided that blood money for a female victim of murder would be half compared to that of a man.
A full-fledged campaign began at an official level in favour of pardah and segregation. Official directives were issued to different organizations to discourage recruitments or promotion of women officers. Women were barred from becoming members of official delegations or stopped from being sent abroad on scholarships, and official functions became men-only affairs. A free hand was given to vigilantes to harass unveiled women in public to the extent of cutting off their hair or throwing acid at them, while government functionaries turned a blind eye to all such things.
Men and women going out for a walk or for a drive found themselves being whisked off to the police station if they failed to show their marriage contract, no matter if they were brother and sister or even father and daughter. Women were barred from taking part in sports in public and somehow the very concept of being a woman became synonymous with obscenity and vulgarity.
How could such things happen? Did the media have any role to play in all of this?
Here we see a clear difference between the English press and the Urdu press. The gap had always been there to a certain extent but had somehow been bridged during the ‘70s. But now it was back with a vengeance. If we look at the Urdu papers of that period, we will find a spate of articles glorifying the position of women in Islam and the status given to women in Islam; statements by conservative politicians and the Ulema about the desirability of women staying at home and serving their families instead of coming out and taking part in professional life; and articles, statements and letters written by women themselves condemning those women who demanded their due rights as unIslamic and westernized.
By this time, a vociferous campaign had also started against co-education and the demand for separate universities for women continued. The undesirability of women taking part in sports was another topic that continued to be highlighted and opinions in this regard were solicited from a variety of professionals, medical practitioners and psychologists who were adamant that physical activity was not undesirable, but was dangerous for women and could play havoc with their delicate organs — even putting at risk the chances of conception or childbearing.
Then the authorities began a full-fledged campaign against obscenity and vulgarity. Newspapers and magazines were directed not to publish photographs of women artists and many commercials featuring female models were barred from television. Hoardings and billboards having pictures of females were blacked out or dismantled and rigorous directives were sent to the media regarding the dress code or physical appearance of female performers or models.
While the Urdu press was whole-heartedly implementing the government’s agenda, the English press decided to extend its all-out support to women. Women protest groups which had come up to agitate against these unjustified measures were given extensive coverage and the tone of the articles, editorials and columns was directly antithetical to that of the Urdu press. Women’s issues and concerns were prominently highlighted, and in spite of strict censorship, overt and overt support continued to be given to women activists. In fact, the English press played a vigorous role in increasing women’s awareness, and its contribution during those dark days can never be forgotten.
The role of the television industry is another story. The first manifestation of a change came in the early days of the Zia period when TV viewers found one of their most popular comperes, Mehtab Channa, missing from the screen. The reason was: as per new directives she had been asked to cover her head which she refused, bravely opting to walk out rather than comply with the rulers’ instructions. This was the beginning of the dopatta policy; the dopatta should not slip from the head of a female artist or performer even if the situation did not warrant it. Thus we witnessed some amazing scenes. The dopatta remained stuck to the head even if the character was sleeping in bed, trying to save herself from drowning or trying to escape from kidnappers, or even — and this is no joke — while having her hair dyed.
Another interesting directive said female presenters or newscasters should appear without putting on any makeup. This was implemented without considering its technical aspects. Needless to say it could not last for very long. The authorities themselves realized that TV as a medium did not lend itself to the barefaced look, as the results were nothing short of a disaster.
But the worst effects were seen in the field of drama as this period witnessed the image of women on TV fall to its lowest level. The period was dominated by two names, Ashfaq Ahmed and his wife Bano Qudsia, and every second TV drama had a clear message for women: she had to remain perpetually submissive to men, meekly accept everything that’s dished out to her, and that forbearance and forgiveness in the face of all suffering were the ultimate female virtue. At the other extreme was shown the so-called modern woman — greedy, pushing her husband or son to get into all kinds of social evils.
The educated, working woman received a raw deal at the time. She was shown as interested only in her own ambitions, shamefully neglecting her home and children in order to have a good time for herself. She became the favourite target of comedy programmes including the very popular Fifty Fifty. All ancient cliches and stereotypes, and jokes concerning women’s obsession with their age and their appearance, their domination over husbands, backbiting, and stupidity were dug out from somewhere and thrust upon unsuspecting TV viewers. Westernization was perceived as the ultimate evil for women; all the good qualities seemed to be concentrated in the simple, uneducated, rustic woman whose world revolved around her home and husband, and the purpose of whose existence appeared to be to serve her man.
All of this came to an abrupt end due to another incident. Gen Zia’s plane was blown up in the air, and suddenly came the breath of fresh air. Benazir Bhutto was elected as the Muslim world’s first woman prime minister and women from all classes and walks of life rejoiced. This was the time they had been waiting for. But in a very short time they found out that the results were not coming forth as they had hoped. Benazir was too busy trying to retain her precarious hold on power. The Hudood Ordinance and other discriminatory laws continued to remain in statute books, women continued to languish in jail on trumped up charges, and worst of all, the ordinance providing for reserved seats in the assemblies for women promulgated by Gen Zia lapsed and was not renewed. Thus during the subsequent elections women’s representation fell drastically. Socially, the impact of the so-called Islamization and anti-westernization measures introduced by Gen Zia continued to be felt as society had changed drastically from that of the ‘70s and a whole new generation had come up which knew nothing else.
The ‘90s were a see-saw period, divided almost equally between the moderate Benazir and the Zia protege, Nawaz Sharif. Perceptions of women continued to be ambivalent. During Benazir’s first stint an overt change could be seen in media policies. TV, following its usual chameleon-like policies, was the first to show that change showing drama serials with bold themes and pop music concerts. The most note-worthy drama of that time was Tapish, a daring look at politics and politicians, discussing the rape of a female political worker; and Neele Hath, which purported to show true stories of women sent to jail under the Hudood Ordinance. But by now the obscurantist and the fundamentalist had become firmly entrenched in the country’s corridors of power. TV was forced to retract. It returned to its ostrich-like policies of inane themes and superficial glamour and shied away from controversial matters.
In fact, the ‘90s presented a new face of the Pakistani media — its obsession with glamour and all things glamourous. Suddenly, the fashion and beauty industry became the new ‘in’ thing. Dress designers and beauty stylists, who were leading comparatively obscure lives, turned into new icons and following their repeated exposure in the media — both print and electronic — became household names. The same thing happened with modelling. Once considered a taboo profession, modelling came up with a bang and became the dream profession of girls and models like Amna Haq, Iraj, Vinny, and Iffat. Even they turned into role models. The public eagerly lapped up their doings and sayings in magazines and on TV. Pictures of fashion shows were found in abundance in the print media and had even begun to be shown on TV — something quite unheard of at the time.
The dying Pakistani film industry got a new lease of life by virtue of airing songs and scenes taken from films on TV, and interviews of and write-ups on showbiz stars in the print media. The English language press played a major role in this respect as it did in the promotion of classical dance, which was ruthlessly suppressed in the Zia era. A few Pakistani classical dancers were given undue exposure in the press — far more than their achievements warranted. This stress on glamour also gave a new look to TV drama. Gone were the days of realism. Now the emphasis was on glamour and glitz. Even a girl from a poor or middle class family had to be fully made-up at all times and dressed in nothing less than a designer outfit. Thus in the ‘90s the predominant image of a woman was that of the glamour girl, the show piece, expensively dressed, exquisitely made-up and coiffed, living in surroundings which seemed to be those of the rich and famous. The message that was conveyed appeared to be that “glamour and style were equal to liberation”.
However, in spite of all the emphasis on glamour, the print media, specially the English language press, did not lag behind as far as issues related to women were concerned. This was the time when gang rapes and other acts of violence against women were faithfully brought to light, and the public for the first time became aware of the horror of honour killing — many innocent girls and women were being brutally axed to death not only in the remote rural areas but also in the cities for the so-called moral lapses. These and other forms of exploitation of women, child marriages, the customs of vani and swara, according to which females are given away as compensation to enemies for redressal of alleged wrongs done by men of their families, all were highlighted and brought before the public not only by the English language press, but also by the Urdu and regional press.
This brings us to the present situation. Where do we stand now? What is the present state of our women and what is their future going to be?
The situation is uncertain. On the one hand is the image of the daring westernized party animal, dancing and partying to her heart’s content; while on the other hand is the hijab wearing traditional female, decrying all progress. The abaya and the hijab have never been so popular as they are now, yet the number of women joining different professions and occupying executive positions has never been so high. The number of girls getting to universities and professional colleges has reached a new high, but so has the graph of honour killings, rapes and other crimes against women. While Dr Rifat Hasan presents a moderate and feminist view of Islam, Farhat Hashmi preaches the opposite standpoint and manages to get herself a vast number of women followers. The number of women in legislative assemblies and local councils has never been so high, yet women’s literacy rate is pathetic, and the rates of mortality and malnutrition among women have risen steeply. Our women are at the crossroad. What is the turn that they are going to take? Only time will tell. n
My grandmother was the most liberated woman I have ever known. I still remember her as a slim woman, invariably clad in a white sari, smoking a cigarette, walking briskly towards the market with a huge shopping basket tucked under her arm. The period I am talking about is the late ‘40s and early ‘50s — the time when women belonging to good families did not walk to the market to get meat and vegetables on their own. If at all they went, they would go in their cars with their drivers or servants to carry groceries or such stuff for them.
