I was born in a country that later disowned me when I embraced freethinking. It did not revoke my citizenship but it refused to accept my new identity, making sure that I face discrimination at every level, social and professional, a typical sign of a fascist state where only one ‘narrative’ is accepted; dissent means discrimination, harassment and death. Remember Salmaan Taseer, Shahbaz Bhatti and hundreds of others who were eliminated simply because they rebelled against the system and challenged the state narrative. For that reason some well-wishers repeatedly advised me, “Seal your lips and un-sharpen your pen.” I refused. Journalism and writing is my passion, public relations is not my cup of tea, was always my response.
For years I have been carrying this pain in my heart, the pain of estrangement, the pain of exclusion. It was natural to become depressed and anxious at times living in that suffocating environment. But when I tried to seek assistance, both professional and social, the outcome was unanimous; I should pray and get married was the advice I received. Even top doctors and visiting shrinks would give the same advice in return for my money and time. But the moment I expressed my godlessness, the doctors’ expressions would change suddenly. They were not friendly anymore. How dare you be godless in the land of God was the message I was quietly passed. When I was making a documentary on the blasphemy law, I met several victims coming from different religious groups. Some were Muslims. They had terrible stories to tell and I could understand their pain, I could relate to it. Despite passing through traumatic situations, and some were hiding for their lives, at least they had their families, their communities, with whom they could spend time and pour their hearts out; there are none for people like me. When I expressed my irreligiosity and refused to be a conformist anymore, friction developed within my own family, the streets I grew up in felt strange, the friends I played with and went to school with became judgemental. My own brother told me to shut up or someone would put a bullet in my chest, and he was right, except the bullet did not hit my chest, it hit me in the arm. And worst of all, my 80-year old mother never misses a chance to express her desire that I should return to the religion of my folks, knowing that I have always been a good son, but goodness sans religion has no meaning for her. The climax of my frustration is when she starts crying, urging me to come back and me at my wits’ end to explain that I am still her son, as good to her as I have always been but I know she will never understand. When no one is around, you feel lonely and its natural, but it’s very painful when you feel lonely among millions; when you become a ‘refugee’ at home.
My freethinking made me vulnerable professionally too. Speeches were made against me in the mosques in my home town declaring me an infidel and agent of the west when I tried to interview a religious leader for an international media organisation. More recently, some more threats and harassment from the masters and their cronies when we interviewed some militant commanders for an international news agency. For months I could not go home, kept on changing places and had weeks of sleepless nights for fear of my life. I was sandwiched between the state and non-state actors. My life had become crippled. But during those depressing times I held on to my sanity taking inspiration from figures like Nelson Mandela and others, reading their books. My countrywoman, the indomitable human rights activist Ms Asma Jahangir, was another source of inspiration for aggressively raising her voice against injustices. I wanted to build a school to pay back something to my home town. When I expressed my desire the first reaction was that me being a Godless person, nobody would send their children to such a school. Second, I would have to pray in the mosque to show people that I have come back to the religion they practice even if at heart I was the same irreligious person. I had to shun that idea as I did not want some maniacs to harm the lives of innocent children. Freethinking naturally made me a bad man who could influence children. I had no desire to become a missionary of freethinking though I wanted the children to be rationalists and logical when they grew up. As a teenager, when I was supposed to be enjoying life, making friends, watching movies, playing games, socialising and talking about our little dreams, I was at a madrassah studying useless books and memorising the Quran, which I did not understand. My life had only one aim: pleasing God and hating His perceived enemies. On many occasions my heart pined in frustration and powerlessness. All I wanted was reason, logic and acceptance. If I accept their religiosity; my irreligiosity should be respected as well.
Recently I got into a purely business transaction with a friend. My friend’s brother told him that I should not be trusted and said, “A person who does not believe in God (kafir) cannot be trusted at all.” How frustrating and depressing it can be for an honest and logical person, only I know. Pakistan has become a state where only one narrative is accepted, the narrative of Sunni Muslims. It lost the raison d’etre of being my home or home for a Christian, for an Ahmadi, for a Shia and for a Hindu. How can I call this country home when it does not accept me as its child, when it does not own me?
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you — Nobody — too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! They’d advertise — you know! (Emily Dickinson).
The writer is a freelance journalist and can be reached at [email protected]