Daily Times

No sooner was I in the taxi, then the driver turned to me and began asking if I spoke Dari. He seemed rather disinclined to believe me when I told him, no. But he was a cheery soul and as we began to make our way through the drizzly streets of Islamabad he began to tell me a little about himself.

He was an Afghan refugee. And he thought I was, too. In fact when he had seen me walking away from another cab — the poor chap assumed that the driver had refused the fare due to my being a Pathan from across the border. Thus had he immediately done a U-turn to come and pick me up, as it were.

And even when he learned that I was half-Pakistani, he still didn’t want to charge me for the ride. Such acts of kindness and generosity are hard to come by. But when they do, they give us hope when the whole day’s done; rather like that invisible sun.

That short journey has stayed with me. Including how the gentleman proudly showed off his official documents to prove he was ‘legit’. Fleeing from the war next door, they ended up here, in this so-called brotherly country, he, his wife and their five children. The couple were desperate for the latter to be in school. Indeed, all had been enrolled but some teachers were refusing to have Afghans in their classes. And even then, the poor fellow was thankful to the people of this country.

Such sentiments are disheartening. For far too long here and elsewhere has the price of refuge been paid for by the surrendering of dignity.

Momentarily, I felt sick: this, after all, is what Afghans in Pakistan endure daily. Except that they have to contend with far worse than being potentially prevented from grabbing an overpriced cup of Joe. Brandishing my CNIC lacked the certain swagger of the American Express card that the fortunate few never leave home without. Yet this wouldn’t do nicely, not at all

This is something that Pakistan’s minorities know a thing or two about. It is a reality they live day in and day out. They know what it is like to be subjected to ethnic profiling, to have their freedom of movement restricted; to confront stickers on shop windows informing them that no one wants their custom; to have terrorists kill them only to face backlash for daring to call these targeted attacks; to have their persecution state-sanctioned by way of an unjust Constitution; to have the name of their community become the accepted slang for those who sweep for a living.

And then the taxi stopped. After a brief verbal tussle in which the cabbie reluctantly accepted my cash — and after I had saved his number so I could call on him during the remainder of my stay there — I made my way towards a cluster of posh coffee shops. Approaching the door way of one, a security guard suddenly appeared and asked to see my documents. Momentarily, I felt sick: this, after all, is what Afghans in Pakistan endure daily. Except that they have to contend with far worse than being potentially prevented from grabbing an overpriced cup of Joe. Brandishing my CNIC, I was aware that this lacked the certain swagger of the American Express card that the fortunate few never leave home without. Yet this wouldn’t do nicely, not at all. The guard began asking me for my passport. He had seemingly mistaken me for an American and the half-Brit in me wondered if I should be indignant at this. Yet it was only when I pointed out that none of the men were being stopped and asked for ID that he let me pass. Upstairs, I was still musing over what had happened down below. From Afghan refugee to American ex-pat in the space of around half an hour; here in a country that should be home.

Pakistan is a multicultural and multiethnic society and we must stand together to resist the certain cleansing that the Captain Safdars of this nation as well as particular unreformed assets are calling for. And this struggle must be a collective one. Meaning no more availing the luxury of championing causes on a selective basis; no more ranking class above gender or gender above minorities. Those who stand up for injustice must do so across the board. This is how real and long-lasting movements are built. Not by the causal tokenism of appropriating distinct suffering. Thus a good place to start would be moving to revoke specific constitutional provisions that legislate who is deemed Muslim and who is not. For what is this, if not blasphemy by another name?

And here is where overseas Pakistanis also have a part to play, especially those from the privileged class who grew up here. For the latter only appears to awaken to the plight of what minority life is like after they’ve set sail for the broken lands of Europe and North America. And so does it come upon them, this revolutionary zeal that embraces the anti-imperialist struggle. As they march for Palestine. For Black Lives. A shame, then, that such resistance is not always recognised when it comes to fighting the colonising state here at home.

The time has come to stop signing up for someone else’s revolution.

The writer is the Deputy Managing Editor, Daily Times. She can be reached at mirandahusain@me.com and tweets @humeiwei

Published in Daily Times, October 29^th 2017.