A text message sent in near-euphoric haste led to some pert questions being texted in response. It happened this past Friday when news broke that the Lahore High Court (LHC) had barred construction work for the Orange Line Train project on sites deemed dangerously close to historical monuments in the city of Lahore. The decision upheld an earlier order by the same court that suspended work in areas in close proximity to heritage sites. That work was never completely put off remained an upsetting reality for those to whom the remainder of Lahore’s cultural heritage was at stake. Now that the court had decisively put a stop it felt all the more good. The latest is that the provincial government will approach the Supreme Court decrying the spanner that’s been thrown its way. But here is an abridged paraphrase of the text messages in response to mine. The first message began with a quip on my joy. The gist was that only a few in the city would have been “moved” by the verdict. People have other things to do than wax and wane in sentiment over derelict structures. Those who were happy could easily be placed in two categories. The first column would be filled by those who pretend to care for Moghul monuments. Their pretensions to protecting culture spring from aping western tourists who make a great deal out of old buildings. Few Pakistanis in their right mind give a jot about ancient rubble. The second row of heritage-hyper citizens would be filled by people who get a kick out of launching armchair crusades against ceremoniously inflated causes. A chips-munching, freckled version of Don Quixote in striped pajamas is the image that should cross your mind just now. Few of these social media gladiators have ever been to any of the historical sites they vow to protect from degradation. They don’t go because it’s just so dirty and dingy there. There’s too much traffic and smoke and noise pollution from those terrible motorcycle-rickshaws. It’s more convenient raising your voice for Dai Anga’s tomb in Begum Pura perched on your vibrating couch in DHA. There is some truth to the argument here. Culture and heritage seem like ideas that matter to well-fed stomachs. You might as well pull down a 16th century royal fort, if in its place you’re going to build low-cost houses for those without the wherewithal to own a house. But, as always, it’s a little more complicated than that. True, architectural heritage would mean little to the vast majority of the 40 percent Pakistanis who make less than Rs 210 a day, those who don’t have access to potable water, and those without sewage disposal and electric power. It wouldn’t mean much to those who don’t have houses to live in. But what about those who do have homes, particularly those whose houses adjoin historical buildings in the old city? These people violate construction laws in such a way that their houses abut protected historical monuments. The degradation of the edifices they encroach upon does not matter to them, or to anyone else for that matter. There is the case of the vendor in New Anarkali bazar selling vests in an old temple-styled dome in plain sight. The beautiful little room should have been designated a protected site, but considering the condition of protected sites, it’s probably better off selling t-shirts. When it comes to expanding your house or to your business interests, none of these things matters. It’s also a case of greed and wanton self-interest, and not only that of a poverty and deprivation-stricken populace not interested in protecting heritage. We in Pakistan, by and large, don’t care about heritage. Perhaps it has something peculiarly South Asian to it, but historical sites have been historically degraded. Or maybe, it seems like a Pakistani thing only when you compare it to western countries. The reason they have come to privilege monuments so much, some might say, is that culture itself has been commoditised so that ancient architecture has been invested with fetish value. Society was structured on exploitation of labour while they sold the people on fashion, technical gadgets, ancient relics, national literature and old buildings. Also a part of this process was the museum-ification of the past and the creation of glorious national histories. It is true that tangible heritage has often been used in constructing myths of civilisational superiority that would justify colonial expansion and hence further exploitation. So heritage-concern might just be a western-ly kind of thing. As to the second category of people, those armchair crusaders, well, there’s never a shortage of people stilting at windmills, especially in Pakistan where you don’t have any windmills to stilt at. But heritage has to be about more than just deluding people into valuing ancient wood and concrete. It’s the past we’re talking about, our own past, and it’s beautiful. To me, the Lahore Fort is far more majestic than Buckingham Palace. Part of the beauty is the connection. True, it’s something the elite of the time made for themselves, and they’d probably never let us in had we lived in those days, but the same could be said of the skyscrapers in New York, the penthouses in Los Angeles, and the Burjs in Dubai. If there’s no great reason to partake in the majesty of local monuments, there might be reason enough to rejoice in their native-ness. The Fort, Chauburgi, the Shalimar Gardens and all such buildings were made by the blood and sweat of our people, our ancestors. That ought to give them some value. The second text message I received said in a humorous vein that the joy would be short-lived as “they” would get their Orange Train project done one way or another. The observation was based on similar instances, it said, where the provincial High Court had halted a project people had petitioned it to stop, only for the order to be challenged in Islamabad, and ultimately overturned. This opened the larger debate as to the futility of action when it is bound to come to naught. And this isn’t just about a train project. What does it matter in the larger scheme of things, when the little good you think you’ve done or been part of, will be completely washed over in an instant? Questions like these are very common in our country. And the answer is a hackneyed one. If everyone thought the same way, nobody would do the right thing. Soon, there’d be no question of right and wrong. That’s probably what the judges at the LHC thought too. It’s a tale you tell the grandchildren. You were there when it was happening, you tried to do something. You couldn’t stop it, but you rocked the boat a little. It may not have been much, but it was something. The writer is lecturer in English Literature at Govt College University, Lahore. He may be reached at sameeropinion@gmail.com