A city of three tales

In Karachi, any reference to the ‘other side of the bridge’ is usually a euphemistic allusion to social class difference, between those who live on either side of the actual, Clifton Bridge.
On February12, three major gatherings took place in the city on the same day – each soaked in socio-political symbolism and significance. Each was also a direct commentary on our collective class identities, national concerns and political disconnect.
The Karachi Literature Festival was held in a private hotel in the suburbs near the sea and attended by the English-speaking elite. However, the Difa-e- Pakistan rally and the conference on Balochistan on Pakistan Women’s Day were, ideologically and literally, public events that took place on the ‘other side of the bridge’.
The first one was a congregation of the holy men from forty religio-political parties at the Quaid’s mazaar. The second, was a public meeting organised by the Joint Action Committee at the Karachi Press Club, to commemorate Pakistan Women’s Day. February 12 is the anniversary that marks the police action against women who took out a pro-democracy/anti-Zia rally in 1983 in Lahore. The theme this year was to focus on Baloch women’s issues. Ironies abounded. The Literature Festival was mostly non-literary, the Difa-e- Pakistan Rally was about defence against imagined not real enemies, and Baloch people refused to attend the conference that women activists had organised for them.
It would be interesting to offer a cost-analysis comparison of the events but one can only guess that the British Council budget for the hotel venue of the literature festival had to beat that of the Joint Action Committee one at the press club, especially since there were no celebrities and no tea at the latter. There is no accounting for budgetary sources or expenditures of religio-political events.
Never mind, money and social class attendance. Everyone (who is honest) knows that the most important

point of being part of the literati is to read and then be seen to be well-read. Where better to be seen than a festival of repeat English literature (since nothing new has really been written since the last one)? At least one can hear our English language authors read out what we have already read and then tell us whether they stood or sat, or read out their prose to themselves as they punched away at their laptops while taking in the Manhattan skyline or by the French Riviera?
Clearly, we English-speaking elite are so stupid that we need the authors to refresh our memories, by having novelists read out excerpts from books written a decade ago and swoon at their throaty, larynx-filled renditions. Yes, readings are quite the legitimate literary activity but what has earned authors renown in this regard has been their ability to weave around their texts, the stories and connections that make their bodies of work, art.
Embarrassingly rich examples abound of how readings have mesmerised audiences because they contextualise the writings, making one understand the history, political and personal connections that can make reception of reading, a live experience. But reading a random page from your old novel in a gravely voice just sounds pompous and reminds you of the Eng Lit teacher from ‘O’ levels who loved to hear her own fake British accent.
The attempt to expand the themes of the literature festival to include the fields of sociology, geo-politics, economics and nuclear science, successfully killed off any romance that a literary event in the city by the sea may have promised. Instead, it is now fully converted into one of those dull, predictable, heard-it-all-before and mediocre, Islamabad development conferences. More consultants than creative-artists, do not a literary festival make. Known for its candid exposes of sex, relationships and socialite gossip, the Karachi literature festival invited Shoba De to be its apt muse.
Known for exposing nothing outside of the veil, Afia Siddiqi was the iconographic symbol for the religious parties’ congregation at the other end of Karachi. For religio-patriots, a woman must be a victim of American injustice to qualify as worth defending. The rest of the defenceless women of Pakistan can save themselves.
The Press Club event was perhaps the most poetic, political and pertinent of all three events. It was also the most under-attended by the ‘other-siders’. Three, actually. While the speakers managed to raise conceptual and pragmatic realities of Baloch politics, the missing persons’ epidemic and the impotent role of the state in accounting for Baloch activists, the protesters outside refused to join the conference inside. Why is it that our hearts break at Palestinian children holding their fathers’ portraits but not the tiny Baloch girl who can hardly carry the reminder of her brother’s absence in her lap?
The symbolism of their refusal to join the conference was apt. The breakdown of trust is such that it’s not just the state the Baloch women activists do not trust — they do not trust civil society anymore. It’s a comment on how long we have allowed things to fester. With the exception of the HRCP over decades, most of us make no specific gesture, organise no collective conferences, no petitioning, no day of missing persons, no exchange student programmes, no dialogue on nationalism, literature, music and no media coverage of the Baloch issue.
Hence, we contribute to the institutional backlash they continue to face. As one Baloch woman put it, “There can be no concept of the ‘millat’ when you torture one province”. Were the Defenders of Pakistan at the mazaar listening? Were the well-read in Defence society inspired?
What seemed to amuse the literati at the festival the most was the session which satirised the much scorned “ghariat” brigade. Mocking the self-appointed squadrons of Pakistan’s moral respectability is all well and good, but by the looks of the events at the Quaid’s mazaar, the Difa-e-Pakistan lot may be having the last laugh before the next literature festival.
Meanwhile, what is deadly sobering is to hear your fellow Karachi resident claim that they came to ‘Pakistan’ from Balochistan because they were being persecuted. Citizenship as a commodity is running out in this country. To find out just how fast, the litterateurs who masquerade as social scientists and commentators may want to relocate their consciousness next time they visit the city. A different kind of after-party takes place on the other side of the bridge.

The writer is a sociologist based in Karachi. She has a background in women’s studies and has authored and edited several books on women’s issues Email: afiyazia@yahoo.com