A week ago, a person in my office in Karachi asked my boss if I was a Muslim. He and his friends had wagered on whether I was an adherent of this faith or that. At first, the intrusion repulsed me. These people had been judging my faith based on my journalistic work – debates over news reports, conversations about public interest, mistruths and extremism. They had failed to realise that my religion, or lack of it, was my business – an intellectual property of a very personal nature.
That disgust later turned into fear as I recalled that a few months ago I had found preaching material carefully placed inside my car in the parking lot.
My office is just a microcosm of the world outside. Different people are forced to share a space, an office or a country, though most would prefer a homogenous group. The office cannot keep out social vigilantes – who monitor those dressing, talking or treating religion differently – as it does violent vigilantism by virtue of being a formal environment.
Outside the office, unrestrained by pretence, the country explodes in your face. When supporting structures are provided by Article 31 of the Constitution of Pakistan and Sections 295-298 of the Pakistan Penal Code, self-appointed enforcers are often bolder in meting out vigilante justice.
Spiral of violence
One such vigilante killed Punjab governor Salman Taseer in 2011 for speaking out against blasphemy. In response, he was celebrated by people. The killer, Mumtaz Qadri, who was part of Taseer’s security detail, went on to impart religious training to guards at the prison he was locked up in, turning them into vigilantes who went on to shoot a 70-year-old Briton, Mohammad Asghar. The inmate, who mental health experts believed suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, was incarcerated over blasphemy he committed in a state of psychosis.
In an attempt to indemnify blasphemy laws, people often argue that vigilantism falls outside the sections of law that criminalise free speech.
Proponents of blasphemy laws believe if the system defined by the procedures and laws of crime and punishment is followed, the government would be able to weed out fake blasphemy cases, motivated by land disputes or bonded labour, and help restore “honour” to religion.
For them, it is unnecessary to have freedom to talk about who we are and what we identify with. Their fear of an uncensored society blinds them to the system’s flaws.
Law and intolerance
This blindness is what aided a crowd of a few hundred that broke down a police station in Dadu in Sindh province, dragged out a man arrested for alleged blasphemy – a disoriented malang (vagabond) – and then beat him to death before setting him on fire. The mob evaded the system.
The system also failed Shama and Sajjad from Kot Radha Kishan in Punjab province. The couple, by all accounts, was not even aware of any blasphemy. They worked at a brick kiln – an industry known for use of bonded labour – and the kiln owner’s driver had alleged that there were bits of religious scriptures in their trash. Sajjad and Shama, who was said to be pregnant, were beaten up and then incinerated till nothing but a few bones and locks of hair remained. Five policemen could do nothing but watch helplessly as the horrors unfurled. The backstory: the couple wanted out of the job.
There appears to be a correlation between the violence and the moral vice the government holds us in.
According to a study by Pew Research Center’s Forum on Religion and Public Life, “countries with laws against blasphemy, apostasy or defamation of religion also tend to have higher government restrictions on religion and higher social hostilities involving religion.” Pakistan has very high social hostilities involving religion and very high government restrictions on religion, the study said.
Interpreting principles
The governmental restrictions start with the Constitution. Its Article 31 is an example:
So “steps shall be taken to enable Muslims…to order their lives with the principles…of Islam.” But who is the right arbiter? What if I, as Muslim A, hold truth to be the principle of Islam that says “do not kill the soul which Allah has forbidden” and Muslim B holds true the verse “kill the idolaters wherever you find them”. Who decides which of the two Muslims will be enabled and how?
Section 295-B of the penal code, added through amendments in the 1980s under the dictator Muhammad Ziaul Haq, is another law that leaves much room for interpretation:
“Wilfully defiles” means mens rea (a guilty mind) has to be established. Proving intent is considered essential for balanced law. But had Shama and Sajjad’s case reached the court, even if their crime was not fabricated, could the intent or lack thereof be proven?
When the majority is the prosecutor, thriving on suppression of classes and minorities, the onus of proving lack of evidence lies with the “guilty party”. A hard task when most courts do not even allow the accusation to be examined out aloud as that can constitute blasphemy.
Silenced of fear
Things get scarier with Section 295-C of the penal code:
In 1990, the Federal Shariat Court decided to strike the “or imprisonment for life” bit from section 295-C of the penal code, leaving the penalty “death and nothing else”. So a person can be sentenced to death over ill-chosen words – a costlier slip of the tongue does not exist. This law does not even need proof of intent. Just actus rea or the guilty act.
The ease with which a person can haul another to court for committing Section 295-C is terrifying. In 2010, a doctor was arrested for throwing a business card in the bin because it had the name ‘Muhammad Faizan’ on it.
Under Section 298-A of the penal code, “any words […] which defile the sacred name of the wife, companion or family of the Holy Prophet” will result in a sentence of three years in jail or/and a fine. If Tufail Haider, a man with mental illness axed to death by a policeman in Gujrat for “derogatory remarks towards the holy companions of the Prophet”, had been tried, his prosecutor would not have had to prove intent either.
More recently, former pop star-turned-preacher Junaid Jamshed broadcast misogynistic comments, referencing one of the wives of the Holy Prophet. While his intent was to prove women were irreparably “crooked” regardless of what role they take up, he ended up insulting the religious right. And sure enough, a police first information report was filed on Tuesday under Section 298-A and 295-C – where proof of intent does not come into play.
The law is where the problem lies and the solution is buried under fear of repercussion. In an Islamic republic, how can anyone untangle the ethics of law from sacred public morality?
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That disgust later turned into fear as I recalled that a few months ago I had found preaching material carefully placed inside my car in the parking lot.
My office is just a microcosm of the world outside. Different people are forced to share a space, an office or a country, though most would prefer a homogenous group. The office cannot keep out social vigilantes – who monitor those dressing, talking or treating religion differently – as it does violent vigilantism by virtue of being a formal environment.
Outside the office, unrestrained by pretence, the country explodes in your face. When supporting structures are provided by Article 31 of the Constitution of Pakistan and Sections 295-298 of the Pakistan Penal Code, self-appointed enforcers are often bolder in meting out vigilante justice.
Spiral of violence
One such vigilante killed Punjab governor Salman Taseer in 2011 for speaking out against blasphemy. In response, he was celebrated by people. The killer, Mumtaz Qadri, who was part of Taseer’s security detail, went on to impart religious training to guards at the prison he was locked up in, turning them into vigilantes who went on to shoot a 70-year-old Briton, Mohammad Asghar. The inmate, who mental health experts believed suffered from paranoid schizophrenia, was incarcerated over blasphemy he committed in a state of psychosis.
In an attempt to indemnify blasphemy laws, people often argue that vigilantism falls outside the sections of law that criminalise free speech.
Proponents of blasphemy laws believe if the system defined by the procedures and laws of crime and punishment is followed, the government would be able to weed out fake blasphemy cases, motivated by land disputes or bonded labour, and help restore “honour” to religion.
For them, it is unnecessary to have freedom to talk about who we are and what we identify with. Their fear of an uncensored society blinds them to the system’s flaws.
Law and intolerance
This blindness is what aided a crowd of a few hundred that broke down a police station in Dadu in Sindh province, dragged out a man arrested for alleged blasphemy – a disoriented malang (vagabond) – and then beat him to death before setting him on fire. The mob evaded the system.
The system also failed Shama and Sajjad from Kot Radha Kishan in Punjab province. The couple, by all accounts, was not even aware of any blasphemy. They worked at a brick kiln – an industry known for use of bonded labour – and the kiln owner’s driver had alleged that there were bits of religious scriptures in their trash. Sajjad and Shama, who was said to be pregnant, were beaten up and then incinerated till nothing but a few bones and locks of hair remained. Five policemen could do nothing but watch helplessly as the horrors unfurled. The backstory: the couple wanted out of the job.
There appears to be a correlation between the violence and the moral vice the government holds us in.
According to a study by Pew Research Center’s Forum on Religion and Public Life, “countries with laws against blasphemy, apostasy or defamation of religion also tend to have higher government restrictions on religion and higher social hostilities involving religion.” Pakistan has very high social hostilities involving religion and very high government restrictions on religion, the study said.
Interpreting principles
The governmental restrictions start with the Constitution. Its Article 31 is an example:
Steps shall be taken to enable the Muslims of Pakistan individually and collectively to order their lives in accordance with the fundamental principles and basic concepts of Islam and to provide facilities whereby they may be enabled to understand the meaning of life according to the Holy Quran and Sunnah.
So “steps shall be taken to enable Muslims…to order their lives with the principles…of Islam.” But who is the right arbiter? What if I, as Muslim A, hold truth to be the principle of Islam that says “do not kill the soul which Allah has forbidden” and Muslim B holds true the verse “kill the idolaters wherever you find them”. Who decides which of the two Muslims will be enabled and how?
Section 295-B of the penal code, added through amendments in the 1980s under the dictator Muhammad Ziaul Haq, is another law that leaves much room for interpretation:
Whoever wilfully defiles, damages or desecrates a copy of the Holy Quran or of an extract therefrom or uses it in any derogatory manner or for any unlawful purpose shall be punishable with imprisonment for life.
“Wilfully defiles” means mens rea (a guilty mind) has to be established. Proving intent is considered essential for balanced law. But had Shama and Sajjad’s case reached the court, even if their crime was not fabricated, could the intent or lack thereof be proven?
When the majority is the prosecutor, thriving on suppression of classes and minorities, the onus of proving lack of evidence lies with the “guilty party”. A hard task when most courts do not even allow the accusation to be examined out aloud as that can constitute blasphemy.
Silenced of fear
Things get scarier with Section 295-C of the penal code:
Whoever by words, either spoken or written, or by visible representation or by any imputation, innuendo, or insinuation, directly or indirectly, defiles the sacred name of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) shall be punished with death, or imprisonment for life, and shall also be liable to fine.
In 1990, the Federal Shariat Court decided to strike the “or imprisonment for life” bit from section 295-C of the penal code, leaving the penalty “death and nothing else”. So a person can be sentenced to death over ill-chosen words – a costlier slip of the tongue does not exist. This law does not even need proof of intent. Just actus rea or the guilty act.
The ease with which a person can haul another to court for committing Section 295-C is terrifying. In 2010, a doctor was arrested for throwing a business card in the bin because it had the name ‘Muhammad Faizan’ on it.
Under Section 298-A of the penal code, “any words […] which defile the sacred name of the wife, companion or family of the Holy Prophet” will result in a sentence of three years in jail or/and a fine. If Tufail Haider, a man with mental illness axed to death by a policeman in Gujrat for “derogatory remarks towards the holy companions of the Prophet”, had been tried, his prosecutor would not have had to prove intent either.
More recently, former pop star-turned-preacher Junaid Jamshed broadcast misogynistic comments, referencing one of the wives of the Holy Prophet. While his intent was to prove women were irreparably “crooked” regardless of what role they take up, he ended up insulting the religious right. And sure enough, a police first information report was filed on Tuesday under Section 298-A and 295-C – where proof of intent does not come into play.
The law is where the problem lies and the solution is buried under fear of repercussion. In an Islamic republic, how can anyone untangle the ethics of law from sacred public morality?