I spent my summers growing up at my grandparent’s residence in Lahore, Pakistan. Every morning, despite the sleepless nights spent goofing around with my cousins, I was begrudgingly woken up by my mother and taken to the breakfast table. “Eat!” nanabu (maternal grandfather) would say, “This is halal!” Despite his repeated insistence, my American upbringing conditioned me not to stomach (pun intended) the lahori delicacy of siri paye, or the head and hooves of goat. I looked on; however, as I could tell how much enjoyment my beloved grandfather took in eating and also giving food to others. Perhaps feeding others freely was an acquired trait rooted in his impoverished past as a laborer in pre-partition Amritsar. As my cousins and I had compromised on minced meat sandwiches with butter slathered toast – made by nanabu himself, mind you – the lethargy from the previous night subsided as our oblong breakfast table in Lahore converted into an intellectual coffeehouse.

Despite having completed only a fifth grade education, Nanabu would recite poetry from memorization. My grandfather was not educated; he was knowledgeable. His intellectual prowess would today be castigated by western secular epistemology, which de-legitimizes knowledge rooted in indigenous and religious traditions, attained outside the context of an institution. Many of his favorite poems mirrored Eastern/Islamic philosophy or political thought. He revered Iqbal; many Muslim colonial subjects from the Punjab did. “Nanabu agar aap parh likhe hotey aap shayad Einstein bante! (If you finished school perhaps you would have become Einstein!)” I would tell him. “Nahi,” he would say, “mai kuch nahi hoon.” (No, I am nothing.) He carried himself with humility, a rare trait to be found these days. After all, such morals only serve to strengthen human beings, yet weaken citizenship, the central social identity defined by the nation-state and its restrictive parameters.

His room smelled of a hint of cigarettes, English toffee, and cologne. If I were to smell his sweater long enough today, I am able to place myself back in his room, twirling from his music collection to his books to his chairs and coffee table for his guests, whilst catching a whiff of that intoxicating scent. It is an odd combination of smells for a young girl to adore, but I loved it nonetheless. Much to our parents chagrin, my cousins and I would mimick nanabu — and not TV or billboard ads — as we held the perfectly crafted cigarette between our fingers. I don’t know why our parents hindered us from constantly barging in his room, it was clearly the most exhilarating! The man had an aura of magnetism around him, which his eight children and twenty-five plus grandchildren can attest – although I admit, we are perhaps biased. I have always felt that it was his undying belief in self and community empowerment which made him unique; he exuded an understated confidence. “Khudi ko kar buland itna kay har taqdeer se pehle khuda bande se pooche ‘bata teri raza kya hai? (Elevate yourself so high that before every decree, God asks you ‘What is your wish?’)” he would often remind us. Nanabu sought refuge and agency in Iqbal’s concept of khudi; it allowed him the political imagination to envision a future beyond an occupied existence. He was amongst the Muslim underclasses of British Punjab; an ordinary man. And yet, in this ordinary existence of odd-end jobs, political turmoil, and social isolation, his rigorous and continuous engagement with intellectual advancement made him extraordinary.

My poetry classes at the breakfast table were complemented by evening lectures and discussions surrounding classical Urdu and Punjabi ghazals, or lyrical poems set to music. Nanabu taught us to recognize enlightenment through various mediums – whether in music, human relationships, or poetry. My cousins and I would often tip-toe into his room, paanch (meaning ‘five,’ as the rooms of the house were numbered) and turn on his stereo system. We were disappointed when a click of the on button did not result in the latest Western pop music as it did on MTV India, however, later on in life we would appreciate the wisdom behind nanabu’s mystical collection of poetic ghazals. Faiz taught me the multiple meanings behind struggle, Habib Jalib and Ustad Daman became a language for those silenced, and the raags, or musical notes, accompanied by Ustad Barkat Ali Khan and Begum Akhtar allowed me to envisage love as a metaphor for a broader political and spiritual vision. There is a well-known phrase in Urdu related to the complex art of raising children: taaleem-o-tarbiyat. Nanabu’s tarbiyat, or upbringing, of his children is (hopefully) apparent in our commitment to ihsan (the Muslim responsibility to seek excellence in worship), and his instilling of taleem (education) is in our constant search for knowledge, which elevates human beings.

Besides being my respected elder and fashion inspiration, nanabu was also my go-to political analyst in Lahore. His morning routine consisted of feeding the animals in our front yard, followed by reading his newspaper in the garden. As a quiet yet curious teenager, I was eager to inform myself about the world, and so I asked nanabu if he would subscribe to the English language newspaper for me. We read our Urdu and English newspapers and mutually reflected knowledge based on our respective times. He brought in wisdom rooted in poetic politics and spirituality. I was the young woman who asked questions – still a daring concept in many contexts. After 9/11, I would inform him about the plight of American Muslims. As I detailed the stories of mass surveillance, detainment, and racial profiling, my capricious tone – sometimes reflecting anger, sometimes desolation – revealed my adolescent reaction to the extremity of the situation. Nanabu; however, would simply nod with a monotonous expression as if he was somehow familiar with the narrative of isolation. His wounds as an occupied subject of British colonialism allowed him to relate to and critique post-9/11 geopolitics. He would speak of the economic disenfranchisement of Muslims in colonial Punjab, for instance, as an integral component of occupation. While the economic condition of Muslims in post-9/11 American cannot act as a parallel, the ideologies of power and occupation still permeate political and social contexts. Nanabu understood such ideologies, their centrality to US Empire, and their influence in peripheral institutions. My camaraderie with my grandfather reflected what I yearned for in the US: a detailed critique of Empire and its consequences. Our conversations provided me with the intellectual vigor to examine politics not from the perspective of those in power, but from the sea of people whose existence and resistance serves as a reminder of the spiritual heights the human race is capable of.

Like soldiers returning after a sanguinary war, survivors of the colonial and partition era also embodied significant trauma. Life moved on for my grandfather and others, but they were never able to revert to the previous state; I’m not sure if my grandfather ever did. Despite wounds rooted in enforced poverty, violence, and war, nanabu also shared stories that represented kindness, human empathy, and the will to implement ihsaan, or good, which Islam teaches is a part of worship. There was a particularly special story in which nanabu remembered the benevolence and companionship provided to him, a young Muslim boy, by a newly wedded Sikh woman in his time of distress. During one of his odd jobs, he had to deliver a package to someone’s house. He couldn’t find the house; however, and came across a Sikh woman who — through her ghoongat, or uniquely styled scarf which gave away her identity as a new bride — spoke to him in Punjabi: “Veer, ai lo roti kha. Assi chadd awaan ge. (Brother, here eat some food. We will drop off the package.)  Nanabu remembered the softness in her voice sixty-five years later as he lay on his deathbed in post-partition Pakistan, her kindness remembered across newly drawn geopolitical lines.

The humanity exemplified in my grandfather’s story problematizes the orientalist tropes of the ‘intolerant’ Hindu, Sikh, or Muslim taught in prevailing westernized discourses. Indigenous narratives evoking memory of a South Asia once known for its interreligious harmony, political unity, and camaraderie challenges the matrix of Empire and client state patronage and thus acts as a politicized weapon of truth-telling and resistance.

In a way, my grandfather’s generation represented a lost tribe. Freedom, for them, was a glimmering memory of the past. And yet memories often have the power to reinvigorate the beauty and consciousness found within the collective human spirit. Pakistan was created in 1947, and my grandfather’s love for his land was spiritually kinetic. I often wish my grandfather and Edward Said could have met, as Said’s writing often follows a theme on homeland and displacement.[2] Nanabu’s sentiments can be explained by a simple truth: as the country grew, so did he. As Pakistan’s newly born population crafted statehood, nanabu immersed himself in Islamic intellectual history, poetry, and grew intellectually. As the country neared its fifth year, nanabu laid the foundations for his business and contributed to Pakistan’s industrial growth. And when our repackaged colonial ‘leaders’ sold the country in promises of multi-billion dollar deals and validation from western interests, nanabu’s lamenting sighs echoed those of Faiz in poetic form: Chale chalo, kay woh manzil abhi nahi aye (Let us go on, for that goal has not yet arrived). What else is there to describe about a traveller’s compassion towards his fellow traveler?

He was not a class theorist, yet his critiques on the subject were much more refined than those of the elites of the country. “Inka bhi dehan rakhna chahiye” (We should take care of them too), he told me once as he pointed to the servant staff in our house. As I grew older my interest in the family business piqued, and so I would ask nanabu questions about his employees — ‘approximately how many employees?’ ‘What is their pay?’ ‘Are there unions?’ While memories have faded, I recall him always prioritizing the rights of workers in his responses. He did this in other contexts as well; car rides home after meeting with relatives or friends were slightly daunting, as everyone anticipated nanabu’s interrogation sessions.‘Kithon aye ho? Khane kinney da si? Ik mazdoor di kamaai day barabar tussi Ik din da khana kha lita! (Where are you coming from? How much was dinner? The dinner you all ate was equivalent to a worker’s salary!’) He would ask this in a pre-partition Punjabi vernacular that now seems like a wistfully lost art. I dearly miss that line of questioning; it reminded me to live amongst the people.

Towards the end of his life nanabu found it difficult to speak due to illness. What was perhaps most difficult for his family, and presumably for him as well, was to witness the slow acquiescence of a man brimming with stories, travels, lessons, and other remnants of wisdom. South Asian women are the ones usually depicted as vivacious, with their rich clothing and jewelry – however my grandfather was no less colorful. On one August 14th, Pakistan’s independence day, in an effort to get my grandfather to speak, my mother asked him the obvious question. “Aaj chauda August hai abaii, aaj kera din ai? (Today is August 14th dad, what happened today?)” With eyes wide open and his neck lifting from his reclined state nanabu replied — in a rather confident and doting tone: “Pakistan bana tha! (Pakistan was made!)” I remember his love for homeland not as a cry for nationalism but rather as a profound trust in the fruits of liberation and struggle for justice.

Islamic philosopher Syed Naquib al Attas defines knowledge as an individual’s recognition of his/her place in God’s hierarchy of beings.[3] My grandfather was not a theologian, but rather an individual part of a sea of people who recognize their existence as spiritual beings with a collective commitment to pursue knowledge as a means to implement ihsan in worldly and spiritual affairs. Part of this commitment also entails restoring the balance of tawheed, or oneness of God and His creation, within the self and greater society. Nanabu was not without flaws, but that is exactly the point. Iranian intellectual Ali Shariati says that human beings are constantly migrating – migrating within the soul – which parallels jihad al akbar, or the greater struggle with one’s ego.[4] He embodied a constant struggle: as a subject of a colonial occupation, as a laborer, as a self and community taught thinker, and as a self-made industrialist.

A month ago I sat in a mosque nanabu had built in Sheikhpura, a small industrial village on the outskirts of Lahore. I offered the early afternoon prayer, and as my forehead met with the carpet I thought about the significance behind such an act. In an age of modernity, where the technologies of progress are constantly defined by the self, my prayer represented the antithesis of what we call progress. That act of prostration, that dire need for the spirit to find its way home, represents sagely wisdom lost amidst today’s talk of progress. My grandfather’s praxis represented a softer revolution: to realign the soul with its Divine origin. The memory of him embodying khudi and revolutionary love is with me today, and continues to remind me of the deeper imperative to decolonize and indigenize collective political systems, but also individual hearts and minds as well.

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You are a body that needed a home / now you are ruins and home is wound

Why I left when I did and could not say goodbye:

The prison cell of memory / the decade of letters to the boy in Brooklyn/ the bleached bones / the runway of nightmare / the parched stillness echoed in hospital rooms / the clenched fists / the shivering night sky / the shattered glass in balconies on three continents / the silence/ the pity/ the rage in bones / the “I feel butchered / like someone / cut and cut and cut / all the humanity/ left nothing but rage”

The mother outside morgue paralyzed by grief / cries “I am not sorry for the martyr in you” / the revisionist history / the it did not happen / the they said it was different / so it was different / no one ever asked how or why / the sea of tents / the echo of lifeless / the limelight vertigo/ the blood soaked streets / the it did not happen / the revisionist history / my children will one day ask about

You are a body that needed a home/ now you are ruins and home is wound

The stillness of the midnight sky / before tear gas climbs down staircase of metro station the bodies start falling like thunder/ like applause / like paralyzed mind/ waiting to be jolted by lightning

The I do not sleep / the I wake for memory / the close my eyes and all I hear is gunfire / tilt head back and exhale for quiet / instead I am falling / falling / falling / into the broken teeth of this city / with blood-crusted fingernails / bruised knuckles/ and burnt bodies sketched with charcoal on the back of my eyelids/ the letter this week is about losing myself

You are a body that needed a home / now you are ruins and home is wound

The arms wrapped around blanket during October sunrise / no map / no mercy / no melody / only cloud as corpse to guide the way / the unwritten letters

The months go by/ the I do not recognize myself/ overdose on pills /as shrapnel fills throat/ asleep with the intimacy of loss / resting on my side table/ with yesterday’s coffee grains / the trying to remember to forget / and always forgetting to not remember / the I do not write to him for 64 days

The count to five and breathe / the 1-2-3-4-5 exhale / close my eyes and /all I see is ornament of burial shroud / sunset painted with massacred veins / city of lanterns with purple haze / marketplace of sorrow/ glass shards meet concrete / another balcony / the unkempt hair / the midnight walks / the hollowed out / clawed out / the rotting and ripe presence / of batons and blockades / and another and another and another / letter from prison cell / the are you okay? / the are you happy?/ the before I sleep I am still talking to your silhouette on walls

You are a body that needed a home / now you are ruins and home is wound

Suez is burning / Sinai is burning / Port Said is burning / Maspero is burning / Ittahadeya is burning / Tahrir is burning / my world is burning and all I can do is write / to the boy in Brooklyn / who taught me how to be / the hollow frame of a body / in spite of the flames

The aftermath/ the mayhem of survival/ the mayhem of empty/ the mayhem of the broken hymn / of the hundredth goodbye

The I left when I did / nothing familiar / about myself / left / I left the letters behind / box full / overflowing / of handmade paper / flowers pressed between the map to the morgue and memory overflowing of / nothing but hollow

You are a body that needed a home / now you are ruins and home is wound

The I still write to him / the I still write to him / not of hollow / not of loss / not of adventure / or defeat / or love / but of finding a way out / of lifeless and love in spite of loss / of starting over / of lifeless and love in spite of loss / of leaving / of lifeless and love in spite of loss

You are a body that needed a home / now you are ruins and home is wound
You are a body that needed a home / now you are ruins and home is wound

The you can walk away / the you can always say enough / the you can always say today / I will watch the world burn / from another balcony

The post Homes of Loss (spoken-word poetry by Maheen Hyder) appeared first on The Postcolonialist.

Track Two diplomacy pertains to policy oriented discussions that are non-governmental, informal and un-official in nature, but which are quite close to governmental agendas and often involve participation of the people who are close to governmental quarters and influential in policy matters, such as retired diplomats, retired civil and military officials, public figures, and policy analysts. On occasions it may also involve the participation of government officials in their private capacities.

The concept and practice of ‘Track Two’ diplomacy as a conflict resolution and conflict prevention approach originally emerged during the Cold War between the USA and the Soviet Union.[2] Since then, it has been used as an important tool to advance the dialogue process among parties in dispute in many conflict zones across the globe, for example Israel-Palestine, Northern Ireland—Great Britain, India-Pakistan, and so on. The Track Two process is a more comprehensive and broader approach, encompassing a variety of non-official dialogues between members of adversary groups or nations which aim to develop strategies, influence public opinion and organise human and material resources in ways that might help to resolve conflict. The exponents of Track-Two diplomacy value the psychological and cultural awareness associated with the Track-Two dialogues in addressing the human aspects that are appropriate in a workshop setting and in similar activities, but which tend to create difficulties in official processes. The agenda of Track-Two work is fluid and responsive to the psychological and systemic barriers to conflict resolution, thus overcoming them. Moreover, Track Two proponents are of the view that such unofficial initiatives broaden the range of participation in the dialogue process among the antagonist groups, allowing consultation with parties that need to be represented but are not officially involved. In fact, it is now quite widely recognised by Track One diplomats that it is unlikely that modern day conflicts can be resolved without the cooperation of Track Two diplomacy, as it helps in easing the various barriers between adversarial groups.

Given its focus on both fostering relationships and on strengthening civil society, Track Two is especially useful with regards to India and Pakistan. India-Pakistan relations have been intricate and strained following independence from British colonial rule in 1947. It is a well-established fact that over the last six decades both nations have remained at logger-heads with each other, primarily because of the political dispensation of the Jammu and Kashmir problem[3]. The two countries have always used their substantial resources to outwit  each other, economically, diplomatically and militarily. Three full-fledged wars in 1947, 1965, and in 1971, the first two explicitly over the Jammu and Kashmir issues, were fought between the two countries.  In addition, there have been a number of serious but localised military confrontations, for example, Operation Meghdoot (1984), Operation Brasstracks (1986), and a small-scale war at Kargil (1999). During the rest of the time, the relationship can be at best characterized as a state of Cold War or Cold Peace. The relationship between the two states came to its lowest point in 1989-90 with the eruption of militancy in Kashmir. It was believed in India that Pakistan had a direct role in supporting cross-border militancy first in Punjab and then in Kashmir, creating a dangerous and explosive situation in the region. Simultaneously, the two nations sought nuclear parity. It was subsequently late in 1998 that both India and Pakistan exploded nuclear devices; on 11 and 13 May at Pokhran and 28 and 30 May at Chagi in 1998, respectively.

The failure to achieve substantial progress on issues confronting the two countries made a strong case for unconventional diplomacy, particularly in post-1990 situation when violence in the state of Jammu and Kashmir became a medium of asserting political will. Prevailing tensions between the two nuclear states became a genuine cause of alarm to the international community and for citizens of the two states, each with much to lose in an escalated conflict. It was in this context that the Track Two initiatives began to be mobilized and used to influence the relations between India and Pakistan in a positive direction.

The first prominent Track Two initiative between India and Pakistan was the Neemaran dialogue that took place under the auspices of the United States Information Services (USIS) in 1990 and was later joined by American foundations and German nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). Its first meeting was held in Neemrana Fort in Rajhasthan, India in October 1991. The group was comprised of former diplomats, former military personnel, media persons, NGO workers and academics from India and Pakistan. Since then, there has been a significant increase in the number of Track Two initiatives between India and Pakistan. Of late, some new such initiatives have started, such as the Chaophraya Dialogue, the WISCOMP annual workshop, the Pugwash Conferences, Ottawa Dialogue, and so on.  There exist more than twelve highly institutionalised Track Two groups, as well as over twenty other people-to-people exchange programmes operating between the two nuclear powers[4], with both external and internal funding.

However, given its western origin there have been varied views and opinions vis-à-vis the role and relevance of Track Two diplomacy in the South Asian Context. Critics generally argue that the various non-official dialogues-particularly Track Two initiatives-have largely remained confined to the quasi-official realm with a few retired government officials, both civil and military, dominating most of the activities. The situation becomes further complicated as most of these people have represented their governments at some point in time, and thus they tend to adopt positions very similar to those of their governments once the core issues come to the fore.[5] Furthermore, given the prolonged hostile atmosphere between India and Pakistan, questions and queries over the role and relevance of Track Two dialogues have intensified. The ‘track two’ activists, however, hold the view that it is a useful and effective conflict management mechanism. For instance, it has led to increased understanding and a prevention in escalation of tensions. Moreover, it may help resolve on-going disputes by preventing the emergence of new disputes, as well as build confidence between the parties involved. A general consensus has evolved among many scholars and peace practitioners that the Track Two diplomacy between India and Pakistan has been able to:

• Facilitate the track one dialogue process between the two countries
• Keep the channels of communication open even during the times of crises at the official level
• Effectively break down the stereotypical and enemy images of each other
• Expand the peace constituencies across the border

Just a few years back, it was taboo in both India and Pakistan to discuss peace and reconciliation with each other. Contrary to that, the situation has significantly changed. Government as well as civilians on both sides of the border have recognised the pros and cons of peace and conflict. There is a very strong realisation among civil society groups operating on either side of the border that the costs involved in maintaining animosity against each other are much higher than any gains from the current hostile situation. At a time when the relations between India and Pakistan have lurched from crisis to crisis, Track Two has been able to sustain an element of unbroken engagement. For example, immediately after the Kargil crises [6]in late 90’s, when the interactions at the official level completely ceased to exist, several dialogue processes through Track Two and other unofficial means were in progress to prevent exacerbation of the situation. Similarly, after the 2008 Mumbai terror attacks, despite complete suspension of official diplomatic relations, many Track Two initiatives were pursued by the two governments to ease tensions and resume a state of normalcy.

Conclusion

Despite some of the limitations and constrains within which Track Two diplomacy operates, it has been an important medium to explore new policy options between India and Pakistan. It has acted as a platform upon which to have discussions about many contentious issues such as Kashmir’s political dispensation, demilitarization of the Siachen glacier, and cross border terrorism. It has been helpful in bringing down the psychological barriers, bridging the cultural differences, promoting mutual trade and developing an atmosphere conducive to the betterment of the region. Furthermore, the bilateral Track Two dialogue processes have also played a pivotal role in bringing key issues to the forefront and applying intellectual capacity and civil activism to broad policy stalemates where the state has essentially failed. While non-official diplomacy should not be a panacea for the mistrust amassed over decades of hostility, it provides a unique opportunity for the citizens of India and Pakistan to prevent the bitterness of the past from tainting the future. The future role of Track Two in South Asia may be minimal without a concurrent improvement in relations at the official level, as a sustained multi-faceted dialogue will help build confidence and prove constructive for both sides’ perceptions of one another. This in effect will ease domestic tensions and hostility and pave the way for enlightened political action.

The post Track-Two Diplomacy between India and Pakistan: A Study in Diplomatic Overture appeared first on The Postcolonialist.