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Extreme injustice — a legal mandate for bigotry

Why the religious persecution of minorities in Pakistan is getting worse.

Standing on a dusty street under the Karachi sun, already blazing at 9am, it strikes me that I am being rejected. I am at a Christian-run school, amongst a crowd of parents vying for appointments to secure admission for their children. The reception, if that is the word for it, is a hatch in the brick wall, behind which sits a harried looking man with a stack of papers and a phone. After wrestling my way to the front, I explain that I am here to talk to the headmaster about religious discrimination.

The man phones the headmaster's personal assistant. I explain my connection to the acquaintance that told him to expect me, and tell her that I'm researching Christians in Pakistan. After nearly 10 minutes, standing on the pavement with the phone cord pulled awkwardly out into the street, I realise that the line has gone dead and she's hung up the phone. The man behind the desk is distinctly unimpressed, given the crowd amassing behind me. Convinced the line has been accidentally cut off, I ask him to call again. The PA's tone is markedly different. "You're not the only person I'm dealing with," she snaps. "The father doesn't have time for all this."

When I speak to my acquaintance later that day, he shrugs. "Don't be offended," he says. "He is prominent so he is easily identifiable. Are you surprised he is scared to talk?"

Pakistan was conceived as a secular state with Islam as its main religion. "We have many non-Muslims -- Hindus, Christians, and Parsis -- but they are all Pakistanis," said the country's founder, Muhammad Ali Jinnah in a celebrated speech. However, in the late 1970s and 1980s, the military dictator General Zia-ul-Huq engaged in a repressive programme of 'Islamisation'. Among his actions was the introduction of a set of blasphemy laws, under which a person can face indefinite imprisonment or even the death penalty for criticising the Prophet Muhammad or the Qur'an.

The current debate is not about the existence of the law itself (many countries have blasphemy laws, as did the UK until 2008), but about the exceptionally harsh penalties and the very light burden of proof. Hardly any evidence is required - the accuser can even refuse to repeat the blasphemy in court for fear of committing the crime himself - and so the law is frequently used as a means of settling personal scores or stirring up sectarian tension.

The issue came to international attention last November, when Aasia Bibi, a Christian mother of five, was sentenced to death for "insulting the Prophet". The remarks were allegedly made after co-workers refused to share water that she had carried, on the basis that Christians are unclean. Throughout her trial, she did not have access to a lawyer.

Aasia's case was taken up by three politicians in the ruling Pakistan People's Party, who called for reform: Salman Taseer, the governor of Punjab (Pakistan's most populous state), Shahbaz Bhatti, the Minorities Minister, and Sherry Rehman, a prominent backbencher.

The consequences speak for themselves. On 4 January, Taseer was shot dead by his own bodyguard outside a coffee shop in Islamabad. On 2 March, Bhatti too was shot by assassins from the Pakistani Taliban. Rehman is living in semi-hiding in fear for her life. And on 2 February, soon after Taseer was killed, the prime minister, Yousuf Raza Gilani, told his government that he would not touch the law and that all reform would be shelved: "We are all unanimous that nobody wants to change the law."

It is easy to see why people might be afraid to speak out in favour of change. Taseer's daughter Shehrbano is a recent graduate working as a journalist for Newsweek in Lahore. "Very few people condemned my father's murder," she tells me when we speak on the phone. "Everyone was so petrified that they'd be next. That's how terrorists operate. The night that my father died, I thought, OK, this is going to be a huge watershed moment in the history of Pakistan. But the complete opposite happened. We went ten steps back."

This anger at the government's handling of the assassinations is shared by many. "I feel very strongly about it, of course I do. But I won't say anything because I don't want to get shot," a diplomat tells me. "Even my servants could betray me. It was his bodyguard - a servant - who shot him."

There is a real sense of fear among the ruling classes. One evening, a PPP former minister tells me that he hates the idea of having an armed guard and drives himself everywhere - but keeps this fact to himself, and makes sure to take different routes and not to travel at the same time every day.

Caste out

About 96 per cent of Pakistan's population is Muslim. However, the 4 per cent minority of Christians, Hindus and Islamic sects such as the Ahmadis (regarded as non-Muslims) translates to nearly ten million people, the equivalent of the population of Tunisia.

Well before the Taliban became a political force in the country, minorities faced serious social discrimination. I speak to Sujawal Massey, a Christian man who works as a sweeper - one of the lowest-status jobs there is. Aware of his position in this acutely class-bound society, he does not sit down, but hovers awkwardly as we talk in the living room of the lavish house where he works, looking at the floor except when spoken to.

He tells me it is difficult to find work. "They don't let us move ahead. We get no chances. If they know you're a Christian they say: there's no room here for you."

I ask what impact this has on a day-to-day level. "If we end up somewhere where there are Muslims, we're in trouble if they discover we're Christian," he says. "We don't tell them we're Christian in the market, because they won't give us anything. They won't even let us drink from a glass."

His employer tells me that while she insists that he is fed with the other servants (most of whom live in quarters in the house) many of her friends do not do the same for Christian members of staff. She keeps separate utensils for him to eat with, because her Muslim servants are unwilling to share theirs with him.

The reluctance to share water was also central to the Aasia Bibi case. "It is a carry-over from the Hindu caste system - the idea of untouchability," explains Dr Theodore Gabriel, a University of Gloucestershire academic and author of a study of Pakistan, Christian Citizens in an Islamic State. "Most of the Christians in Pakistan come from a low caste. The 'untouchable' or Dalit class were targets of missionary activity during colonisation, so they have come from a low economic and social background."

This social persecution remains in place even for those who have worked their way out of typical 'untouchable' jobs. I visit a beauty salon in an affluent suburb of Karachi, owned by a Christian Pakistani woman, Jane Peters. The shop is busy, with several Muslim women waiting to be seen.

However, all is not well behind the scenes. "There are terrible problems," she tells me. "I pay my bills, I pay my taxes, but the neighbours have had the water supply cut off." This means that she cannot get running water to the shop, and instead has to buy it in tankers each morning and manually heat the water required for hair-washes and manicures. The process of giving treatments is delayed by staff having to carry kettles and basins of hot water up and down stairs.

The shop is staffed entirely by Christian girls - "otherwise there are quarrels," explains Peters - and so it provides a rare employment opportunity for those who would otherwise end up in menial positions. One of the girls tells me that she quit school prematurely so that she could take the job, and is trying to complete her education part-time. "It is very hard for us to find employment," she says.

No change

It goes beyond sharing water. Gabriel describes school textbooks which claim that Christians worship three Gods, and define citizens of Pakistan as Muslims. "That means Christians are not regarded as citizens - if a textbook says that, then that is what children are learning. It's not going to foster tolerance, is it?"

Speaking to Christians, I am struck by their acceptance. "People are afraid," explains Peters' daughter, Sabiha, an articulate young woman who speaks fluent English. "If we make a fuss, it's very easy for someone to accuse us of blasphemy. It affects the poorer communities more, but it is a worry for everyone."

This type of discrimination is deeply entrenched, given that it pre-existed the formation of Pakistan by more than a thousand years. But is it worsening given the increasing influence of extremist ideas? Many view the decision to shelve reform of the blasphemy law as a victory for the militants. The women in the beauty salon - educated and politically aware - share this view. Yet when I asked Massey whether he was afraid and if he felt his situation could be improved, it was clear that the world of law and reform was alien to him.

"We are very few in a big nation, so we try to stay out of trouble," he says. "Maybe someone can help but we don't know who there is or is not. Politicians don't give us any importance." During the interview, my interpreter wells up. Later, she tells me that she was distressed by his total acceptance of the status quo.

This social discrimination is intensifying, says Ali Dayan Hasan, country director for Human Rights Watch in Pakistan. "Empowered extremists are making more frequent use of the legal tools at their disposal to persecute minorities. They are also killing them with impunity in a way they haven't done before."

He explains that rising extremism means that minorities are increasingly targets. "The militancy is contributing to it, but the fact of the matter is that the structure of these legal frameworks essentially makes the Pakistani state a partisan, sectarian actor, rather than a neutral arbiter between citizens. That tilts the balance in favour of the persecutor rather than the persecuted."

It appears that there is no real appetite for change. Most of the Muslim Pakistanis I speak to agree that there are problems with community relations, but prioritise other concerns.

"We have no human rights," says Iqbal Haider, a human rights lawyer who served in both Benazir Bhutto's governments, slamming his glass down on the table. "If I don't have the right to survive, all other rights are meaningless. And if the majority is not safe, then how can you expect the minorities to be? Nobody is safe."

He draws attention to the thousands of lives lost to terrorist attacks in the country since the beginning of the 'war on terror'. The death toll is rising each year and currently stands at record levels. "The Muslim places of worship are not safe. This is the greatest tragedy of Pakistan," he shouts. "Forget about the Christian church, forget about the Hindu temples. Muslim mosques are unsafe." Several days later, a big attack on a Sufi shrine in the Dera Ghazi Khan district kills 40 people.

While many Pakistanis brush over the impact that the government's retreat over the blasphemy law will have on religious minorities, most acknowledge that this refusal to stand behind the reformers handed the extremists a symbolic and practical victory.

"Salman Taseer was not just an ordinary citizen, "says Haider. "He was a representative of the federation. Shahbaz Bhatti was not just a Christian leader. He was a minister of Pakistan. It was an attack on the government. It is a matter of shame that the government is succumbing to this violence, and does not take these attacks as an attack on their existence."

The government's retreat leaves little hope for reform of these repressive laws, or for the introduction of legal steps to penalise discrimination. Moreover, the legislation is just one part of the complex Pakistani state system. "You have a judiciary that is in sympathy with many extremist views, that feels that it is its duty to uphold discriminatory laws," Dayan Hasan explains. "You also have a military that has a historical alliance with extremist groups and tends to view them with a higher level of tolerance. So when we criticise the government and its inaction, which absolutely needs to be done, we have to contextualise it within the framework of the forces arrayed on the tide of intolerance and extremism."

Yet Shehrbano Taseer sees some cause for optimism. "These laws won't go away tomorrow, but something huge has happened from my father's murder - these laws are being talked about. Nobody knew the cases, the stories, the numbers, the origins of the laws. All of this has come forward. It's important that the debate and criticism should not die with him. My father always said it's not about religion, it's not about politics: it's about humanity. He was genuinely concerned about the humanitarian crisis in Pakistan."

Some names have been changed to protect identities

Samira Shackle is a staff writer for the NS

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 08 August 2011 issue of the New Statesman, Slum rule

Jean-Luc Mélenchon. Photo; Getty
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How Jean-Luc Mélenchon built a resistance

Like Jeremy Corbyn, France's leftist candidate for the presidency has been caricatured by the media. Nonetheless, he has succeeded in building a movement. 

After months of indifference, the rise of Jean-Luc Mélenchon in the French presidential race has finally caught the attention of the British media. Still, it is frequently misrepresented and reduced to familiar categories: populism, Euroscepticism and spendthriftedness, with commentators quick to draw parallels with Jeremy Corbyn. However, to boil down the Mélenchon phenomenon to such clichés is to fundamentally misunderstand it. 

The authors of this article propose taking a closer look at a highly innovative manifesto and campaign. Cambridge University lecturer Olivier Tonneau is involved with La France Insoumise (France Defiant) and co-authored the cartoon version of Mélenchon’s programme. He runs a blog dedicated to exposing its policies and addressing the many rumours and falsehoods floated about the candidate. Nick Jones is a student who was in Paris at the time of Nuit Debout, and experienced first-hand the energy and thirst for radical change in France.

***

Given the deep wound that Brexit has inflicted upon British society, perhaps the most urgent clarification is that Mélenchon does not wish to leave the EU, although he does have a radical strategy to reform it. France and Britain have different relations to the EU. Whilst Britain’s austerity policies were self-inflicted, the same is not true of France. The French people voted “no” to the European constitution in 2005 only to see its vote overturned in Parliament by a coalition of the center-left and center-right parties. This event marked a tectonic shift in French politics, and incidentally determined Mélenchon’s break from the Socialist Party. In 2012, François Hollande was elected on the promise of renegotiating the Lisbon treaty, a promise he failed to hold, and proceeded to impose austerity measures in France (cutting down public spending and corporate taxes, flexibilising the labour market), constantly justifying these measures by the necessity to abide by European norms. He has thus fuelled a deep resentment against both the center-left and the EU. Meanwhile, Mélenchon has campaigned for a showdown with the EU: reform it or leave it (“plan A, plan B”).

His strategy, designed by his chief economist Jacques Généreux, consists of unilaterally disobeying European Treatises: disregarding budgetary norms to implement a Keynesian stimulus package, creating a public investment bank, and ending privatisation policies. His prognosis is that the EU will not dare exclude France because such an exclusion would signal the end of the European project altogether. The EU will thus have to inscribe French exceptions to the treatises (just as it had done for UK). Such exceptions could prove highly desirable to other austerity-stricken countries such as the infamous PIIGS (Portugal, Ireland, Italy, Greece and Spain), with enormous pressure placed on the most intransigent promoters of austerity, the chief of which is Germany.

Far from being anti-European, this strategy is aimed to save the European project which, according to Généreux, is doomed to implode if unreformed. Généreux had reached this conclusion as early as 2012: Brexit and the European-wide rise of the far-right has confirmed his diagnosis. Unencumbered by a reluctant party, Mélenchon has been able to forcefully defend a position that Corbyn was unable to hold, thus shattering the “in/out, good/bad” dichotomy of the Remain and Leave campaigns in the UK.

Already, by 2012, Mélenchon’s Parti de Gauche (co-founded with the Green MP Martine Billard) had published an eco-socialist manifesto which advanced on the Left’s historical bend towards productivism. This time round, Mélenchon’s program is an environmentally focused Keynesian plan. Its aim is to turn France into using 100 per cent renewable energy by 2050 – ending the country’s heavy dependence on nuclear power – by implementing the “negawatt scenario” elaborated by a collective of scientists and engineers.

Mélenchon is especially determined to make the most of France’s maritime territory – the second largest in the world. His program also addresses in detail matters of public health: for instance, schools should serve organically sourced products exclusively, securing a market for organic producers. The turn to organic production, for instance, is expected to create 300,000 jobs. Mélenchon’s environmental plans tie in neatly with forensic budgeting and a clear plan for job-growth, in line with the “One Million Climate Jobs Now” campaign in the UK.

Another aspect of Mélenchon’s Keynesian plan is its redistributive policies. Low and middle wages are spent within the economy on essential goods such as food and clothing, whereas high wages are lost in the speculative bubble: by raising the minimum wage, pensions, and social benefits, Mélenchon intends to boost demand and help small and medium businesses prosper. He also acknowledges the need to reduce working time, without necessarily cutting the length of the working week. Instead, he wishes to return the retirement age to 60 – a measure that is acutely urgent given the high unemployment rate among senior citizens – and impose a strict adherence to the current, 35-hour week.

Impossible to fund? Not at all. More than hundred economists from 17 countries – including Ha-Joon Chang – published a column supporting Mélenchon’s program. His policies were presented in details by economists and high-ranking public servants in a 5-hour budget program broadcasted on YouTube, whose last hour was a discussion with economic journalists from liberal news outlets. Ghilaine Ottenheimer from Challenge praised the broadcast as “modern” and “bold”; Hedwige Chevrillon (BFM Business) compared the approach to that of the ‘slow food movement’ and deemed it a rare opportunity to think things through; Marc Landré (Le Figaro) was impressed by the openness with which La France Insoumise was laying itself open to criticism.

The broadcast has already been viewed more than half a million times. On every aspect of its program, from the environment to counter-terrorism via culture and international relations, La France Insoumise has taken the same care to involve experts. Who, then, are the ‘Insoumis’? How did such an extraordinary campaign get off the ground? This question takes us back to 2012.

***

After Mélenchon’s remarkable 2012 campaign, the Front de Gauche fell apart because of strategic disagreements: the Communist Party wanted to maintain alliances with the Socialist Party whereas Mélenchon was convinced that any association with the now hugely-unpopular party of Hollande could only drag them with its fall. When Mélenchon claimed in 2015 that he did not aim to ‘unite the left’ but to ‘federate the people’, it was widely perceived as the desperate gambit of an isolated figure. And yet the gambit paid off: there was indeed a people to answer his call. With the massive demonstrations against Macron’s labour laws and the grassroots movement Nuit Debout, the writing was on the wall. Mélenchon was careful not to lay claims to these movements which were profoundly suspicious of established politicians and parties, but he has nevertheless been able to tap into their energy by creating La France Insoumise, a loose structure within which everybody contributes freely.

The Insoumis have shown ebullient creativity: some created a board game, others a computer game (Fiscal Kombat), and one of the authors of the present article wrote a comic book adaptation of the manifesto. Alongside quirky stunts such as appearing at meetings via hologram, the Insoumis have brought a vitally seductive and energetic edge to Mélenchon’s campaign. Crucially, they have brought to fruition another aspect of Mélenchon’s strategy: his struggle against the press.

In 2012, Mélenchon often claimed that the media was the “second skin of the system”. The only way to break the neoliberal hegemony was to subvert its own logic: that of audience and profit. Thus was created the colourful figure who claimed to incarnate “the sound and the fury of his time”. Yet, having become a celebrity, Mélenchon had to avoid being pigeon-holed into a caricature. The media, he claims, are “not a mirror but an arena”, so he adopted a confrontational strategy aimed at exposing the biases of journalists and interviewers.

Yet there is only so much one can say in the constraining format of TV and radio interviews; all one could achieve was to fire “bullet words” that would open cracks in the listeners’ preconceptions. In response, listeners had to be provided with alternative sources of information. In 2012, Mélenchon’s blog was the most read of any French politician; in 2013, a galaxy of “6th Republic blogs” was created; in 2016 Mélenchon’s extremely successful YouTube channel was launched; it has so far has over 22 million views. The book detailing his manifesto, L’Avenir en commun (A Shared Future) has found its way into bestseller lists, shifting well over 250,000 copies. If such independently-made material is inaccessible to non-French speakers, international viewers should not be tricked into seeing it as Trump-style, anti-system fake news. For example, a host of global NGOs including Oxfam and ActionAid have backed key aspects of Mélenchon’s campaign, with Amnesty and Greenpeace ranking him highest overall in their breakdown of all the candidate’s policies. Leading economists have also signed a pledge backing his candidacy will be published this week.

The communication machine of Defiant France is firing on all cylinders. It is remarkable that the fear-mongering of the mainstream media has failed to halt Mélenchon’s surge in the polls – remarkable, but not surprising given that his latest meeting, in Toulouse, was attended by 70,000 people, and had attracted 320,000 views on YouTube in under 24 hours. 

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Do not be mistaken: something astonishing is happening. This is about much more than meeting attendance. To be sure, Mélenchon is not simply preaching to the choir: bucking all recent trends, recent polls have shown that he is denting Marine Le Pen’s share of the working-class vote, and has overtaken her as the most favoured candidate of the youth. People are flocking from all across the political spectrum: recently, an entrepreneur from the Silicon Valley published a piece titled If Mélenchon is elected, I return to France.

He is not an isolated case, and a petition of the entrepreneurs with Mélenchon has just been launched. Even the ‘Gaullists’, disillusioned with the Fillon scandals, are now seduced by Mélenchon’s cultural style, his integrity, and his vision of France’s place in the world which is in line with the tradition of the General himself. What seemed like a fanciful vision is thus coming true: the French people is being transformed. One of the most striking signs of the campaign’s success is the change in people’s priorities: whilst employment had always ranked first, it has now been displaced by institutional reform. This, of course, is intrinsically tied to the centrepiece of Mélenchon’s program, which aims to accomplish no less than a Révolution citoyenne: creating the 6th Republic by means of a Constituent Assembly.

Under the Nazi Occupation of France, resistance networks sought not only to liberate the country, but also to bring about a better world. At great peril, they formed the National Resistance Council and drafted a program which was circulated under the cover of a novel titled Les Jours Heureux. It is no coincidence that the crowds at Mélenchon’s meetings do not chant his name but the word “resistance”, and that Melenchon himself synthetizes his aim with the phrase “let us bring forth the happy days”. The perils are undoubtedly lesser but with a deeply dysfunctional economic system preventing us from addressing climate change and fuelling the rise of the far-right, the stakes may be even higher.

Olivier Tonneau is lecturer in Modern and Medieval Languages at Homerton College, Cambridge. He participates in La France Insoumise, the movement supporting Jean-Luc mélenchon's presidential campaign. He writes a blog on French politics. Nick Jones is in the final year of his undergraduate degree studying French at Homerton. During his year abroad in Paris, he was a participant in, and keen observer of, the grassroots movement Nuit Debout. 

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