Image used for representational purposes.
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By
Amaal Akhtar
16 Jul 2020
Ever since
the pandemic struck and the lockdown was announced, my father has faithfully
patronised the local department store across the road from our home. When he
was wondering whom to get essentials from, as our housing society became a
containment zone in June, this shop was recommended by one of his trusted
neighbourhood friends and daily evening-walk partner, who happens to be a Hindu
Punjabi.
True to his
own gregarious self, my father has been quite friendly with the shopkeeper, who
is also a Hindu. He has been wary of online grocery suppliers, much to my
annoyance, insisting on buying from local stores — you know, from a sense of
loyalty. In other words, he has been ‘going vocal for local’ for a while now.
Photo courtesy, The Companion voicing Together
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Same Old
Circular Communal Arguments
Last night,
he went out to buy some essentials, and as usual, went to the same store. He
asked for ‘mango panna’ and ‘Rooh Afza’, since we had run out. The
shopkeeper told him he didn't have stock for either, promised to order more
mango panna, but refused to get more Rooh Afza, because ‘WohMiyaon Ka
Hai'(it belongs to Miyans, which is a north-Indian colloquialism for
Muslims). He was referring, of course, to the Muslim ownership of Hamdard,
which produces the iconic homegrown drink.
Now, this
is far from being the first time that our family has encountered communal
micro-aggressions.
But each
time we do, we rage and vent, and yet, almost always, reach one of two
conclusions: that there are far more non-communal people than there are
communal bigots, or that there is much more malignant and virulent bigotry out
there to worry about.
Every time,
the same set of circular arguments, and this time too, dad went down the same
road. Despite his decades of experience, he was so hurt that he left the stuff
he had bought and walked out, but then in that instant, he decided to be the
bigger person and still purchase what he had come to get, one last time.
I bristled
at and disagreed with this magnanimity, because what is even the point of such
large-heartedness, except more self-effacement?
So, what
makes me write about this episode specifically, if we've been here before? I
write this because this one incident contains a lot of the elements that need
to be pried apart to better understand the multi-layered hurt of communal
micro-aggressions.
Snapshot
This is far from being the first time that our family has encountered
communal micro-aggressions.
The shopkeeper had been interacting with my father for weeks, but hadn’t
realised that he was Muslim.
Why would he, because as dad has been told repeatedly, he doesn’t ‘look
like one’ – because of the lack of stereotypical identity markers.
Communalism always plays out in economic terms. Muslim-owned businesses,
that elevate them to an equal socioeconomic footing, are deeply resented.
But of course, Muslims are only ‘acceptable’ when they are a ‘docile and
invisible army’, when they don’t actually own anything, and have no social
capital.
I refuse to bear the burden of always being the ‘bigger person’.
Instead, I ask you to educate yourself and share these every day
micro-responsibilities with me.
Are
Muslims Only ‘Acceptable’ When They Are Docile?
First, this
shopkeeper has been interacting with my father for weeks, but hadn't clocked
that he was Muslim. Why would he, because as dad has been told repeatedly, he
doesn't ‘look like one’ – because of the lack of stereotypical identity
markers. This ‘LagteNahi Ho’(you don't look Muslim) has followed my
parents and me for so many years, it's become an inside joke.
Second,
this shopkeeper employs working-class Muslim boys as help and delivery boys,
but hates Hamdard — so what does Hamdard symbolise?
This serves
as a gentle reminder that communalism always plays out in economic terms.
Muslim-owned businesses, that elevate them to an equal socioeconomic footing,
are deeply resented and sought to be systematically boycotted or destroyed. But
of course, Muslims are only acceptable when they are a docile and invisible
army of servants, when they don't actually own anything, have no social
capital. Then, the narrative that they are inherently or genetically
predisposed to a specific set of essential but menial jobs can easily be
furthered, so the status quo is maintained.
Why Is
Onus Of ‘Coming into Mainstream’ On Muslims?
Third, the
response from within the Muslim community to such expressions of angst is
usually to invite us back into the community fold spatially. ‘Why don't you
live among your own’ – is a question unsaid but palpable, both within the
community and outside of it. But this has always been frustrating to me,
because it only circumvents and deflects the uncomfortable reality of everyday
communalism in the public space. We still live in the same city, same country,
this kind of sidestepping and avoidance can only take us so far when the state
machinery is stacked against you.
The only
answer, as we collectively realised during the anti-CAA protests and after the
riots in northeast Delhi, was not to withdraw into ourselves or create
comfortable echo-chambers, but to be political, to establish horizontal
solidarities and to find common cause.
On the
other hand, however, for my well-meaning, liberal non-Muslim friends, here's
the thing, Muslim-only localities or ‘ghettos’ didn't just emerge from thin air
or in a vacuum, they are deeply socio-political creations, responses to the way
post-Partition communal riots played out in this city.
We tend to
forget this history when we keep placing the onus of ‘coming into the
mainstream’ disproportionately on Muslims, as if it is just a matter of will,
with no structural obstacles.
A Lonely
Fight
It would
also do well for us to remember that social mingling and interacting is not a
one-way street. Think about why you feel ‘scared’ about going into Batla House
alone and it is somehow justified, but you want a taste of their local Sewaiyaan
or Biryani on Eid? Think about how many Muslim classmates you have
ever had, or even neighbourhood friends? Think about onus, when you expect your
Muslim friend to explain their beliefs to you, about whether they are
‘practising’ or ‘non-practising’, when you yourself are never put in the same
position.
Which
brings me to the fourth and final rub: My father wasn't just hurt by this
incident because the shopkeeper was so brazen in his prejudice, that's not surprising
anymore.
But what
hurt more was that his friend didn’t express any outrage or discomfort on his
behalf.
He didn't
even flinch; it was not his problem. Like every other time in my father’s life,
this fight was his alone.
This is
what it comes down to, ultimately: the question of true solidarity. Bearing the
onus and carrying the responsibility of forging ‘trust’ and allaying ‘fears’
(which are usually thinly-veiled baseless biases) and diffusing discomfort and
undercurrents of communal tension all the time is… exhausting. And on top of
that, you're supposed to remain good-natured and even-tempered, without
breaking into a sweat, or getting combative or defensive.
I simply
refuse to do it, to bend over backwards to explain myself, to prove how all my
identities are reconciled, how they can co-exist.
But most
importantly, I refuse to bear the burden of always being the ‘bigger person’.
Instead, I ask you to educate yourself and share these every day
micro-responsibilities with me, so that we can fight bigger and tougher battles
together.
Amaal
Akhtar is currently a PhD research scholar in History at JNU, and a former
higher-academic editor at Orient Black Swan.
This is
a personal blog, and the views expressed are the author’s own. New age Islam
neither endorses nor is responsible for them.
Original
Headline: I’m Muslim & I Don’t Need
To Prove How All My Identities Co-Exist
Source: The Quint
URL: https://newageislam.com/islam-politics/onus-‘coming-mainstream’-muslims/d/122405
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