My life and struggle – X

North America

Fayyaz Baqir

Starting in 1979 many progressive political activists, journalists, poets, artists and intellectuals moved to Western Europe and North America due to the repression of Ziaul Haq’s regime. Pakistan at this point became an active frontline state in the conflict between the two global superpowers unfolding in Afghanistan. Due to this, resistance in Pakistan converged with the global conflict between the East and the West. There was an absurd defence of positions taken by the ‘Free World’ in support of Zia. For example, President Reagan stated that General Ziaul Haq was one of the most democratic and humble men he had ever met. He also likened the Afghan Mujahideen to the Founding Fathers of the US. During this period a meeting of the Organisation of Islamic Countries (OIC) was held in Islamabad to condemn the installation of a non-representative government in Kabul. It has been narrated that the Libyan delegate rose at this point and asked which government under this roof is a representative government. There was complete silence. It showed a close relevance of the Orwellian Animal Farm to both the ‘Free’ and ‘un-Free’ worlds. The key conflict of the post-1979 years between Ziaul Haq and the resistance was on legitimising or delegitimising usurpation of power by unconstitutional means.

Pakistani progressives in exile and Western citizens of Pakistani origin joined hands to oppose Zia’s oppressive regime in a host of different ways. Notable progressive Pakistanis in exile included people like Afzal Bangash, Feroz Ahmad, Amin Mughal, Hamraz Ahsan and Abbas Athar, who wrote the famous headline in the daily Azad: “Udher Tum, Idhar Ham” (East Pakistan is yours and West Pakistan is ours). This statement was addressed to Mujibur Rehman who won the elections on all the seats in East Pakistan except two. There is intense controversy over the origin, actual wording and true interpretation of this statement among Bhutto’s followers and opponents, but the credit for writing the line goes to Abbas Athar. Then there was Salman Peerzada, who acted in Jamil Dehlvi’s famous movie Blood of Hussain, Ahmad Faraz, who wrote his famous poem against army rule, and many others were among a large number of Pakistanis who had to go into self-exile. There were students, academics and activists, including the renowned intellectuals Eqbal Ahmad and Hamza Alavi, political activists Agha Khalid Saeed, Manzur Ijaz, Nazeer Chaudhry, Sarwar Bari, Akram Dhareeja and many others. Two main forms of resistance emerged during this period: one group of people used to travel to recite poetry and give lectures, and the other group started publication of journals and magazines. Nazeer Chaudhry started publishing Pakistan Commentary from West Germany, Bashir Hussain started publication of Pakistan Progressive from the US, and much later Manzur Ijaz started publication of Wichaar. All these publications played a distinct role in promoting the culture of resistance. It was a very difficult time for many of the newly arrived exiles to financially survive, get integrated into the host societies, create local communities of resistance and keep hope alive. A strong sense of solidarity kept the flame of resistance burning during these dark times.

There were many students and academics who wanted to return to Pakistan to serve their country, to join their families or join the resistance. However, this was perhaps the first time when Pakistanis returning home were asked by their friends and families: “Why have you returned?” This was due to a combination of factors, social, political and financial. I remember one such event narrated by Dr Mahbub ul Haq during my stint at UNDP. Dr Haq was invited for a talk at Boston by a large group of Pakistanis studying at Harvard, MIT and Boston University. After his lecture a heated debate took place among the participants. Such debates almost instantly take place when Pakistanis meet in foreign lands. At the close of the session Dr Haq asked the crowd of almost 400 students, “How many of you will go back?” According to Dr Haq, only one student raised his hand. Surprised, he asked the rest why they would not want to return. According to Dr Haq, they all gave one explanation: “We don’t expect to be treated fairly.” This provided the larger canvas for the struggle in exile. In the ‘Free World’, the nature of the struggle had changed from upholding ‘the critique of arms’ to the ‘arms of critique’. This implied constructing and spreading the narrative of resistance. To students like me, academic institutions provided ample opportunities in this regard. From 1981 to 1986 I was part of the academic world in North America.

From Critique of Arms to Arms of Critique

I left Pakistan from Karachi Airport on August 29, 1981 and landed in New York City the next day. Thanks to Anis Dani I was able to meet Saqib Jaffrey on the flight. Saqib dropped me at Iftikhar Ahmad’s flat in the vicinity of Columbia University. We walked through parts of Harlem in the evening. Iftikhar was a former member of the Student Bureau of NSO. He put me in touch with Manzur through a phone call. It gave me a sense of community in a foreign land. I stayed with him overnight and continued on my journey to Canada. On the evening of August 31, I checked into my room at 109 Harkness Hall, Kingston, Ontario, Canada. Aurangzeb Syed, another member of NSO’s Student Bureau, was in Buffalo. Soon afterward Khalid Mahmood moved to New Orleans, Louisiana, and in a couple of years Nazeer moved from Germany to Houston, Texas. This was the Old Boys network that was of enormous support to all of us in dealing with various ‘existential’ issues.

Next day I visited the Economics Department and International Centre at Queen’s University, my newfound home. Queen’s University was home to many starry-eyed young revolutionaries from places as far away as Chile, South Africa, Bangladesh, Ireland, Turkey, Pakistan and Canada. The International Centre provided us excellent opportunities to get in touch with other like-minded students and activists. The activist students’ community in Kingston consisted of the Kingston Solidarity Committee, Amnesty International and other similar organisations. Suzan Steele, Director of the International Centre, was herself a committed activist. Through her I got to know Kim Grieg, Laurie Aitkin, Steve Piper, Bev Schakowsky and Hugo Beltramy. Bev Schakowsky was active in the local trade union movement, Hugo was a young revolutionary in exile from Chile, and Steve Piper was editor of the student magazine Yaketee Yak, Don’t Talk Back. Another community I found was of revolutionary intellectuals who did not take part in activism but cherished revolutionary ideals. They included Marxist Shamsul Alam and Abu Bhuyian from Bangladesh, Nelofar Asghar from Pakistan, and the Asikogluses from Turkey. I had another dear Bangladeshi classmate Mansoob Murshid, who was the son of Justice Mahboob Murshid, a prominent opposition leader in East Pakistan during the last days of Ayub Khan’s government. Mansoob was a close friend of mine and had unique insights about the politics and culture of Britain and its colonial rule in India.

Outside the Solidarity Committee, I came across Barbara Neuwelt, granddaughter of a Jewish Polish diplomat in Hitler’s Germany. Her grandfather had to run for his life as things took an ugly turn in Germany. The family finally converted to Catholicism and Barb was active in community work through the Church and local charities. We struck a good friendship due to our common dreams, and this friendship continues to this day. Monique Bontje was of Dutch parentage and was a student at the Nursing School. She was active with Amnesty International and was a great inspiration to me due to her dedication and commitment to community service. Two undergrad students Sandy Goundry and Elizabeth Jones developed a close interest in Pakistan due to their close interaction with me as teaching assistant, and subsequently wrote their term papers on Pakistan. I also became part of a very small Siraiki community consisting of an Indian Student whose parents had migrated to India from Dera Ghazi Khan, and a PhD student Mehta, who was Professor of Mathematics in Delhi, and who had migrated from Multan to India at the age of five at the time of Partition. Another good friend of mine was Sunil Bakhshi, President of the International Students Union at Queens, who became a close friend. When a correspondent of Queen’s University’s Journal Caroline Roberts approached him for an interview, he suggested my name, and had my interview published to reflect the views of South Asian students at the Campus.

An important part of my life was the Pakistani community at Queen’s. It consisted of well-known Pakistani Professors Khaled Bin Saeed, Fayyaz Ahmad and Mohammad Qadeer. Professor Saeed and Qadeer were prolific writers and highly respected in the academic community. Professor Qadeer is a true Lahori, a loving, hospitable person, and a people’s intellectual. He is a man of very big heart, and during my stay at Queen’s his love, affection and hospitality were a great source of strength for me. Professor Qadeer was a close friend of Dr Feroz Ahmad, who visited Kingston during my stay, and I had a delightful meeting with him at Qadeer Sahib’s home. Faiz Sahib visited Kingston sometime earlier and stayed with a Pakistani high school teacher Jamil Rashid, who for some unknown reason is mistaken for a Professor of Queen’s University by many people. I served as a Teaching Assistant under Mohinder Chaudhry, a delightful man who taught Development Economics at the undergraduate level.

Revolutionary Diaspora at Queen’s

As I moved to Canada, I became part of the international community of resistance. Queen’s University had a glorious academic tradition. On the one hand it hosted celebrated speakers from places like Harvard, the Pentagon and Karl Marx University in Hungary, and on the other it hosted youth fleeing from the tyranny of totalitarian regimes in Chile, South Africa and Pakistan. In 1981-82 Kingston had a population of 60,000. Being Canada’s first capital, the city was known for its heritage assets and scenic beauty. It is located at the eastern end of Lake Ontario and is home to one of the leading institutions of higher education in Canada. I immediately fell in love with the University because of its six-story library with a collection of one million books. Graduate students could check out up to 30 books at a time, and the library stayed open till midnight. As a graduate student I had an office within the department and could keep a big stack of books on my desk. In this library I got the opportunity to read British Parliamentary Papers providing unique insights of the British about their colonial subjects in India, and books like Listen Little Man, Mass Psychology of Fascism, Function of Orgasm by Wilhelm Reich, Phenomenology of Mind by Hegel, and Equus by Peter Shaffer. Some of these books and documents I could not imagine accessing in any university library in Pakistan.We had a large graduate class consisting of 100 students. The overall size of the student population at Queen’s was more than 10,000.

Franz Fanon’s line in The Wretched of the Earth that “Every spectator is either a coward or a traitor”, became the outcry of radical student movements across university campuses all over the world. During my stay at Queen’s, I saw two movies, Gandhi and Missing, both relating to this theme in a unique way. Gandhi rejected the cowardice of the spectator by rejecting the moral and spiritual deficit of the conformist, and Missing rejected the spectator appearing under the guise of a shallow patriot who keeps silent on atrocities committed by ‘his’ state against the ‘others’, until terror strikes back home. Missing was the story of an American businessman who goes in search of his journalist son who went missing in Chile after the overthrow of Salvador Allende’s democratically elected government due to his association with left wing politics. The businessman could not understand how the US government could not assist him in recovering his son abducted by a dictatorial regime dancing to US tunes. His dialogue with the US Ambassador was the punch line of this dramatic story. In this dialogue, the Ambassador told the businessman: “You challenge the tyranny of dictatorial regimes only when it disturbs your personal comfort. If you don’t resist the Empire when it hits the ‘other’, you will find no sympathy when it hits you.” These two themes were the focus of the Kingston Solidarity Committee’s work throughout my stay.

In between the screening of these movies, there was a lecture in the town by a Pentagon Officer on the situation in Balochistan, which was arranged by the Political Studies Department. Based on the Pakistani experience I imagined that spooks only gather secret information under a cloak. This was the first time I came across a spook who was sharing (dis)information in public. It sounded very intriguing, so I made sure to attend his lecture. The Officer talked about the Soviet designs in Afghanistan and Pakistan and their use of Baloch guerrillas for destabilising the Pakistani government and getting access to warm waters. As soon as he finished his talk, I raised my hand for a question. I introduced myself and told him that according to my knowledge the Baloch took up arms because their democratically elected provincial government was dismissed on fake charges. This uprising had its origin in Balochistan, not in the Soviet Union. To my amazement, the officer did not contest my argument and gracefully corrected himself. He might have done so for keeping his credibility or for face saving. But it was a far more sophisticated mode of operation than the ones I had experienced at home. I made my point and the officer, before leaving, said in a patronising tone: “You are a bright young man.”

Queen’s was a site for popular forms of resistance also. The Fall of 1982 started with a welcoming party for newly arrived undergraduate students. I don’t remember whether this party was announced through the students’ newspaper or by word of mouth. The ‘party’ was completely illegal, and the sponsors (known or unknown) were warned of legal consequences, but it turned out to be a roaring success. Let me mention three important things to set the context for the party: i) selling beer and alcoholic drinks is forbidden in ordinary grocery stores in Canada; these drinks can only be sold in designated stores and cannot be sold without checking the age of the purchaser through their ID card; ii) consuming alcohol in open public spaces is also prohibited, and iii) it follows that partying in public where beer or other alcoholic drinks are sold and consumed is illegal. That is exactly what happened in this party. Hundreds of students came out on the streets of Queen’s; kegs and cases of beer and other alcoholic drinks were available for purchase; loud music was playing in the streets, and the guests and hosts spent the night drinking and dancing. Kingston police got worried as they heard about the party. They did not want rowdy students to disturb the peace of residents. They also wanted to prevent any damage to property and any emergency caused by overdrinking. As a precaution the police were deputed on entry and exit points of the university, and they also patrolled the area. The party could not be stopped, but some rowdy students and perhaps some sponsors were picked up by the police and released after completing the due process of law. This was not a protest against any political policy per se, but youth’s political statement of defiance against authority. This was done in the spirit of fun, but it set the tone for students’ freedom of expression.

Resistance at the academic level was not so much fun. There were all shades of critical opinion against conventional economic wisdom, but Marxism was considered as a no-go area. On the one end of the spectrum was Professor Mohinder Chaudhry who very softly punctured the balloon of conventional development economics by narrating the tale of a small Indian farmer approached by an economist. The farmer was sitting under the warm winter sun and enjoying himself. The economist asked him, “Why are you sitting idle? Why don’t you go and work in the fields?” “What difference will it make?” asked the farmer. “You will have a much better crop and make more money.” “Then what?” asked the farmer. “Then you buy more land, work harder and make more money until you become a very big farmer.” “What will that do?” “Well,” said the economist, “then you will sit down and relax without worrying about the money.” “What am I doing now?” asked the farmer. This simple anecdote pointed to the core issue of economic theory, the place of value judgment in the scientific discipline of economics.

This question came up in crystal clear terms in our microeconomic theory class. The class was taught by a progressive professor who was a member of the Canadian left-wing party, the NDP. At the outset he said that there are two types of sciences, positive and normative. Positive science is science in the true sense because it only tells you what is. In contrast, normative science tells you what ought to be, and that is based on a value judgment. That is not the domain of science in the strict sense. He said that the basic difference between mainstream ‘Free Market’ economics and Marxist economics is that the former is positive and the latter is normative science. One curious student asked, “Is there no value judgment in free market economics?” The professor replied, “There is only one value judgment; more of a good is good.” In simple language, the more you accumulate, the better off you are. It is amazing that the whole structure of conventional (in our language bourgeois) economics is built on this value judgment, but it is still considered a positive science. In my Siraiki expression, even a blind person can see this reality but a professor of economics cannot.

The most interesting encounter I had was in the economic history class. Our teacher presented a quantitative case study of colonial occupation in an island economy. I don’t remember the name of the island. The case showed that colonisation had no economic benefits for the Empire. The coloniser had to spend more than it received from the said colony. Colonisation, therefore, had non-economic motives. It was very hard for me to swallow. However, seeing the perpetual dependence of Pakistan’s economy on foreign assistance, I wonder to what extent that model would explain the case of Pakistan. Despite the right to freedom of expression in the class, I saw most of the economic theory as an exercise in elegance at the cost of relevance. However, I had the freedom to express, and my professors had the freedom to ignore my views. I took up the question of the irrelevant rigour of economic equations with my teacher of international economics, Dan Usher. Dan was a very kind man and very affectionate to me. At one time he also invited me for lunch to his place. He told me frankly that there is no science possible without equations, so the challenge to conventional thinking also has to be in the form of equations. My point was that equations require reducing reality into one-dimensional relations, and social reality is much more complex. It turned out to be a no-win situation for both of us.

My main interest was in Development Economics, and that was the reason I had cited in my application for seeking admission at Queen’s. I was lucky to have Professor Marvin McInnis as course instructor for this course. I wrote a paper for this course on the critique of A G Frank’s theory of “development of underdevelopment” as a critique of distortions in the global market, not as a critique of the market as a distorting economic mechanism, as envisaged by Marx. The Professor was pleased with my paper, but on the question of doing my PhD work on development economics, he told me, “Let me be very blunt. There is no interest in development economics in our department.” That meant that I had to set my sails and anchor at a new port. Going back under the rule of Marde Momin (The Believer) was not an option. So, after much research, I decided to go to Moscow. Not Moscow in the Soviet Union, but Moscow, Idaho, USA.

However, I had to clear my student dues and I could not leave the university without clearing my debt. Chairman of the Graduate Studies Professor Frank Flatter was a great help in this regard. I shall narrate his unique solution for this problem in the coming pages. Before that, I want to narrate a couple of events related to the Pakistani community in Kingston.

Pakistani community in Kingston

Resistance against the Zia regime in North America found political expression on a very limited scale. It mostly assumed the form of cultural resistance. It was easy to mobilise larger communities for cultural gatherings with cultural icons like poets, musicians, singers and writers. They had much greater acceptance in the community compared to politicians. Progressive Pakistanis used to organise music festivals, Qawwalis, poetry recitals and other similar events to vent their feelings. In small towns like Kingston, such events were not possible, but small events were organised around visits by well-known progressives. Kingston had a small Pakistani community consisting of some professors, local businessmen, employees and students. They were mostly very conservative. Jamil Rashid once said about a professor that “He lives in a Punjabi village; relishes eating cornbread and spinach cooked and served in Punjabi style; watches films like Mahi Munda on the CD player; comes early in the morning from his village to Queen’s, and in the afternoon goes back to his village again.” This kind of mindset was confirmed to me when this professor took me out for lunch at a university cafeteria one day. He looked around and said to me, “Look at these girls; they are all wearing shorts, there is no sense of modesty.” I had very little interaction with this group, although they were a courteous lot. There were only two progressive Pakistanis in Kingston, Professor Mohammad Qadeer and activist Jamil Rashid.

Professor Qadeer hailed from Lahore. He was a very graceful and caring person, a great scholar, and a true Lahori. He was respected amongst his colleagues for his scholarship as well as his significant contribution to social change in both Pakistan and Canada. He was a close friend of Dr Feroz Ahmad. He was my mentor during my stay at Queen’s and was always very kind to me. His wife Susan was a New Yorker and a very hospitable, warm and sensitive woman. She was a very caring person and at their home, I always felt at home. They had three lovely children Aamir, Ali and Nadra. Through them, I learnt about cross-cultural identity. Professor Qadeer said that his daughter Nadra introduced her family to a pen pal friend in these words, “My father is a Pakistani, my mother is an American, and all three of us are Canadians.” In 1982 Dr Feroz paid a visit to Qadeer Sahib, and we met at Qadeer Sahib’s house for a BBQ party. Dr Feroz remembered that I used to sell 30 copies of Pakistan Forum in Dera Ismail Khan. He also knew about my Mazdoor Kissan Party (MKP) connection. I told him that Bangash Sahib had contacted me after my arrival in Kingston. We had a detailed discussion about the situation in Pakistan. Dr Feroz, like many other Pakistanis, had decided to stay in exile and wait for an opportune moment to return. He intended to continue writing and raising his voice for democratic change in Pakistan through public forums. It was a very pleasant encounter, and we agreed to keep in touch. Keeping in touch with like-minded people was the best form of politics in those days.

On one occasion Faiz Ahmad Faiz Sahib also came to Kingston. It was perhaps a little before my arrival. Faiz Sahib was very well received by the Pakistani community. I don’t know the details of the event, but I know that two people invited him for an overnight stay at the end of the event, Professor Qadeer and Jamil Rashid. Professor Qadeer was a very polite and understated man, and when Jamil Rashid insisted on taking Faiz Sahib home, he gave in. Faiz Sahib ended up at Jamil Rashid’s place. Jamil lived a very kosher life, so after a meal and exchange of pleasantries, Faiz Sahib asked him to have some rest, but please give him a book so that he could read a little bit before going to sleep. According to Jamil, Faiz Sahib kept reading till four in the morning and then went to sleep. I asked him, “What was the book you brought Faiz Sahib to read?” He said, “Maut Ka Manzar Ma Marney Key Ba’ad Kia Hoga” (Sight of death, including what will happen after death). What a clear evidence of Faiz Sahib’s patience.

The year passed very quickly, and due to various considerations, I decided to move to Moscow, Idaho. I succeeded in getting acceptance and an assistantship at Moscow. However, as stated above, the university could not transfer my credit to Idaho without clearance of my pending dues. I went to Graduate Chair Frank Flatter to seek his help. Frank succeeded in getting the waiver from the relevant Committee. When I asked him how he succeeded in making a case for me, he said, “I told the committee, if Fayyaz succeeds in finishing his degree, he will land a good job upon return. In that case, he will be able and willing to pay us back. If we don’t let it happen, we don’t stand any chance of recovering the dues.” I was amazed at his kindness, brilliance, and sensitivity. This was the strength of a humanist culture and humanist values. I could disagree with capitalist ideology but not with democratic culture. I made a last minute effort to get a US visa, and despite having a little hassle in that regard, was able to leave Canada in time and land at Spokane Airport in Washington State on September 2, 1983.

Tatkinmah – the valley of green deer

Moscow, Idaho, is a small university town in northwestern US. The town’s population is 7,000 during summer, and 15,000 when the university is in session. Its original name in the native language was Tatkinmah, the valley of green deer. Moscow was previously called Tatkinmah by the local Nez Perce Indians, or the place of the “spotted mule deer”, and that was because of the native tall grass that hid the new-born fawns from predators, so it was a good place for them to grow up in “the valley of the spotted mule deer fawns hidden in the tall grass”. Situated in the middle of town was a three story red building called the Moscow Hotel. The main street in front of the hotel is Moscow’s shopping district. One can walk from one end of the town to the other with ease and comfort, so there is no public transport or cab service in the town. It was a great attraction for hippies, artists, idealists and Jehovah’s witnesses. There was no visible political activism in town. The main centre of activism was the Campus Christian Centre located in the middle of the campus. It was a multi-denominational facility inhabited by a Lutheran, a Baptist, and another Christian denomination. Quakers, a pacifist Christian Group, also held their services over there. The University of Idaho (UoI) used to organize a Borah Symposium every year, which provided a great platform for debate on extremely critical political issues. During my stay in Moscow, I attended two important symposiums, one on South Africa and the other on Central America. Another important event was a lecture by New York University’s Professor Gregory Rabassa, who had translated Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude from Spanish into English. The lecture was titled “Translation as Interpretation of Culture”. The US Ambassador for the Middle East, Philip Habib, who like US Vice Presidential Candidate Sarah Palin was a UoI Alumni, also came to deliver a lecture.

During the Borah Symposium on South Africa, a whole group of supporters of apartheid visited UoI. I was teaching comparative economic systems at that time, and I invited one of the delegates, a priest from the Dutch Reformist Church, to address my class. I wanted my students to know how discrimination and hate can pass in the name of ‘free market’ and ‘democracy’. I did not make any judgment. I wanted them to draw their own conclusions from the talk. The priest interpreted it as my sympathy to his views and enthusiastically invited me to visit South Africa. However, his interest rapidly waned after he heard my question to the South African Ambassador during the seminar. During the evening session of the symposium, the South African Ambassador participated in a panel discussion on apartheid in South Africa. During his presentation, he said, “Black tradition is a tradition of tyranny and violence. Wherever blacks are in power in Africa they have imposed dictatorial rule. They are morally irresponsible. If they are given the right to vote in South Africa, and they come to power through the vote, they will abdicate democracy and establish a dictatorship. Therefore, we cannot give them the right to vote.” At the end of the presentation, I joined the queue to ask a question. On my turn I said, “I need the answer from the Ambassador only in a yes or no. My question is that if blacks want to plead for reform in the system, and they are denied the right to do it through casting their votes, would the Ambassador recommend that they use the African way to reform the system, yes or no?” The Ambassador was speechless. Many troubling moments passed. The audience was all ears for a response. Finally, the moderator broke the silence. As the Ambassador was sweating, she said, “It seems he does not have an answer, let us move forward.” That was a jubilant ‘armed propaganda moment’ for me.

The Borah symposium on Central America was also a wonderful symposium and a great learning opportunity for me, especially in understanding the bright and powerful side of the American mind, Americans’ capacity to make a deal even under the most adverse of circumstances. Key speakers at the seminar included El Salvador’s President Jose Napoleon Duarte, America’s former Ambassador to Guatemala Ambassador White, and a bright, young and articulate Second Secretary of the Nicaraguan Embassy in Washington DC. During the panel discussion, the Nicaraguan diplomat said that we want a resolution of political conflict in Central America through peaceful means; we have continuously invited the military junta in El Salvador for a dialogue, but they have always declined to participate. In response, Duarte said, “It is a bunch of lies. These guys are not serious about a dialogue. We joined them for a dialogue in Mexico City and the only offer they made was that if you leave El Salvador, we shall not kill you. It is ridiculous. They don’t want a dialogue. They use this offer for propaganda purposes.” Ambassador White’s response to this statement was fabulous. He said, “It does not prove that guerillas are not serious about dialogue. It only shows that they are tough negotiators.”

Another important event was a lecture by New York University’s Professor Gregory Rabassa. His lecture was titled “Translation as Interpretation of Culture”. He started the talk by explaining the relationship between words and the objects of words. He said that there can be no fixed translation of a word into another word in a different language. Words form meaning through a history. So, during translation, a translator has to make the effort to decide how an experience narrated in one language can be translated into another language to convey the same meaning. For this purpose, one needs to know the word, culture and history. Each language goes through its own peculiar development. The Greeks had a unique distinction; they had a word for many things they did not have, e.g., television, telephone, etc. Some words assume the meanings they never had. For example, when an Englishman saw an animal hopping around in Australia, he asked a native, what is the name of this animal? The native replied “Kangaroo” (“I don’t know”). So, the word got a meaning it did not have before, and the animal got the name that did not belong to it before either. Politics and power relations also enter into giving meaning to words. A Texan farmer, the owner of a humongous farm, was bragging to another farmer in the north, who happened to have a farm of a much smaller size. “Back home,” said the Texan, “we had such a big farm that we kept driving the tractor for hours but the farm would not end.” “I also had such a bad tractor once,” replied the northern farmer. Rabassa’s view was that without knowing the culture and history of the other language one cannot do justice to translation. That is what he had done in translating Marquez’s novel, translating the Latin American experience into the American experience. For me it provided great insights for constructing the political narrative across class boundaries. That is part of what Gandhi and Jinnah had done, and what we disputed on ‘scientific’ grounds.

Another most interesting event was a seminar organised by a professor of philosophy on Milton Friedman’s philosophy of ‘virtues’ of the so-called free market economy. Professor Ghazanfar Shaikh was invited to chair the session. The session began with a screening of Friedman’s video extolling the virtues of the ‘free market’. Friedman’s point was that freedom is associated with fairness; hence it provides the greatest incentive for building a happy, just and prosperous society like the US. Every economic agent has freedom of entry and exit in the market, freedom to negotiate the price and settle for the best bargain. In the end, everyone gets the best possible return for his or her effort, and the greatest happiness for the greatest number is produced. As usual, I was among the first ones to raise a hand. On my turn I said, “According to economic theory there are four factors of production, land, labour, capital and management. In the American case the land was captured through forced occupation, labour was brought in through slave ships, and capital was produced by use of this usurped land and labour. So all the major factors of production producing value were acquired through coercion. Where does the freedom factor fit in here?” An uneasy, unending, death-like silence ensued. The air was tense with anger and hostility. No one was expecting this ‘out of course’ question. Professor Shaikh smelled the hostility in the air. He had to save both his and my skin. He said, “It is one thing to be an armchair intellectual, and quite a different thing to have an in-depth understanding of the issues.” He thus turned the discussion away from my question, thereby steering everybody back to the happy utopian world of the American dream. Long live America.

Philip Habib, former US ambassador to the Middle East, was a witty guy gifted with the capacity to communicate thorny issues in a very entertaining way. He started his speech with the definition of a diplomat, saying, “A diplomat is one who knows everything about everything, and nothing else.” In my view, this dilemma very well describes the glamorous image and utter failure of diplomacy in dealing with the Palestinian question. His story about his roommate John was very interesting. Philip said, “John was an easy going and lazy guy. He did not take interest in keeping the room clean and tidy.” Philip slept on the lower part of the bunk bed and John on the upper. After much persuasion, Philip succeeded in convincing John that they should share equal responsibility for cleaning the room. “Agreed,” said John, “you clean the lower half of the room and I’ll clean the upper half.” Perhaps that is the kind of deal the American leadership has been trying to negotiate between the Palestinians and Israelis for the last half century.

UoI had a very conservative faculty at the College of Economics and Business Administration. However, I was lucky to find two mentors, Professor Michael Dinoto and Professor Max Fletcher. Both of them were neo-Marxists who held my hand in dealing with numerous academic and administrative challenges during my stay. Professor Ghazanfar Shaikh, Chair of the Economics Department, was of Pakistani origin. He was well known to Professor Qadeer, and he took a personal interest in my acceptance for and approval of my teaching assistantship. UoI did not offer any course in Development Studies or a PhD in economics. However, Max Fletcher taught a course on comparative economic systems, which was of close interest to me. Max handed over the teaching of this course to me upon his retirement. My big achievement at UoI was the approval of my master’s thesis topic on the process of capital accumulation in Pakistan.

My thesis dealt with the practice of using the façade of the market to promote income inequalities based on discriminatory economic policies. The exact title of my thesis was: “The process of capital accumulation in Pakistan: Achievement of economic goals by political means in a market setting”. My thesis was that policies based on the violation of free competition are being used under the guise of the free market to justify their adverse outcome. The ideology of the free market is being used to blame the victims of market manipulation. This makes the victims see injustice meted out to them as justice. This policy is being followed to this day. This creates the ideological hegemony of oppression through mystification of oppression and injustice. Without tearing apart this veil of ‘freedom’, people could not be awakened to the need and desirability of resistance. Our knowledge system, which is comprised of a distorted interpretation of faith, science, economy, society and tradition – promoted by the state, educational institutions, pulpit and media – psychologically subdues people through the use of half-baked truths to weaken their will to rise against injustice. I, therefore, thought it important to lay bare the mechanism that robs people of freedom in the name of freedom. I learned a lot from my advisors during this process.

My main argument was that Pakistan makes use of high intensity of capital and low intensity of labour to produce goods. This is not in line with our factor endowment. We as an economy have a high intensity of labour and a low intensity of capital. If we depend on our own resource endowment pattern, we will be compelled to increase the skill level of the labour force, and consequently their share of the income. We shall also produce goods at a competitive price for the international market. The low capital investment will also remove barriers to the entry of local small producers into the market and generate income and employment through a competitive process on a large scale. Within the capitalist system, this might be a better path for economic as well as human development. Instead, we followed the path of highly capital intensive growth, which in certain cases was more capital intensive than some advanced capitalist economies. This was possible due to generous US lending on highly subsidised interest rates. This generated a host of distortions. It led to the underdevelopment of human capital and a low priority for quality education through public institutions; the use of unskilled and semi-skilled labour instead of well developed human capital, and chronic downward pressure on wages, with a low priority for managerial efficiency. Despite the subsidised investment, Pakistan was not able to compete in the international markets. Some economists found that Pakistani industry was adding negative value, such that the selling price of a Pakistani good was lower in the international market than the price at which it was produced. Managerial inefficiency necessitated implementation of policies that led to the transfer of resources from agriculture to industry, from East Pakistan to West Pakistan, from small producer to large producer, and from workers to big business.

This pattern of development created high regional, sectoral and class inequalities, and in the words of the architect of this policy, created the infamous 22 families. Although the ‘free market’ ideology succeeded in befooling the people, it could not change their social reality. As a result, when Ayub Khan was celebrating his “Decade of Development”, people all over Pakistan were up against him in revolt. The pursuit of the American Dream turned into a popular nightmare. The same pattern was repeated by American advisors in one country after the other, resulting in similar catastrophes. As my research idea got clearly formulated, I approached different Professors to seek their consent to serve on my thesis committee. Professor Michael Dinoto agreed to be my supervisor, Professor Max Fletcher consented to be the member, and Professor Ron Curtis from the Agricultural Economics Department agreed to be the external member. After the first meeting of the Committee, the Committee told me that I had already read enough and I should start writing. Subsequently, I met with Max to seek his guidance on writing. I asked him two questions: how much I should write, and how should I write. His answers serve as my guideline to this day.

On the length of the thesis, Max said, “Write long enough to make your point.” He said someone once asked Abraham Lincoln how long the legs should be, and Lincoln replied, “Long enough to reach the ground.” On how to go about writing Max said, “Write one or two pages a day and do it consistently, even if you write trash. Pick the amount of work that you can do consistently. Write first and edit later, otherwise you will get stuck.” This advice was a great help. Then I asked him what was the shortest PhD thesis ever written? “One page,” he said. “What did the guy say?” “He proved some improbable mathematical theorem through a set of equations on one page.” So, I set to writing. When I finished and circulated the first draft, and then met with my external professor Ron Curtis, he was furious. Ron Curtis had served as Chief of the Agricultural Section of USAID in Pakistan. He said, “You have some problem with your country. You have unloaded your emotional baggage here. It will not pass for a thesis. It is trash.” I thanked him and narrated the whole story to my major professor Mike Dinoto upon return. Mike said, “Get him off of your Committee.” There were two weeks left before the Thesis defence was due. Mike said that he will talk to someone, and Professor Stephen Smith of the Sociology Department agreed to be my external member and read the draft written in long hand. Professor Ron Curtis agreed to get off the Committee. Thank goodness.

Now Mike turned to me and said, “You have got to do two things: translate your thesis and get it edited.” “What do you mean by translation?” I asked. He said that in the beginning, he had asked me to feel free to write whatever I thought was correct, and not censor my thoughts. But now he said “You have to consider your reader and translate your words into the language they understand. For example, instead of Imperialism write global market economy, instead of socialism write planned economies, and instead of exploitation write market distortion or redistribution of resources.” I understood it. It reminded me how relevant Gregory Rabassa was even as applied to academic writing, and it gave me a new insight into the word ‘underground’, or the practice of Batiniyya. Then he said, “The department can get your manuscript typed free of cost only once, so translate and get your thesis edited first, and then get it typed so that you don’t have to pay out of your pocket for typing. In the meanwhile, all your Committee members will read your thesis in long hand.” The last thing he said was, “Usually we prepare our students for defence, but not in your case, we are not going to do it. So, come prepared.”

In the meanwhile, another disaster happened. Due to non-payment of dues the department withheld my stipend, and I was not allowed to register for the semester until I deposited the fee. Two months passed before I could arrange for the payment of the fee. Mike told me to see the Dean of the Graduate School and make a request for a late registration. I met the Dean and he said it had never happened in the history of the university. He agreed to schedule the meeting of a Committee to review my case but asked me not to hold out any hopes. Mike told me not to worry and continue with my work. Mike succeeded in convincing the Committee for a late registration. I was very curious to know what happened, so I went to thank Mike and asked him how he pleaded my case. “Very simple,” he said, “I understand their mind. I told the Committee that in the beginning of the semester Fayyaz started work on his thesis. We did not know that he was not registered so we provided him with all the guidance he needed as a student. He has received all the benefits of a student, and if we do not allow him to register, we do not make him pay for the benefits he has received. The University is already in a financial crunch, and it will hurt the university if it does not charge for the services it has rendered.” So I got registered and successfully defended my thesis. I know that both Mike and Max were so proud of me, and this reflected in the recommendation letters they wrote for me.

There was a vibrant cultural community of nonconformists in Moscow. I had a wide circle of friends in this community. This circle included Lutheran Minister Laurie Fox at Campus Christian Centre (CCC), a Quaker piano player Terri Ellis who used to play at Best Western, an artist Wendy Stephen Fabian, a Mexican dancer Isolda Duff, a local resident Kay Moore, a forester Wade, a South African exile Oupa, an Iranian exile Masoud, two radical American communists, local hippies and some students of Latin American and European origin. I formed a wider community through the International Club when I became its president in 1983. John Cooper, Director of the International Centre, was also a source of invaluable support during this period. I used to regularly visit CCC for helping myself to free cookies and coffee. Laurie knew that I was a person without any religious faith but enjoyed talking to me, and over time we formed a close friendship. One day a young Baptist priest discovered my views on religion during a discussion. He could not stand the sight of a dirty Commie gobbling down free coffee and cookies from a Christian Centre and told me not to visit the Centre in future. When Laurie heard about it, she was furious and told the priest that I was her personal friend, and he had better keep away from me.

When I organised the annual dinner hosted by the International Club, Laurie permitted the Native American Students Association to practice their dance performance at the Centre. Terri agreed to play the piano for us. When I told our executive committee that Terri will play for us, they told me that they could not afford to invite Terri because he must be expensive and not available on short notice. Terri did not charge us anything and played for a long time. Our Vice President asked him how come you agreed to play for us free of charge. He laughed and said, “Fayyaz is my friend.” However, international students experienced challenging moments at the hands of the local community as well. Masoud narrated an event that took place soon after the 1979 Iranian revolution when US diplomats were taken hostage in Iran. A group of Iranian students were gathered for dinner at a local pizza shop known as Karl Mark’s Pizza. As they were eating, a drunken cowboy carrying a gun entered and asked the guys sitting around the table, “Are you I-ray-nians?” Everybody was dumbfounded. One intelligent guy replied, “No we are ee-raw-nians.” “Got it,” said the cowboy, putting his gun back in his holster and walking away. This was understandable. A well-travelled undergrad student once asked me, “Where are you from?” I said, “From Pakistan.” “Is it in Iraq?” she asked. No. “Is it in Iran?” she asked again. “No,” I said again. “Is it a country?” she asked this time. “Yes,” I said, “You are right this time.” I heard another amusing story from the manager of the local Greyhound station Mannan Shaikh. As a graduate student Mannan Sheikh made a few bucks as a newspaper boy to pay for his tuition. He once had an argument with the owner of the Moscow Hotel. When he came to the hotel the next time, the hotel owner turned his face away. Sheikh was not going to give in so easily. He looked at the guy and said, “Why don’t you talk to me, Mr Smith? I am also a businessman.”

The Pakistani community consisted of two elders, Ghazanfar Shaikh and Abdul Mannan Sheikh, their families, and a handful of Pakistani students. Ghazanfar Shaikh, known as Ghazi Bhai, was a very charming and affectionate person, and his home was always open to Pakistani students. He was a source of support to all of us. Mannan Sheikh was equally friendly but had very strong reservations about mixing with Hindus and Sikhs. Once he invited all of us for a Christmas dinner at his home. One of the Pakistani students extended the invitation to two Sikh classmates also. Mannan Sheikh reacted very strongly and told us that no Sikh or Hindu was welcome at his home. We once asked him why he was so bitter about Hindus. He said, “You know that there are an equal number of Muslims in Pakistan and India. How come there are so many Muslim students in your university from Pakistan and not a single one from India? How affirmative is their secularism to Muslims? Why don’t Muslims of India have representation in higher education equal to the Muslims coming from Pakistan?” It was a strong point to ponder. However, many years later I stumbled upon a book in Islamabad that included the story of his father’s conversion from a Hindu to a Muslim. His father had narrated the torture and abuse he had suffered at the hands of his family and faith community upon his conversion. The narration of this context completely changed my views about Mannan Sheikh. He died a few years back in the US. He owned property in Moscow, but he never surrendered his green passport, and kept his Pakistani citizenship.

Among my close friends were Ann Haroun Fichtner, Ann Marie Zimmerman, Ted Mophet and Beth Cree. Ann Fichtner was the granddaughter of an Arab, a thinker and a dreamer, and we used to meet to talk about our dreams. Ann Marie was Jewish, and her father was a very successful doctor in Seattle who owned a mountain near Los Angeles. He was so committed to his practice that even his children had to set up an appointment with him to meet him. This turned Ann Marie into a radical. She was in search of a different style of life, where sharing and caring were more important than making money. Once she invited me to dinner at her place, and two of her housemates joined us at the dinner table. All of us held one another’s hands, kept silent for a minute to be thankful for having been blessed with food and lovely company, before having the meal. Ted Mophet was serving a term in the local penitentiary on charges of selling LSD and used to attend classes on parole. He was very bright, fond of music and had a huge collection of LPs. We soon became very good friends and used to listen to music together in his apartment. He had a great talent for engaging people in conversation, and I learned a lot from him. There were fascinating stories behind all these people, and we constituted a low profile counterculture in Moscow. During the summer break when I was passing through the corridor Beth drew my attention to a lecturer’s vacancy in our department and asked me to apply for this position. “I have no work permit,” I said. “There is no harm in applying,” said Beth. I applied for the job and was selected against other PhD candidates. Michael, Max and John wrote excellent recommendation letters for me.

(Concluded)