Sunday, Oct.
8, 2006
No Dates, No
Dancing Why Pakistan's university students are embracing the
fundamentalist life By ARYN BAKER / LAHORE
Like many other universities around the world, Punjab University in
Lahore is a tranquil oasis far removed from the rest of society. But to
Westerners, there's little else about Punjab U. that seems familiar. Walk
around the leafy-green 1,800-acre campus, and you will encounter nothing
that resembles frivolous undergraduate behavior. Musical concerts are
banned, and men and women are segregated in the dining halls. Many female
students attend class wearing headscarves that cover everything but their
eyes. This fall, when the university's administrators tried to introduce a
program in musicology and performing arts, the campus erupted in protest.
"Pakistan is an Islamic country, and our institutions must reflect that,"
says Umair Idrees, a master's degree student and secretary-general of
Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba (I.J.T.), the biggest student group on campus. "The
formation of these departments is an attack on Islam and a betrayal of
Pakistan. They should not be part of the university curriculum."
What's most striking about that climate of conservatism is that it is
being driven not by faculty or administrators or government officials but
by students. At Punjab U., I.J.T. is the most powerful force on campus,
shaping not just the mores of student life but also larger debates over
curriculum, course syllabuses, faculty selection and even degree programs.
Nationwide, the group has more than 20,000 members and 40,000 affiliates
active at nearly all of Pakistan's 50 public universities. Students who
defy I.J.T.'s strict moral code risk private reprimands, public
denouncements and, in some cases, even physical violence.
In a country where most politicians cut their teeth as student
activists, the rise of groups like I.J.T. provides clues to Pakistan's
political future. Although the country is officially aligned with the U.S.
in fighting terrorism, it is beset by an internal struggle between
moderate citizens and the fundamentalists who aim to turn the country into
an Islamic state. As the hard-line demands intensify, President Pervez
Musharraf has backed away from some policies sought by the Bush
Administration, such as cracking down on radical religious schools, known
as madrasahs, and curbing Pakistani support for the fundamentalist Taliban
across the border in Afghanistan. Observers say that Musharraf's retreats
on contentious issues have only strengthened the radicals. "The
universities reflect what you are seeing in the larger political
landscape," says Samina Ahmed, South Asia director for the International
Crisis Group, a think tank. "The moderate parties have been deprived of
their experienced cadre of potential recruits, but the religious parties
haven't."
College campuses in Pakistan are becoming prime battlegrounds in the
war for the country's soul. Political organizations have been banned from
schools since 1992, when violent clashes between the student wings of
rival political parties led to the deaths of dozens of students. But by
outlawing political activity, the government opened the door to religious
organizations such as I.J.T., which acts as an advocacy group that serves
as a liaison between students and administration. Founded in 1947, I.J.T.
has hundreds of thousands of alumni who provide the group with
organizational and financial support, with the goal of "training the young
generation according to Islam so they can play a role in Pakistan's social
and political life," Idrees says.
A visit to Punjab University reveals what that means in practice. About
2,400 of the university's 24,000 students belong to I.J.T. Members are
expected to live morally and to abide by the Koran's injunction to spread
good and suppress evil. For many, that involves adopting an austere
lifestyle. Members meet for regular study sessions and must attend
all-night prayer meetings at least once a month. Outside the classroom,
complete segregation of the genders is strictly observed. When asked, many
members are critical of the U.S. and its policies toward the Muslim world;
although the group has no ties to terrorism, it's likely that some members
sympathize with al-Qaeda.
And yet for some, the appeal of I.J.T. has less to do with ideology
than a desire for a platform to voice their grievances. Rana Naveed, 22, a
soft-spoken communications student who sports just the beginnings of a
beard and wears tight, acid-washed jeans, is troubled by some of I.J.T.'s
more extreme pronouncements, especially its stand on the proposed new
music program. But he is excited about the prospect of becoming a
full-fledged member in a few weeks, when he will take an oath of loyalty
and then work to spread his faith and dedicate himself to the welfare of
other students. "There are certain things I don't agree with," says
Naveed. "But as a member, I will have to submit to their way. I.J.T is the
only platform to put forward my proposals to the administration, because
they turn a deaf ear to regular students."
An atmosphere of moral rigidity governs much of campus life. I.J.T.
members have been known to physically assault students for drinking,
flirting or kissing on campus. "We are compelled by our religion to use
force if we witness immoral public behavior," says Naveed. "If I see
someone doing something wrong, I can stop him and the I.J.T. will support
me." Threats of a public reprimand or allegations of immoral behavior are
enough to keep most students toeing the I.J.T. line. There is no
university regulation segregating men from women in the dining halls, but
students know that mingling is taboo. "If I talk to a girl in line at the
canteen, I.J.T. members will tell me to get my food and get out," says
Rehan Iqbal, 25, an M.B.A. student, who is sitting on the floor of a
hallway with female classmate Malka Ikran, 22. It's a nice autumn day, and
a shady green lawn beckons through an open window, but they dare not sit
outside. It's too public. "There are certain places where I know I can't
talk to my male friends," says Ikran. When asked what would happen if she
talked to a boy at the library, for example, she just shrugs. "I don't
know. I would never try it. I'm too afraid."
It's not just students who feel stifled by the I.J.T.'s strict moral
code. Faculty members at Punjab University say that if I.J.T. objects to a
professor's leanings, or even his syllabus, it can cause problems. It
doesn't take much to raise questions about a teacher's moral
qualifications. "Those who could afford to leave, did so," says Hasan
Askari Rizvi, a former professor of political science who is now a
political analyst. "Those who stayed learned not to touch controversial
subjects. The role of the university is to advance knowledge, but at P.U.
the quality of education is undermined because one group with a narrow,
straitjacketed worldview controls it."
Groups like I.J.T. are likely to grow more influential, not less, as
its graduates move into the political arena. For those students aiming to
become social activists on campus, and later politicians on the national
stage, involvement in I.J.T. is the only forum available to learn the
necessary skills. I.J.T. groups across the nation have embraced the
opportunity to mold Pakistan's future politicians. In addition to taking
classes on the Koran, members learn how to debate, how to present and
defend their views and how to write persuasive proposals. "I.J.T. trains
and promotes leadership qualities," says Mumtaz Ahmad Salik, president of
the P.U. staff association and a professor of Islamic studies. "When a
national political party catches anyone who has been trained by I.J.T.,
they benefit." Most I.J.T. members who choose to enter politics after
graduation go on to join Jamaat-e-Islami or other fundamentalist political
groups. Some sign up with more centrist parties, although they bring with
them fundamentalist thinking that has contributed to the general turn
toward conservatism in national politics.
For now a future in politics is far from the minds of most P.U.
students, who just want to enjoy their last few years on campus. "We would
love to have a student union," says Iqbal. "Then we could plan events and
activities and take care of the students' problems ourselves. Right now,
only I.J.T. has that kind of power. If the I.J.T. had competition, that
would change. Then you would see what students really think." But until
free elections and campaigning are permitted, the religious groups will
continue to walk large on campus. The same could be said of
Pakistan. |