Follow Nusrat’s Example
By Robert Michels
Great Barrington, MA
Like some ominous, unavoidable thunder cloud that covers the horizon from left to right, the specter of Pakistan - sixth most populous nation on the planet, possessor of sixty to one hundred nuclear weapons - seems to dominate the news of the world lately. It was easy to feel that things are slipping out of control there when the front page of The New York Times recently delivered the following one-two punch: “Fighting May Put Nuclear Arsenal At Risk, US Says”, right next to “With Pakistani Schools in a Shambles, Madrasas Fill a Void”.
One doesn’t have to analyze too deeply to pick up the gloomy subtext of those headlines: Loose nukes, with a nation - part of a nation, anyway - of apprentice suicide bombers being groomed to carry them to some infidel-ridden city like Mumbai, or Tel Aviv, or New York.
Not a pretty picture. Perhaps there’s some consolation in the fact (revealed in the latter article) that only 7% of primary schools in Pakistan are madrasas; but whatever ray of optimism that brings is immediately clouded by the sobering news that half of all Pakistanis are illiterate, and that a third of school-age Pakistani children do not attend school at all. According to the same article, some of the madrasas are Deobandi, “an ultra-orthodox Sunni school of thought that opposes music and festivals, which are central aspects of Sufism, a tolerant form of Islam that is traditional (in Pakistan)”.
Upon reading that sentence, a distant but indelible memory instantly washed over me: that of watching the great Pakistani singer of Sufi poetry, Nusrat Fatah Ali Khan, perform at The Town Hall in New York nearly twenty years ago. There only on the recommendation of a friend, I was moved and amazed by the intensity of the artist and his band (the band, fittingly, referred to in the ads as a “party”), despite not understanding one word that was being sung. But more than that, I will never forget the reaction of the audience, who were utterly transported - some seemingly into a full trance state - by the passion and beauty of the music and poetry coming from that stage.
As a confirmed lifelong agnostic, I’ve never found it easy to connect with the religious passion of others, but for that two-hour stretch I found myself strangely envious of those people in the audience (many of them women with beautiful, perfectly visible jet-black hair) who seemed, clearly, to be so in touch with some aspect of spirituality that I truly had no clue about. And while I wasn’t made into a convert that night, I remember leaving the Town Hall thinking, “Now that’s my kind of religion!”
That concert took place long before 9/11, long before I was even remotely aware of the Taliban, or Al Qaeda, long before the idea of a suicidal religious fanatic exploding a nuclear weapon in a major city was anything but bad science fiction. Now, of course, we must come to grips with that very possibility. It may very well turn out that our best hope in this daunting, frightening situation lies not with America’s military, or even with our diplomats, state-of-the-art though both may be. Instead, we may find ourselves relying on the good people of Pakistan to embrace the kind of Islam which I saw glorified and celebrated that long-ago night at Town Hall. Nusrat Fatah Ali Khan died in 1997, but his spirit and his love of life, God, and humanity - all of humanity - can be a beacon to the Pakistani people as they struggle for the soul of their nation. They are proxies for all of us - Muslims and non-Muslims - who believe that Islam is not about throwing acid in a child’s face because she is going to school, or destroying irreplaceable ancient art, or murdering a woman because she has committed the “crime” of being raped.
As-Salaam-Alaikum, Nusrat. As-Salaam Alaikum, Pakistan.
