The misplaced outrage of a pot calling a tea kettle black: a Pseudo-Marxist’s struggle.

Death

It has been terrible week for the world. People died. Some were killed in shootings, others torn apart by bombings, still others drowned crossing the ocean for safe havens, and still some others died because of natural causes.

Death came for them and their fight is over, but it’s you and I, the living, who have to deal with all its friends: Sadness, Grief, Numbness, Pain, and Outrage among others.

Death is traumatic and it’s very easy to lose track of your reactions in its wake. In the aftermath of the recent Alton Sterling shooting and retaliatory sniping of police officers, I came across this tweet:

I, along with 25,000 other people thought that this was a brilliant idea. A giant mirror staring at us right in the face, hoping we would catch a glimpse of what we’re doing and just for a moment, reflect on it.

While America may benefit from a giant mirror to look itself, Pakistan can surely use a giant mirror of its own.

Death’s friends

On 08 July 2016, a great man died in Pakistan. His name was Abdul Sattar Edhi and it was his life’s purpose to serve humanity. He was fortunate enough to practice his life’s purpose and many were fortunate because of it. God bless his soul.

Either Numbness or Sadness is usually the first friend of Death that follows the living. In this case, I imagine it was Sadness because he’d lived a long life and had been sick for a while. It was definitely Numbness when Amjad Sabri and Salman Taseer were gunned down. Both were great in their own ways. It was Numbness born out of sheer terror when more than 140 children were massacred in Peshawar.

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Grief is usually the friend that follows next. It’s a bit more passive than the rest. It allows us to deal with it how we please. We can wallow in it, process it, try to make sense of it, or the more recent trend: we can make a visual graphic out of it.

The culture of our time is based on visual graphics. They require no language skills, can be instantly created and shared online, and most of all, they let other grievers know that we are grieving too. But it does get awkward when we change our profile picture from the black square that said #PrayForBlah to our newest selfie. But, whatever.

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Outrage is what usually follows Grief. Sometimes, we riot. Other times, we call for resignations of those in power for failing to protect us. But most of the times, we make long and angry posts that end with #NeverForget and #NeverAgain. (Yes, the irony is lost on me.)

As Pakistanis, we haven’t had any shortage of outrages following death. But what has confounded me, and led me to write this, is the outrage following Edhi’s death. For instance:

This is just one example, but my newsfeed has been filled with people complaining about how they’ve been so wronged by the state by being barred from attending a funeral. Are Pakistanis really outraged because there were security measures at the State Funeral? A country where literally any gathering of more than 5 people is a potential target for a terrorist attack? Or are they outraged because the are more “important people” than themselves?

Misplaced Outrage

The thing is, the concept of “VIPs” or very important people, is highly subjective. Everybody is a VIP to somebody.

If you are reading this article, you are a VIP. You’re at least educated upto high school (in a country with an abysmal literacy rate), can read and speak English, and have access to the internet. You probably live in a decent sized house, with at least a part-time maid, if not full-time servants. There’s a car parked in your garage, if not two. There’s at least one Air Conditioner in your house. And there’s a UPS installed, if not a generator.

If you’ve ever been referred to as Saahb ji, or Madam ji. You’re a VIP. If you’ve checked in on Facebook on your recent visit to a restaurant while doing your best to avoid the children begging right outside, you’re a VIP. If you’ve paid somebody to wipe down your car while you eat in said restuarant, you’re VIP. The list continues.

Getting outraged at the fact that there were more important people (regardless of how corrupt they may be) than you at the funeral of a man greater than all of us, is not only petty, but grossly hypocritical.

Death’s antidote

The class struggle is real. There’s no doubt about it.

Except, we can’t expect the struggle to bear any fruits if all we do is complain, point fingers and change display pictures every time we’re visited by death and all its friends.

We must honor the dead with more than just our outrage. We must honor Edhi with more than decrying who was allowed to attend his funeral. Here’s a list of things we can do:

• Give up on the petition to name the new capital airport after Edhi. Airports are places where you are literally treated according to your class: First, Business, Economy Plus and Economy. He wouldn’t want such a place to be his legacy.
• Donate to Edhi fund here.
• In the spirit of Eid, get your maid/help some new clothes. Have them sit at your family table, and break bread with them. Imagine if everybody did that.
• If you’re still bummed out about not being able to attend his funeral, pray for him from the comfort of your home.
• A friend is working to eradicate class differences from the ground up and increase the social mobility of underprivileged children by finding means of providing quality education. Get in touch with him here: mubashar@mustaqbiledu.org.pk and see how you can help.

We’re a people who live in a constant state of trauma. We’re not only plagued by Death & its Friends but also its distant relatives: hatred, greed, corruption, violence, racism, patriarchy, illiteracy, and ignorance.

We need to be better than who we are right now. We need to do better than we are doing right now. The next time you feel the need to complain, stop and ask if yourself if it will help anybody. If not, then read up and share what you find on Master Ayub, and Mustaqbil and Orenda.