In March 1882, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad made a controversial claim that earned him the ire of religious traditionalists. He claimed that he had received a revelation from God, entrusting him with a special mission.6 This became controversial because of the traditional Islamic belief that God only speaks to prophets, who ceased to appear after the last Prophet, Hazrat Muhammad (Peace Be upon Him). Mirza Ghulam Ahmad made another controversial claim in 1891, challenging Christian theology and traditional Islamic belief when he said that he had received a revelation that Jesus Christ had neither died on the cross nor had he been lifted to heaven, but rather survived his crucifixion and escaped to Kashmir, where he died a natural death and was buried.7 Challenging the belief that Jesus Christ would reappear in his original body close to the Day of Resurrection, he said that another man with similar attributes would appear from the community of the Prophet of Islam. He claimed that he himself was that Promised Messiah—the second coming of Christ.8
There is a similar concept in Islamic eschatology, of ‘Mahdi’, the prophesized redeemer of Islam, whose appearance will coincide with the second coming of Christ. Together Christ and Mahdi will battle Al-Masih ad-Dajjal, the Antichrist, the false Messiah. It was claimed that Mirza Ghulam Ahmad was the promised Mahdi.9 Many Islamic theologians turned against him. They argued that by claiming to be the promised messiah, a prophet, he was defying the basic tenets of Islam. His movement was termed un-Islamic, with personal attacks against him becoming widespread. Despite the opposition, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad continued to present his movement as Islamic.
The Jama’at-i-Ahmadiyya, or the assembly of Ahmadiyya, was first founded in 1889 when Mirza Ghulam Ahmad took a pledge of allegiance from his initial supporters.10 However, it was not until 1901 that it was formally recognized as a separate sect of Islam. In 1901, the British colonial government conducted its fourth census of British India when, with the permission of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, the Ahmadiyya community was for the first time registered as a separate entity.11
There has been much criticism of the census conducted by the British, for it is seen as a tool implemented by the colonial administration to control the population instead of learning about them. Many historians have identified it as a mechanism of social engineering.12 Instead of understanding the population better, the census imposed British biases and categories on Indian society.
One such example is that of religious communities. For example, the census only allowed one to be either a Muslim or a Hindu and not identify as a member of both religious communities. Such exclusivity was perhaps a feature of a homogenous British society, but for a multireligious and cultural society like India, at times divisions between Hindus and Muslims were not always so distinct. There were, and still are, both in India and Pakistan, religious communities that adhere to two or more religious traditions.13
Critics of surveys have also identified that caste was another such category that was understood by the indigenous population differently from what was imposed by the colonial administration in its surveys. It has been identified that in precolonial India, castes were not rigid and frozen as they were understood by the British. There was fluidity in caste structures, and communities and individuals sometimes flowed between different castes, which the census reports solidified.
This became problematic because the colonial government then brought about constitutional changes that granted political representation to certain groups identified in the census reports. Identifying with a particular group was no longer just a matter of identity but now had political consequences. Over the years people started identifying with the categories that were imposed on them by the British and traditional classifications slowly faded away. This can explain why, after living together for hundreds of years, borrowing and lending from each other’s cultures, traces of which can be seen even today, Muslim nationalists could claim that Hindus and Muslims were two different ‘civilizations’ that could not live together, a claim that Hindu nationalists also endorsed. The riots during Partition can be seen as a consequence of the social engineering that was institutionalized by the British through their census.
Like other social groups, perhaps Mirza Ghulam Ahmad also felt that it was important to form an identity separate from the larger religious group, which eventually led to the creation of a new category in the census. It might have been a way to ensure that his followers or group did not eventually merge with the larger community. The census further solidified distinctions, giving them formal recognition, sanctioned by the state. There already were indications of such a separation, due to criticism from members of the traditional Islamic community.
The creation of Pakistan provided a fresh impetus to anti-Ahmadi sentiments. Soon after Partition, the Majlis-i-Ahrar, a Lahore-based religious organization, initiated a violent movement against the community demanding that it be declared constitutionally non-Islamic. Fierce riots broke out in Lahore in 1953, which eventually spread to other parts of the country.
The Majlis-i-Ahrar was a radical, conservative, nationalist organization founded in December 1929. Politically aligned with the Congress, it took part in the failed Khilafat Movement. It was opposed to the Muslim League and rejected the proposal of Partition. One of its leaders, Maulana Mazhar Ali Azhar, called Jinnah ‘Kafir-e-Azam’ in a couplet he composed.14 Pakistan was repeatedly called Palidistan, Kafiristan and Khakistan by members of the organization prior to the country’s formation.15 However they did an about-turn post Partition. In January 1949, the Majlis-i-Ahrar announced that it would cease to function as a political group and would only operate as a religious organization, aligning itself politically with the Muslim League.
In its struggle against the Ahmadiyya, the Majlis-i-Ahrar was joined by the Jama’at-e-Islami under the leadership of Maulana Abul Al Maududi. Much like the leaders of the Majlis-i-Ahrar, Maududi too had been opposed to the creation of Pakistan.16 Ironically both these organizations found themselves at the forefront of shaping the Islamic national identity of the new country. Part of their newfound patriotism was a plan to exclude the Ahmadiyya community from the nationalist project, despite the fact that the community had given its full support to the struggle for Pakistan.17 The focus of this anti-Ahmadiyya movement became one person, perhaps the most prominent member of the community—Mohammad Zafarullah Khan, the first foreign minister of the country.
Chaudhary Zafarullah Khan was an old stalwart of the Muslim League and was responsible for drafting the Lahore Resolution in 1940.18 He had also represented the party at the round table conferences and the Radcliffe Boundary Commission that determined the border between India and Pakistan.
During the anti-Ahmadiyya movement, the Majlis-i-Ahrar claimed that because of his religion, Zafarullah Khan would work against the interests of the country. A man who had worked tirelessly for the country’s creation was being called anti-Pakistan by those who had vehemently opposed it. The government was given an ultimatum to remove members of the community from important government positions. A new definition of what it meant to be a Pakistani was being implemented.
On 5 March 1953, thousands of Majlis-i-Ahrar members along with the Jama’at-e-Islami marched in Lahore, raising slogans against Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, Zafarullah Khan and the Ahmadiyya community. They were joined by college students, traders, shopkeepers, workers and others. Members of the Ahmadiyya community were attacked, their houses and shops ransacked. Government property, including police vans, was also vandalized.19
According to the Munir Report, an inquiry into the riots published by the government in 1954, the government was complicit in allowing the situation to worsen. Prior to the riots in Lahore, anti-Ahmadiyya rallies had been organized in several other cities, while members of the community had also been attacked. The government was aware of the activities of the Majlis-i-Ahrar, but remained passive, arguing that taking any action against its leaders would make martyrs of them and add fuel to their movement. The government’s lack of foresight led to one of the worst ri
ots that the city of Lahore has ever seen.
Other cities in Punjab, including Sialkot, Gujranwala, Rawalpindi, Lyallpur (Faisalabad) and Montgomery (Sahiwal), followed Lahore’s lead. According to unofficial numbers, 200 Ahmadis lost their lives all over the country.20 There are others who claim the number was as high as 2000.21 The situation in Lahore was so bad that the governor general, Ghulam Muhammad, implemented the first martial law of the country, dismissing the federal cabinet, effectively also removing Zafarullah Khan from his post.
Thus, out of expediency, the government accepted one of the demands of the protesters. A new standard had been set that would see the appeasement of the mob become a norm. The religious right had been conceded a space that only increased in subsequent years. The Majlis-i-Ahrar became a predecessor to all the Sunni extremist organizations that were to follow in its wake—the Sipah-e-Sahaba, the Lashkar-i-Jhangvi, the JuD and so forth—which would take it upon themselves to determine who was a true Pakistani and which community or individual was not. Only five years after the creation of the country, its narrative had been hijacked. Adherence to the Sunni faith became a criterion for patriotism.
The riots represent another historic turning point. On 6 March 1953, martial law was implemented in Lahore. Law and order was established soon after, but only after the army had been invited into the political arena. Five years later, Ayub Khan overthrew the civilian government and established military rule, the first of many to come. The image of the army as the saviour of Pakistan, as civilian state institutions failed, was first crafted during these riots.
The 1953 anti-Ahmadiyya riots in many ways laid out the path for the future course of the country. I wanted to talk to someone from the Ahmadiyya community who had witnessed the events, which led me to Dar-us-Salam to interview Brig. Saeed and some other members of the community.
Next to the entrance was a ‘place of worship’. It had no dome or minaret so ‘Muslims’ may not be offended by the similarity of its architecture to a ‘mosque’. According to the laws of the country, it is also a crime for members of the community to ‘pretend’ to be Muslims by using ‘Islamic’ symbols, which would include domes and minarets. I parked the car outside and walked into the house.
Brig. Saeed belonged to a sect within the Ahmadiyya community known as the Lahore Party, a minority within a minority, so to speak. The other group is referred to as the Qadiani Party. The split occurred in 1914 after the succession of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad’s son, Mirza Bashir-ud-Din Mahmud Ahmad, as the second Khalifa of the Ahmadiyya community. The reason was the status of the founder of the movement: While the Qadiani Party believes Mirza Ghulam Ahmad to be a prophet, a cause of concern for the larger Muslim population, the Lahore Party, led by Maulvi Muhammad Ali, asserted he was a mujaddad who denied any claim to prophethood.22 Mujaddad is an Islamic term used to refer to someone who enables a religious ‘revival’.23 There is a long tradition of mujaddad in Islamic history and it is not a particularly controversial issue as such. However, this is a fine point that is lost upon the state and vigilantes, for whom there is no distinction between the two Ahmadiyya factions. The Lahore group moved to the city after the split and set up an organization called Ahmadiyya Anjuman-i-Isha’at-e-Islam.24
Eighty-one-year-old Nasir Ahmad, who was called in from a neighbouring house on my arrival, had been a young college student when the 1953 riots broke out in Lahore. He was living at the Ahmadiyya Buildings, located on Brandreth Road—a prominent Ahmadiyya locality which constituted the Jama’at’s ‘place of worship’ and several residential blocks. It was often visited by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad and it was where he breathed his last on 26 May 1908.25 The central office of the Ahmadiyya Anjuman-i-Isha’at-e-Islam was moved there after its secession from the Qadiani Party. Several Ahmadiyya families were living there around the time of the riots. In later years, the residential blocks were converted into commercial markets known as Ahmadiyya Markets, but as the religious sentiment of the city and the country changed, these were rechristened Muhammadiyya Markets by the tenants.
I remember a visit to the market. It was rush hour at Brandreth Road. Cars, pickups and bullock carts were jammed in a narrow street with shops on both sides. Right across from us was the walled city of Lahore, with the Mochi Gate and Akbari Gate, a few steps away. I walked down the road, not sure if there would be any way to identify the market. I had no reason to worry. ‘Muhammadiyya Electric Market’, announced a green board at the entrance of an old building. A couple of window air conditioners jutted out. Another board atop this one proclaimed the same. As if there was a need to reinforce the name.
I walked past the building casually, afraid of how the shopkeepers would respond if I were to begin photographing it. The systematic persecution of the Ahmadiyya community is one of the most controversial issues in the country. Any sympathy for its members is immediately perceived as a sign of disaffection for Islam and one’s country. Standing here, in the midst of a sea of shopkeepers, I felt perhaps a fraction of the anxiety that thousands of members of the community experience every day.
On the side of the building, in fading white paint, I could make out letters that spelt ‘Ahmadiyya Buildings’. The sign was once large enough for everyone to see. But these weren’t those times. Facing the building is the Government Islamia College. On its lawns, leaders of the Muslim community had gathered to protest Mirza Ghulam Ahmad’s presence in the building. They had celebrated when he died.26
‘There were processions everywhere,’ recalled Nasir Ahmad, when I asked him about the anti-Ahmadiyya riots of 1953. ‘They would make it a point to abuse Mirza Ghulam Ahmad when they passed our building during the riots of 1953. There were a few police officials posted outside our building to keep the rioters away. We were stuck inside for days. It was scary.’
Sabiha Saeed was then a child living with her parents at Aitchison College. ‘My father was a teacher there. We were aware of the rioting outside. We were instructed by the administration to remain within the protection of the school.’
Established in 1886, Aitchison College was originally called Punjab Chiefs’ College, an institute meant to train local chiefs to become prototypes of Englishmen and assist the colonial administration in administering the ‘indigenous population’. It was renamed Aitchison College in honour of Sir Charles Umpherston Aitchison, lieutenant governor of Punjab from 1882 to 1886. Two of his greatest contributions to the city were the establishment of this school and of the University of the Punjab, the largest university in the province.
Aitchison College is still the most prominent all-boys boarding school in the country, which continues to churn out ‘brown sahibs’ who, since the creation of Pakistan and even earlier, have formed the country’s political elite. Prominent alumni include Aitzaz Ahsan, Syed Babar Ali, Talal Akbar Bugti, Zafarullah Khan Jamali, Imran Khan, Farooq Leghari, Shah Mehmood Qureshi and Sardar Ayaz Sadiq.
Spread over 200 acres, the college is a beautiful specimen of fusion architecture, combining Mughal techniques with British ones. It is a gated community and therefore was safe from the protesters and the rioters in 1953.
‘In fact, our relatives from other parts of the city too came and stayed with us for a few days because they knew it was safe to be with us,’ recalled Sabiha Saeed.
Our conversation jumped from one topic to another, from the Munir Report to Salman Taseer, to the Majlis-i-Ahrar and the role of the Muslim League leaders during the riots.
‘The 1974 riots began with a small conflict at Rabwah,’ said Ahmad.
Rabwah is about 170 kilometres from Lahore and became the headquarters of the Qadiani faction of the Ahmadiyya movement, after the shift in 1948 from Qadian in East Punjab when a large proportion of the community migrated to Pakistan. The word ‘Rabwah’ is mentioned in the Quran and means an elevated place. In 1998, the Punjab Assembly, offended by the ‘appropriation’ of the Quran by ‘non-Muslims’, passed a resolution changing the name of the city first to Nawan Qadian and later to Chenab N
agar. However, it is still popularly referred to as Rabwah.
‘There was a group of young student-members of the IJT travelling to Peshawar from Multan in 1974,’ recalled Ahmad. ‘When the train stopped at the Rabwah station, these boys got out and began cursing Mirza Ghulam Ahmad and the Ahmadiyya community. The train then left the station and so did these boys. However, when young boys from Rabwah heard about the incident, they decided to confront these boys on the way back. This led to an altercation and the Jamiat boys were given a thrashing. News of the conflict spread like wildfire throughout the country.’
The student wing of the Jama’at-e-Islami, the IJT, is the largest students’ organization in the country, with its headquarters in Lahore. While it has always been a prominent pressure group, operating through street protests, since the 1980s it received the patronage of Zia-ul-Haq and thus established control over several public universities in the city, closely monitoring their environment and sometimes even the curriculum. Punjab University, Government MAO College, Dayal Singh College, Islamia College, are all places where the IJT still has a strong hold.
Control over government colleges and universities has played a pivotal role in the Islamization of society. Every year thousands of students graduate from these universities having spent years being fed the propaganda of the IJT. Through their college years they are indoctrinated with a certain ideological viewpoint influenced by political Islam. It is no wonder then, that these students become tolerant of Sunni extremist organizations like the JuD and the Sipah-e-Sahaba. Given that Lahore is the education centre of the country, with its hundreds of colleges and universities, it is not surprising that the city has over the years, particularly after the 1980s, also emerged as the hub of the religious right in the country. It is now a deeply conservative city, reflective of the Islamization that has spread to other parts of Pakistan as well.
Imagining Lahore Page 8