Azadi. as a noun in our national language Urdu, literally means freedom and finds its roots in the Persian dialect; the word is also found in vocabulary sets of our provincial languages including Pashto, Punjabi and Baluchi. Converted to its adjective form, the word is azad – loosely translated to the state of being free. The question is that from a national perspective, what is azadi and what does it truly mean to be
azad? Given the universality of freedom – as a concept, how many of us have given any thought to either of these viewpoints? Let’s hold onto this thought for a minute and, first, retrace the quest of azadi.
It has inspired our musicians, it is pursued by our media channels and it is preached by our religious clerics. Historically, recall that freedom was what motivated Quaid e Azam Muhmmad Ali Jinnah to rouse an entire movement that physically put Pakistan onto the world map in 1947. From these viewpoints, do we assume that azadi refers to action against oppression, putting an end to marginalised stereotyping and ultimately breaking free from constricting forms and the formats?
Maybe this quest for azadi is why the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement (PTM) exists. The PTM promotes enhanced civil liberties for their ethnic group, whilst seeking an end to human rights abuses in Pakistan’s tribal areas – where Pashtuns are the dominant ethnicity. This same quest for azadi challenged Pakistan’s stand on the stigmatized transgender community, when Dr. Sara Gill completed her MBBS from Jinnah Medical and Dental College and secured a residency position at JPMC hospital. And the same goes for Justice Ayesha A. Malik made waves when she was sworn as Pakistan’s first female Supreme Court Judge breaking constrictive forms and formats.
Another question to ponder upon is whether azadi is restricted solely to breaking the shackles of debt, repression, typecasting and ostracisation. Possibly, yes – because that is precisely the definition that we grew up. But here’s the thing. There is more to azadi, than what we consider it to be at face value. The dreamer in me says that azadi is independence from want, liberty from suppression and autonomy from all forms of exploitation. I believe the idealists among us would concur. In my mind, azadi means no one is above or beneath anyone, there is no superior or inferior, there is no greater or lesser than and nobody is purer than the other. Azadi goes beyond caste, colour and creed and the stigmas attached to each of these so-called yardsticks. I would like to believe that that is exactly what we understand and mean when we claim that we are azad.
This theory can be extended to imply that nobody owes us anything and that we owe nothing to anyone,
that nobody disenfranchises us and that we disenfranchise no one, that no one manipulates or
mistreats us and that we manipulate or mistreat no one. And this is precisely where the irony lies. Based on our very myopic outlook, we are nowhere near being azad in line with the textbook definition that we grew up with: breaking free from any form of oppression – debt, stereotyping or ostracisation. And neither are we azad, according to the very romantic definition of azadi where nobody is disenfranchised, manipulated or mistreated – for whatever reason. But what binds these two definitions of azadi is the fact that either way, this lack of freedom restricts us from realising our true potential.
As a year 2022 will mark 75 years of Pakistan’s existence as an azad country. Ironically, though, many fundamental parts of Pakistan are not quite so azad. So, let’s take one step ahead and ask ourselves again: what more is there to azadi and being azad than what meets the eye? Is our azadi collectively actualized in a world shared with others? What does it mean to be personally azad and can this be achieved if we transcend worldly constraints? From a purely individualistic stance, nobody owes anything to us – but collectively (as a country), we owe billions of dollars to other nations and global financial institutions. Along the same lines, we also owe to our own state in terms of tax evasion, unpaid and / or stolen utilities. Saying that individually we do not face subjugation is debatable – considering our very
pervasive economic, personal and strategic dependence on others (including product, service
and utility providers).
Likewise, we knowingly or unknowingly and directly or indirectly oppress countless other people amongst ourselves: including those living in outlying regions, non-Muslim Pakistanis, women and daily wagers. Recall that a lot of people in these categories represent the white part of our national flag; hence, why the marginalisation and ensuing torment? Are they beneath others, lesser than or generally just among those proverbial “have nots”?
But azadi also can be challenged. For example, ask yourself how azad minority religious groups (Hindus, Christians and Ahmadis) are in Pakistan. Finding themselves subject to hate speech, invocation of blasphemy laws and violent attacks on their places of worship – these communities somehow never really “belonged” in Pakistani society. I guess, by now, many of us have forgotten the early 2022 attack on Peshawar priest, William Siraj on his way home from a Sunday mass. Father Siraj was killed and another wounded. Recall that this happened in the same city, where in September 2013 the All Saint Church was double bombed making it the deadliest attack ever suffered by the Christian community in Pakistan. Then there is the continual hate campaign against the Ahmadi community in Pakistan – that I suppose has
entirely to do with how the Pakistani Constitution explicitly describes them as infidels and bars
them from “posing as Muslims”.
Now recall the plight of Pakistani Hindus, who regularly deal with abductions, forced religious conversion, desecration of temples and burial sites. Maybe this (Pakistani) Hindu marginalization and suffering has much to do with communalization of Indo-Pakistani politics and their interstate rivalries. I do believe this hostile environment makes it increasingly difficult for these religious minorities to live azad: securely and free from danger in areas where they have often spent most (if not all) of their lives.
But is azadi restricted solely to religious freedom? No. Women regularly face the patriarchy, acid attacks and honour killings. Then consider the Sheedi and Baluch communities in Karachi’s Lyari, the Saraiki in Bahawalpur, the Hazara Shia in Quetta and Kalasha in Chitral — who are enslaved to consistent racial profiling and ethnic discrimination. And give due consideration to the profession-based communities: including the Lachi Baradari in Quetta, chooray / chamar / masalis in Punjab, the quom system in Swat and the hajjams (barbers) / dhobis (washers) / kumbhars (potters) / maachis or mallahs (fisherfolk) and bhajeer (Dalits converted to Islam).
These predominantly non-Muslim communities will somehow always appear more bound (alternatively less azad) than their Muslim counterparts in the same regions on every possible social, political and religious front.
Along the same lines, there is a certain societal culture that also warrants consideration. Let’s talk about the Hindu woman from Thar employed as domestic help in Karachi, the almost exclusively Christian men and women who are hired as sweepers to clear gutters, roads and pretty much all public spaces of dirt. Then there is the very deplorable way low-caste Christians, Hindus and (some) Muslims are exploited as menial labourers and / or deprived of security in the katchi abadis where they reside. Young children (technically, “minors”) working as domestic servants often become victims of sexual abuse and other forms of violence because of their class and caste background. These socio-cultural demographics trends alone are enough to suggest that these groups are probably the least azad Pakistanis that one can ever imagine.
As we celebrate Independence Day this year, freedom in the form of azadi and being azad should be on the top of our minds and on the tips of our tongues. The creation of Pakistan was premised on ownership: where it equally belongs to everyone who inhabits it, or ever inhabited it – regardless of wherever life subsequently took them. And this ownership comes along with a sacred responsibility – to realize and actualize the resolve that eventually led to Pakistan becoming a reality, based on the commitment of an azad life that encompasses dignity and peace to everyone. I believe that this would also include an element of independence from any despondency, the ability to dream and the power to believe.
So, now let’s attempt to redefine azadi, what it truly means to be azad and the types thereof. I suppose the US Declaration of Independence got it right, when it said that all men are born equal and that they have rights – without any limitations or being controlled: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
This definition should, ideally, transcend all geographical boundaries and accrue to all and sundry in equal measure regardless of gender, caste, colour, creed and race. Once we fully understand and realize this concept, the unfree, the less free and the relatively free would then essentially become equal and free. And that is when azadi will really dawn.
azad? Given the universality of freedom – as a concept, how many of us have given any thought to either of these viewpoints? Let’s hold onto this thought for a minute and, first, retrace the quest of azadi.
It has inspired our musicians, it is pursued by our media channels and it is preached by our religious clerics. Historically, recall that freedom was what motivated Quaid e Azam Muhmmad Ali Jinnah to rouse an entire movement that physically put Pakistan onto the world map in 1947. From these viewpoints, do we assume that azadi refers to action against oppression, putting an end to marginalised stereotyping and ultimately breaking free from constricting forms and the formats?
Maybe this quest for azadi is why the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement (PTM) exists. The PTM promotes enhanced civil liberties for their ethnic group, whilst seeking an end to human rights abuses in Pakistan’s tribal areas – where Pashtuns are the dominant ethnicity. This same quest for azadi challenged Pakistan’s stand on the stigmatized transgender community, when Dr. Sara Gill completed her MBBS from Jinnah Medical and Dental College and secured a residency position at JPMC hospital. And the same goes for Justice Ayesha A. Malik made waves when she was sworn as Pakistan’s first female Supreme Court Judge breaking constrictive forms and formats.
Another question to ponder upon is whether azadi is restricted solely to breaking the shackles of debt, repression, typecasting and ostracisation. Possibly, yes – because that is precisely the definition that we grew up. But here’s the thing. There is more to azadi, than what we consider it to be at face value. The dreamer in me says that azadi is independence from want, liberty from suppression and autonomy from all forms of exploitation. I believe the idealists among us would concur. In my mind, azadi means no one is above or beneath anyone, there is no superior or inferior, there is no greater or lesser than and nobody is purer than the other. Azadi goes beyond caste, colour and creed and the stigmas attached to each of these so-called yardsticks. I would like to believe that that is exactly what we understand and mean when we claim that we are azad.
This theory can be extended to imply that nobody owes us anything and that we owe nothing to anyone,
that nobody disenfranchises us and that we disenfranchise no one, that no one manipulates or
mistreats us and that we manipulate or mistreat no one. And this is precisely where the irony lies. Based on our very myopic outlook, we are nowhere near being azad in line with the textbook definition that we grew up with: breaking free from any form of oppression – debt, stereotyping or ostracisation. And neither are we azad, according to the very romantic definition of azadi where nobody is disenfranchised, manipulated or mistreated – for whatever reason. But what binds these two definitions of azadi is the fact that either way, this lack of freedom restricts us from realising our true potential.
As a year 2022 will mark 75 years of Pakistan’s existence as an azad country. Ironically, though, many fundamental parts of Pakistan are not quite so azad. So, let’s take one step ahead and ask ourselves again: what more is there to azadi and being azad than what meets the eye? Is our azadi collectively actualized in a world shared with others? What does it mean to be personally azad and can this be achieved if we transcend worldly constraints? From a purely individualistic stance, nobody owes anything to us – but collectively (as a country), we owe billions of dollars to other nations and global financial institutions. Along the same lines, we also owe to our own state in terms of tax evasion, unpaid and / or stolen utilities. Saying that individually we do not face subjugation is debatable – considering our very
pervasive economic, personal and strategic dependence on others (including product, service
and utility providers).
Likewise, we knowingly or unknowingly and directly or indirectly oppress countless other people amongst ourselves: including those living in outlying regions, non-Muslim Pakistanis, women and daily wagers. Recall that a lot of people in these categories represent the white part of our national flag; hence, why the marginalisation and ensuing torment? Are they beneath others, lesser than or generally just among those proverbial “have nots”?
But azadi also can be challenged. For example, ask yourself how azad minority religious groups (Hindus, Christians and Ahmadis) are in Pakistan. Finding themselves subject to hate speech, invocation of blasphemy laws and violent attacks on their places of worship – these communities somehow never really “belonged” in Pakistani society. I guess, by now, many of us have forgotten the early 2022 attack on Peshawar priest, William Siraj on his way home from a Sunday mass. Father Siraj was killed and another wounded. Recall that this happened in the same city, where in September 2013 the All Saint Church was double bombed making it the deadliest attack ever suffered by the Christian community in Pakistan. Then there is the continual hate campaign against the Ahmadi community in Pakistan – that I suppose has
entirely to do with how the Pakistani Constitution explicitly describes them as infidels and bars
them from “posing as Muslims”.
Now recall the plight of Pakistani Hindus, who regularly deal with abductions, forced religious conversion, desecration of temples and burial sites. Maybe this (Pakistani) Hindu marginalization and suffering has much to do with communalization of Indo-Pakistani politics and their interstate rivalries. I do believe this hostile environment makes it increasingly difficult for these religious minorities to live azad: securely and free from danger in areas where they have often spent most (if not all) of their lives.
But is azadi restricted solely to religious freedom? No. Women regularly face the patriarchy, acid attacks and honour killings. Then consider the Sheedi and Baluch communities in Karachi’s Lyari, the Saraiki in Bahawalpur, the Hazara Shia in Quetta and Kalasha in Chitral — who are enslaved to consistent racial profiling and ethnic discrimination. And give due consideration to the profession-based communities: including the Lachi Baradari in Quetta, chooray / chamar / masalis in Punjab, the quom system in Swat and the hajjams (barbers) / dhobis (washers) / kumbhars (potters) / maachis or mallahs (fisherfolk) and bhajeer (Dalits converted to Islam).
These predominantly non-Muslim communities will somehow always appear more bound (alternatively less azad) than their Muslim counterparts in the same regions on every possible social, political and religious front.
Along the same lines, there is a certain societal culture that also warrants consideration. Let’s talk about the Hindu woman from Thar employed as domestic help in Karachi, the almost exclusively Christian men and women who are hired as sweepers to clear gutters, roads and pretty much all public spaces of dirt. Then there is the very deplorable way low-caste Christians, Hindus and (some) Muslims are exploited as menial labourers and / or deprived of security in the katchi abadis where they reside. Young children (technically, “minors”) working as domestic servants often become victims of sexual abuse and other forms of violence because of their class and caste background. These socio-cultural demographics trends alone are enough to suggest that these groups are probably the least azad Pakistanis that one can ever imagine.
As we celebrate Independence Day this year, freedom in the form of azadi and being azad should be on the top of our minds and on the tips of our tongues. The creation of Pakistan was premised on ownership: where it equally belongs to everyone who inhabits it, or ever inhabited it – regardless of wherever life subsequently took them. And this ownership comes along with a sacred responsibility – to realize and actualize the resolve that eventually led to Pakistan becoming a reality, based on the commitment of an azad life that encompasses dignity and peace to everyone. I believe that this would also include an element of independence from any despondency, the ability to dream and the power to believe.
So, now let’s attempt to redefine azadi, what it truly means to be azad and the types thereof. I suppose the US Declaration of Independence got it right, when it said that all men are born equal and that they have rights – without any limitations or being controlled: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."
This definition should, ideally, transcend all geographical boundaries and accrue to all and sundry in equal measure regardless of gender, caste, colour, creed and race. Once we fully understand and realize this concept, the unfree, the less free and the relatively free would then essentially become equal and free. And that is when azadi will really dawn.