Man from the Afghan tribe

published May 2007

If you go by stereotypes or first impressions, you would definitely step out of K’s way.

The 28-year-old Pakistani doesn’t look very friendly. His forehead is always creased as though he were in a state of constant contemplation. He always looks as though he were busy and would not be bothered by small talk. He is morose and asks his questions in class very intensely. He isolates himself several times a day to pray to Allah. He won’t as much touch anything that contains a drop of alcohol in it. That goes without saying he doesn’t also touch food unless it’s halal.

One time during tea break, some of us were talking about the latest news on suicide bombers (remember that CNN is the only channel in English in our apartment television.). K became very animated and articulate, talking about what goes on in the minds of suicide bombers as though they were his next-door neighbors. The perspective he was offering was almost first-hand; his eloquence was uncharacteristic. Naturally we were all transfixed.

He was kind enough to grant me a separate interview. What I learned topples the hasty conclusions I have entertained in the past. It made me realize how people could oversimplify matters and bungle up noble intentions with unfair generalizations. This is his story.

Beginnings

K (I had to withhold his name upon his request) lives in Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan. He has just completed his masters degree in communication arts and now works as a journalist for the largest business newspaper in his city.

He has not always lived in the capital. Up to the time he was 16, of university age, he lived in the northern region of Pakistan, very close to the border with Afghanistan. According to him, delineations in this part of the country are very fluid. Affiliation is by tribes rather than by territorial boundaries. He himself belongs to a tribe—the name of which I am also not at liberty to disclose. He talks fondly of his people and his village.

As a boy between the ages of six and 10, K became exposed to unlikely playthings—weapons. Real ones. At this tender age, he was taught by his village men how to use the Klashinkove, pistols, revolvers, 12 bore gun, a Pika gun, a 7-mm. rifle, an 8-mm. rifle and, dig this, a rocket launcher.

He did not think anything was out of the ordinary. Every other boy was taught the same. As a result, people felt secure, and the village crime rate remained at zero.

The passion of his people is making sure they are independent of any external force. There is nothing they resent most than an attempt by any external entity to encroach upon their way of living. They would struggle against intrusion with all their might—struggle to the end. The choice is clear: Be subverted, or die.

I ask him whether this passion for autonomy is distinctly Muslim. K says it is but a human reaction to stimulus. Even animals strike back when you try to encroach into their turf, he reminds me.

Terrorism, extremism

K says he empathizes with suicide bombers and could approximate what goes on in their minds.

“If you were a young boy of 15, for instance, your life has practically not begun. You sleep soundly in your house in the middle of the night. A bomb goes off. You lose your mother, father, brothers, sisters, all relatives and friends. You lose your house and your village is destroyed.

“Would you not harbor deep hatred for the people responsible for your loss? What would you do when you find out it was the United States responsible for it? What feelings would consume you?”

These people are grieving, frustrated, helpless—and very angry. They have nothing else to live for. This emotional suffering is then exploited by leaders of groups who use them to pursue terrorist agenda.

K says such exploitation is very un-Islamic. “Islam doesn’t ask you to kill someone. In fact, when you kill one person, you harm humanity.”

What then is an extremist? He says it is someone who imposes his or her thinking on others by force and punishes them for not agreeing with him.

At this point, he asks me: Who do you think is the real extremist nowadays?

I look at him blankly, wondering whether his question is rhetorical. He saves me the trouble of answering. He asks me again: So who’s in the White House?

Fond dreams

Khan recognizes the need for change in his village’s thinking. “I don’t want my people to live like this,” he says.

Indeed, there was a time when warriors were extolled. But that belonged to Greek mythology and remote history. “How long can fighting do us good? There is nothing glorious about fighting.”

Khan believes there are other ways to resist aggression aside from resorting to guns and other weapons of destruction. Education, information and technology are key. “I would like to set my people free from the ignorance that makes them think violence is the only way. Ultimately, I’d like us to live with the rest of the world in harmony.”

He cites the example of Japan, a country both devastated and humiliated during the Second World War. After 1945, though, Japan started “arming” itself. It worked very hard to earn its place in the world economy. “Look at it now. Is anybody even attempting to challenge its independence?”

Indeed, things are looking rosy for K. He is excited about his forthcoming marriage, scheduled at the end of this year, to his first cousin, whom he loves deeply. She is now in her last year in university studying psychology. K is so proud that his fiancée is finally taking her place outside traditional confines. He believes they will have a good future. He intends to give equal opportunity to his would-be children, whether they turn out to be sons or daughters.

***

I thanked him profusely for the interview and said I would give him a copy of this piece before I publish it, just so I can make sure the facts and the quotes are accurate.

No problem, he said. Then he winked and made a face. He’s a regular guy after all.