VIEW: Pakistani-born confused Brit? —Miranda Husain
What I have found disturbing is that many here feel inferior if they have not been abroad to study. While I have been happy to observe second-generation Pakistanis in Britain taking pride in their heritage, I am saddened to see educated Pakistanis here define themselves in terms of having or not having lived in the WestBritish-born confused desi (BBCD) is a term I’ve often come to hear. I usually hear it from my Pakistani relatives and friends who teasingly distinguish between Pakistanis born and brought up in Britain and the ‘bona fide Pakistanis’ who were born and brought up here.
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I have always been uncomfortable with such labels, especially when a group seeks to categorise the identity of another. Self-identity is a personal matter and for anyone else to impose his or her definition is nothing short of sheer arrogance. A Muslim Pakistani living in Britain could consider himself Muslim first, British second, and Pakistani third. For another, the order could be different.
I was born in Pakistan to a British mother and a Pakistani father. We moved to England when I was a small child. I have never been comfortable with describing myself as either Pakistani or British. In fact, I don’t see why it has to be one or the other.
Most of my friends when I was growing up happened to be British. It was not a decision on my part. There were many Pakistani pupils at my school, but they preferred to stick together and did not consider me enough of the real McCoy to talk to. This is one of the regrets I have when I look back on my childhood. However, this was counterbalanced by the fact that we used to come to Pakistan every year to spend time with the family.
It was only when I left for university that I began to mix freely with students of all nationalities. After so many years at a British public school, it was a most liberating experience. The best thing was that no one really bothered to try and categorise others. I was just the person with a questionable taste in glittery nail varnish who happened to be half English and half Pakistani.
I went on to live in and travel to several countries in Europe and Asia. I enjoyed being a real foreigner, which I only felt when I was neither in England nor in Pakistan. However, as time passed, I began to realise that I should, perhaps, take the plunge and make a base for myself in Pakistan. The decision came not from wanting to discover my cultural roots as such — I simply felt that having lived in the country of my mother, perhaps the time had now come to live in my father’s homeland. Besides, the adventures of a Pakistani-born confused Brit would make a good story to tell my friends.
Many of my Western friends voiced concern over me going to live in a country they believed to be inherently hostile to liberalism in general and women in particular. I tried to reassure them that there was more to the country than what was portrayed in the Western press. Many women in my family hold down full-time jobs whilst juggling the demands of family life. When put in such general terms, it seems not that different from the challenges faced by many British women.
But the real surprise came from many of my well-meaning Pakistani relatives, who were convinced that I would not be able to ‘adjust’ to a Muslim society, since I had the misfortune of growing up in the decadent West. This, for me was the clincher. Being a stubborn person who refuses to be told what she is not capable of, I resolved there and then that I would make the move to Pakistan.
While observing those around me, my only points of reference were my own family here and the Pakistani community that I observed from afar in the UK.
In Britain, many Pakistanis face conflicts over their identity. The immigrant community, for the most part, stayed on the sidelines of mainstream British society, as they concentrated on building a life for themselves and their children. But the second generation has managed to integrate, striking a balance between being proud of their cultural heritage and actively participating in British society. Long gone are the days when the typical stereotype of the Pakistani was that of one who could achieve no more than running the local corner shop. However, second-generation Pakistani-Brits also face challenges to their identity. Some try so hard to integrate, that they often end up appearing to be ‘more English than the English’. Others are at pains to publicly distance themselves from fundamentalist notions and terrorist groups ‘hijacking’ Islam.
I have found it interesting to note that Pakistan’s modern generation is also fighting the demons of self-identity. I, perhaps wrongly, believed that here, in a Muslim state, people would have a stronger sense of self-confidence than the diaspora. Yet, I have observed, in certain circles, that many try to emulate the West, or some notion of what it is to be Western. Just as in the West, people may automatically declare a woman oppressed because she chooses to wear the hijab or the burqa, many here often project their outward ‘liberalism’ by wearing Western clothes. I laugh when I think of how I was advised by certain people to dress ‘decently’ since I was now living in a Muslim country. For I often see many girls, at social gatherings, dressed in mini skirts, halter neck tops or hipster jeans and midriff baring shirts. I am not saying there is anything wrong with this, simply that many conservative Muslims here and abroad often associate such outfits with notions of Western promiscuity. Yet such fashions are now a part of today’s Pakistan.
What I have found disturbing is that many here feel inferior if they have not gone abroad, and by that I mean the UK or the US, to study. They perhaps feel ashamed that having remained in Pakistan to study somehow renders them ‘limited liberals’. While I have been happy to observe second-generation Pakistanis in Britain taking pride in their heritage, I am saddened to see educated Pakistanis here define themselves in terms of having or not having lived in the West. (Perhaps I can now be rightly accused of imposing my ideas of identity upon others, the very thing I claim to disdain.) There is nothing wrong in wanting to go and see the world. In fact, it is the best form of education and enlightenment. But it should be done with a view to building on one’s character and experiences, not to simply negate what one has been.
So spending my second Independence Day here, I am happy to reflect that I have come to understand a little better some aspects of contemporary Pakistani society. I am also happy to admit that I have got much wrong and need to unlearn many of my preconceptions. That makes the journey to self-discovery all the more interesting.
DT
