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Updated 30 Jan, 2017 03:27pm

Narrative arc: Between Art and Power

I write this column for B&A in interesting times. There is an expression we repeat in our conversations, commonly referring to its origins as a Chinese curse: ‘May you live in interesting times.’ Notwithstanding that, or whether it is an apocrypha, what we actually see in Pakistan is that living is oftentimes akin to battling a curse. The incorrigible optimist in me reassures me that we will win the battle. I am not sure how and when.

The time to read is never enough. I was introduced to The Noise of Time by a friend. I was familiar with the masterful work of Julian Barnes, the celebrated British author, but this particular novel struck a deep chord. Any of us wearing a socialist lens would recognise coercion masquerading as authority. Published in 2016, this is a narrative weaved around the life of Dmitri Shostakovich, a leading Russian music composer and pianist of the Soviet era, who lived between 1906 and 1975.

The Noise of Time is a conversation between Art and Power; a tedious conversation — frustrating for Art and cumbersome for Power — that captures the story of all those artists, poets, writers, and musicians whose work and circumstances leave them no choice but to engage with power. One simple reason for the impossibility of evading this conversation is the refusal of such artists to leave their land. Both poet Anna Akhmatova and composer Shostakovich fall in that category. Therefore, they have to communicate in any case. Whether they confront or compromise with power or succeed in circumventing it, they have to be able to do all at the same time.

There is an uncanny resemblance for me between the life and times of Shostakovich as narrated by Barnes and our own cultural, social, and political experiences in Pakistan. First, he lives and works under Joseph Stalin. Power is more in the face — direct, ruthless, non-negotiating, and uncompromising. That was the time when dissidents would disappear, purges would take place and an editorial note or a critical review against your work in the official newspaper could cause an end to your job and bring humiliation in public. During the times when he thought he had fallen out with Power, Shostakovich was ready every night for the possibility of being taken away. He would have his things packed in a case and wouldn’t sleep in pyjamas, so that if they dragged him out of his apartment without giving any time, he would be suitably dressed. In fact, he slept fully clothed, lying on top of the blankets. It was an act of dignity in the age of chilling fear and crude oppression. The description of that age brings back memories of Gen Ziaul Haq.

The age of crude oppression was replaced by the age of ‘coercive co-option’ — almost an oxymoron, but not exactly. That was when Stalin was gone and Nikita Khrushchev became the leader, to be followed by Leonid Brezhnev. There were fundamental political changes introduced in the society and polity of the Soviet Union after Stalin’s death, but the conversation between Art and Power continued as between two feuding tribes. In our case, it was the times of Gen Pervez Musharraf, when an illusion of intellectual freedom was created for a coterie of self-satisfied liberals. But the primary narrative, hinging upon the dominance of an institution and a certain way of thinking, remained intact.

Has the age of chilling fear made a confident comeback after an illusory interlude in Punjab, while it was never over for some in Fata, Sindh, and Balochistan? Barnes writes about Shostakovich: “When the threats against him had first begun, he told friends: ‘Even if they cut off both my hands, I shall continue to write music with a pen in my mouth’… Those words of his at best had been a foolish boast, at worst a figure of speech. And Power had no interest in figure of speech … From now on, there will only be two types of composer: those who were alive and frightened; and those who were dead.”

The incorrigible optimist in me reassures me that this age will be over. I am not sure how and when.

Harris Khalique is a poet and essayist based in Islamabad.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, January 29th, 2017

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