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Taliban Silence Pakistani Musicians
A Wave of Islamic Militancy Has Devastated a Northwestern Region's Unique Musical Culture
By MUJIB MASHAL
Updated Nov. 4, 2013 8:48 p.m. ET
The Taliban and other Islamic radicals in Pakistan consider most music to be blasphemous, and have repeatedly attacked musicians, including renowned Pashto singer Gulzar Alam, who in this clip performs a song called "Faryad."
PESHAWAR, Pakistan—It has been almost two years since singer Gulzar Alam, the master of classical Pashto music, performed in a public concert.
The wave of Islamic militancy that intensified in recent years, killing thousands of Pakistanis and hitting Mr. Alam's northwestern city of Peshawar particularly hard, also has proved devastating to the region's traditional—and unique—music culture.
"If they blow up mosques and funerals, then they can definitely blow up a concert," the 58-year-old singer says. "That fear is there."
One singer, Ustad Ahmad Gul, was forced out of his shop of 18 years.
Pashto musicians and singers have honed their tradition for centuries. But the Pakistani Taliban and other radicals consider most music to be against Islamic law and have used violence to silence the artists.
Mr. Alam, a musician with a cult following who once held concerts for packed audiences, was run over last year by an unknown Toyota Land Cruiser that had followed him in the volatile city of Quetta. He still walks with the help of a cane, and a brace holds up his neck.
Western embassies and human-rights activists offered him help in seeking asylum abroad, like many of his contemporaries, but Mr. Alam decided to stay in Peshawar. To avoid the limelight, he got a job creating music for a local television channel.
But his troubles continued. Unknown gunmen entered his home at dawn in September and threatened his family, he said. Although the decision of going abroad is still culturally difficult for him—"you can't beat your children there to discipline them"—staying put is no longer an option, Mr. Alam says.
Related
Northwest Pakistan Province Threatens to Block NATO Supplies
"We have lived our life with instruments—harmoniums, drums and rubab," he laments. "But now we either have to pick up the gun to protect ourselves, which is difficult for us, or leave."
Heavily influenced by the Indian classical tradition, Pashto music is usually performed with harmonium and rubab—a string instrument that resembles the lute—with percussion and flute accompaniment. But such musical instruments are viewed as blasphemous.
The troubles for music in Peshawar, the capital of Pakistan's predominantly Pashtun Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province, began when a coalition of Islamist parties took over the provincial government in 2002. Things got worse with the rise of Taliban militancy in recent years.
This year alone, the city has seen about 15 terrorist-related incidents a month, including two blasts in the ancient Qissa Khawani bazaar within a week in September that left more than 120 people dead.
For centuries, Pashto musicians such as Mr. Alam were based in Dabgari Bazaar in Peshawar's ancient, walled inner city. Music shops lined the top floors of old two-story buildings with wooden balconies. The ground floors housed merchants who sold household material such as woven beds and embroidered cushions for newlyweds.
"The place was full of music shops—it was like a packed train," said 72-year-old Ustad Ahmad Gul. A musical prodigy who recorded his first tracks for Radio Pakistan when he was 8 years old, Mr. Gul had a shop in Dabgari for 18 years.
But amid the new climate of intolerance, the neighborhood's residents took the initiative to start expelling the musicians from Dabgari in 2004, said Mohamaed Ershad, an elderly shopkeeper there who sells cotton.
The musicians "had changed—they were no longer the old respected artists," complained Mr. Ershad, who at the time had rented his top floor to a musician. "There was dancing here."
When the musicians resisted leaving Dabgari, shops were set on fire and musical instruments flung to the streets. Police also barged into Nishtar Hall, the city's premium space for performing arts, during a concert and kicked the microphones as a live audience watched.
Soon after, the government put a lock on the doors of Nishtar Hall, which remained sealed for five years. Dabgari Bazaar was vacated. As a final nail in the coffin, the locals changed the bazaar's name because of its strong association with the music.
Some of the most prominent names in Pashto music—such as Sardar Ali Takkar and Haroon Bacha —left the region to seek asylum in the West. Those who remained in Pakistan, such as Messrs. Alam and Gul, dispersed around the city without establishing a clear address or moved to Karachi and Quetta, the other urban centers in Pakistan with large Pashtun populations.
The encroaching militancy also gave rise to a small "resistance music" scene, in which young bands that fuse local instruments and secular poetry questioning religious fervor have come to prominence. Most Taliban leaders in Pakistan and Afghanistan are Pashtuns, and the Taliban militancy in both countries began in the Pashtun heartland straddling the border.
Khumariyan, an instrumental trio of guitar, rubab and zerbaghali—a goblet-shaped hand drum common in Afghan folk music—were one of the pioneers of this fusion.
"Our music is less formal and more interactive—we want to involve the audience, bring them to a state of trance," said Amir Shafiq, 34, Khumariyan's guitarist. All three members have day jobs in the development sector and see their music as an effort to bust stereotypes of Pashtuns being violent or sympathetic to terrorism that have been fueled by the militancy.
With the tradition of performing in prestigious halls diminishing, many established Pashto musicians who once sang in the traditional folk genre have turned to commercial music for Pashto films or simply releasing their songs directly on CDs and DVDs that are bootlegged in abundance. This new, heavily electronic music has a commercial audience—even in the Persian Gulf, which has a large population of Pashtun laborers.
"Music is like a stream of water," Mr. Alam said. "If you block its main path, it will find another way to flow."
Taliban Silence Pakistani Musicians - WSJ.com
[MENTION=1068]gadoonwal[/MENTION]
A Wave of Islamic Militancy Has Devastated a Northwestern Region's Unique Musical Culture
By MUJIB MASHAL
Updated Nov. 4, 2013 8:48 p.m. ET
The Taliban and other Islamic radicals in Pakistan consider most music to be blasphemous, and have repeatedly attacked musicians, including renowned Pashto singer Gulzar Alam, who in this clip performs a song called "Faryad."
PESHAWAR, Pakistan—It has been almost two years since singer Gulzar Alam, the master of classical Pashto music, performed in a public concert.
The wave of Islamic militancy that intensified in recent years, killing thousands of Pakistanis and hitting Mr. Alam's northwestern city of Peshawar particularly hard, also has proved devastating to the region's traditional—and unique—music culture.
"If they blow up mosques and funerals, then they can definitely blow up a concert," the 58-year-old singer says. "That fear is there."
One singer, Ustad Ahmad Gul, was forced out of his shop of 18 years.
Pashto musicians and singers have honed their tradition for centuries. But the Pakistani Taliban and other radicals consider most music to be against Islamic law and have used violence to silence the artists.
Mr. Alam, a musician with a cult following who once held concerts for packed audiences, was run over last year by an unknown Toyota Land Cruiser that had followed him in the volatile city of Quetta. He still walks with the help of a cane, and a brace holds up his neck.
Western embassies and human-rights activists offered him help in seeking asylum abroad, like many of his contemporaries, but Mr. Alam decided to stay in Peshawar. To avoid the limelight, he got a job creating music for a local television channel.
But his troubles continued. Unknown gunmen entered his home at dawn in September and threatened his family, he said. Although the decision of going abroad is still culturally difficult for him—"you can't beat your children there to discipline them"—staying put is no longer an option, Mr. Alam says.
Related
Northwest Pakistan Province Threatens to Block NATO Supplies
"We have lived our life with instruments—harmoniums, drums and rubab," he laments. "But now we either have to pick up the gun to protect ourselves, which is difficult for us, or leave."
Heavily influenced by the Indian classical tradition, Pashto music is usually performed with harmonium and rubab—a string instrument that resembles the lute—with percussion and flute accompaniment. But such musical instruments are viewed as blasphemous.
The troubles for music in Peshawar, the capital of Pakistan's predominantly Pashtun Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province, began when a coalition of Islamist parties took over the provincial government in 2002. Things got worse with the rise of Taliban militancy in recent years.
This year alone, the city has seen about 15 terrorist-related incidents a month, including two blasts in the ancient Qissa Khawani bazaar within a week in September that left more than 120 people dead.
For centuries, Pashto musicians such as Mr. Alam were based in Dabgari Bazaar in Peshawar's ancient, walled inner city. Music shops lined the top floors of old two-story buildings with wooden balconies. The ground floors housed merchants who sold household material such as woven beds and embroidered cushions for newlyweds.
"The place was full of music shops—it was like a packed train," said 72-year-old Ustad Ahmad Gul. A musical prodigy who recorded his first tracks for Radio Pakistan when he was 8 years old, Mr. Gul had a shop in Dabgari for 18 years.
But amid the new climate of intolerance, the neighborhood's residents took the initiative to start expelling the musicians from Dabgari in 2004, said Mohamaed Ershad, an elderly shopkeeper there who sells cotton.
The musicians "had changed—they were no longer the old respected artists," complained Mr. Ershad, who at the time had rented his top floor to a musician. "There was dancing here."
When the musicians resisted leaving Dabgari, shops were set on fire and musical instruments flung to the streets. Police also barged into Nishtar Hall, the city's premium space for performing arts, during a concert and kicked the microphones as a live audience watched.
Soon after, the government put a lock on the doors of Nishtar Hall, which remained sealed for five years. Dabgari Bazaar was vacated. As a final nail in the coffin, the locals changed the bazaar's name because of its strong association with the music.
Some of the most prominent names in Pashto music—such as Sardar Ali Takkar and Haroon Bacha —left the region to seek asylum in the West. Those who remained in Pakistan, such as Messrs. Alam and Gul, dispersed around the city without establishing a clear address or moved to Karachi and Quetta, the other urban centers in Pakistan with large Pashtun populations.
The encroaching militancy also gave rise to a small "resistance music" scene, in which young bands that fuse local instruments and secular poetry questioning religious fervor have come to prominence. Most Taliban leaders in Pakistan and Afghanistan are Pashtuns, and the Taliban militancy in both countries began in the Pashtun heartland straddling the border.
Khumariyan, an instrumental trio of guitar, rubab and zerbaghali—a goblet-shaped hand drum common in Afghan folk music—were one of the pioneers of this fusion.
"Our music is less formal and more interactive—we want to involve the audience, bring them to a state of trance," said Amir Shafiq, 34, Khumariyan's guitarist. All three members have day jobs in the development sector and see their music as an effort to bust stereotypes of Pashtuns being violent or sympathetic to terrorism that have been fueled by the militancy.
With the tradition of performing in prestigious halls diminishing, many established Pashto musicians who once sang in the traditional folk genre have turned to commercial music for Pashto films or simply releasing their songs directly on CDs and DVDs that are bootlegged in abundance. This new, heavily electronic music has a commercial audience—even in the Persian Gulf, which has a large population of Pashtun laborers.
"Music is like a stream of water," Mr. Alam said. "If you block its main path, it will find another way to flow."
Taliban Silence Pakistani Musicians - WSJ.com
[MENTION=1068]gadoonwal[/MENTION]
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