Saadat Manto - My Name Is Radha

Of course this does not mean that writers shouldn’t write about such events even though they fall outside the thematic parameters of literature. Writers are not producing literature all the time. They have two kinds of responsibilities: as writers and as members of a group. No doubt the first of these is a writer’s primary responsibility. However, there are times when a writer is obliged to attend to his second responsibility, which does not necessarily contradict the primary at all.

To understand this better let’s consider the attitude of writers of different nationalities during the Second World War. In Russia, writers took to their secondary responsibility with such gusto and verve that they quite forgot their primary responsibility; indeed they started calling the product of their secondary responsibility pure literature. During the war years the duty of a Russian writer was defined as praising the nation, the armed forces, the character of their soldiers and presenting the Germans in a negative light in all respects. While it is true that the Russian nation faced a massive catastrophe and whatever help its writers offered was perfectly understandable, it is unbecoming of a writer to ignore his primary allegiance and become a slave to a secondary purpose, regardless of how noble that purpose might be. Even if we want Pakistani literature to reflect the highest ideals of Islam, this Russian attitude is hardly the one to light the way. Muslims are exhorted not to hesitate to testify against themselves if the situation calls for it, so even from an Islamic point of view, literature that praises Muslims cannot be acceptable. The Russian paradigm is not just bankrupt as a model, it is downright misleading.

British writers provide our second example. Since military duty had become incumbent during the war, writers were also conscripted. One had to fly bombers; the other had to join the fire brigade. It is entirely possible that they acquitted themselves willingly and with an unflinching sense of duty, but, as far as I am aware, none of them, at least no sensible writer among them, tried to serve their nation through their pen. One might say that this was perhaps due to the fact that the Germans were unable to set foot in England and the population was spared the humiliation which became the lot of some Russian regions and France. Had this been England’s lot too, they would likely have written something in defence of their country. At any rate, the war affected their lives by filling it with a sense of vacuity and desolation. The birds, the flowers were all gone; dear ones were lost and scattered; and incredible restrictions were placed on personal freedom. The loss of mental and personal comforts tormented them, such that they began to moan in memory of the old life that was so exuberant and full of gaiety. In short, the attitude of British writers was quite passive. Such passivity cannot create a vibrant literature. Mere feelings of annoyance, dissatisfaction and malaise cannot serve literature for long. Even crazy, intense hatred is more productive than such passivity. So while one can praise British writers for keeping their true writerly status intact even as they actively served the nation, one must also admit that the kind of intellectual and emotional experience they went through was not terribly worthwhile from a strictly literary point of view. Even as they helped the nation, their minds were never free from the fear of further restrictions that the country might impose on their freedom in the days to come. This attitude betrays a lack of confidence in their status as writers. The thought of what kind of treatment the country might subject them to in the future should not have bothered them while they were serving it. They should have resolved instead that if, after the war, the nation did impose restrictions on its writers, they would fight against the nation just as energetically and relentlessly. British writers, at least, should have considered literature important enough to defend it without any fear of the consequences, but they admitted defeat without putting up a fight. They just assumed that if the nation treated them severely, they would find themselves entirely defenceless.

In contrast, French writers adopted a very balanced and dignified attitude. They did not sacrifice either of their responsibilities. This is because they never confused the two responsibilities or lost sight of the difference between them. It is true that, just as the war started, one or two major writers left France thinking they had no country, they were neither for France nor for Germany. But serious writers did not call their intentions into question, nor think of them as cowards or traitors; on the contrary, they continued to respect them. Apart from this smattering, the rest of the writers opposed the Germans in every way possible, even inciting people to rebel. In short, they did not flinch from rendering whatever assistance they could in their nation’s hour of need. At least the major writers, in spite of their passion for their country, did not allow themselves to betray for a moment the ideals and values they had professed all along, or consider themselves free from their obligation to literature after they had served the nation, or regard as literature something they had only written to arouse a feeling of freedom among the people. The following minor incident is revealing of the mental equilibrium of the French writers. To resist the Germans and to continue their literary activity during this cataclysmic period, some writers started producing a series of underground books with the title Les Éditions de Minuit . When France became free, these writers were given a major literary award but they declined to accept it saying that everything they had written was simply to serve the nation. It was not literature, nor had they intended it as literature, so how could they accept a literary award? During the war even French writers who were far removed from politics and considered devotees of ‘pure literature’ wrote propaganda. André Gide (1869–1951), who never shied away from speaking the truth, not even when it would have been prudent and expedient to do so, and who always preferred a reclusive life over fanfare and hullabaloo, was so overcome by freedom that he burst forth from his quiet corner, though he still kept praising the Germans. French writers participated wholeheartedly in their country’s fight for freedom, but dissociated themselves from politics and returned to their writing as soon as the war ended. While the country was struggling to stay alive, they did not allow literature to get in the way of their national duty, but when that deathly moment had passed they did not allow any kind of politics to strangle literature either. Today, when writers everywhere are wondering what to write and what not to write — and who knows whether an atomic bomb might just do away with the world tomorrow — French writers continue their creative work with supreme indifference, as though they are immortal.

Studying these three attitudes vis-à-vis death and destruction closely, I seem to like that of the French writers best. And really, what other attitude could there be for a true writer in the face of national catastrophe. When the country’s life is threatened, a writer reacts no differently than a taxi driver. The country can enlist both, and neither should hesitate to render assistance. But once that perilous moment has passed, it is time for a writer to become indifferent to the country. In ordinary circumstances, a writer belongs only to his literary vocation. Even the mightiest power cannot demand his loyalty. In short, a writer must know precisely how to act at a given time — as a citizen or as a writer.

Unfortunately this difference is not clearly understood in Urdu. Our criticism keeps confusing the two roles of the writer. When it is demanded of the writer to write about the riots, it is never made clear in which of his two capacities he is expected to approach the subject — as an ordinary citizen or as a writer. As a writer he cannot write about the riots, simply because riots are not a viable literary subject, but as an ordinary citizen he can, though in that case he will be writing from a particular point of view, which will be entirely unliterary. He will be adopting some political or social point of view and promoting it in his writing. This is not such a bad thing. I have already accepted that there are times when a writer should not shy away from offering non-literary assistance. The trouble arises when our writers who have produced fiction about the riots insist on holding on to a literary point of view. If some noble sentiment has compelled them to adopt a particular position, they should not be ashamed of owning up to that position.