Zehni ghulāmi se kāsh hoN hum āzād*

I had not given too much thought to this over the years, but as I read more about "decolonizing the mind," I've been thinking a bit about my family, immediate and extended.

I've been thinking about my beloved Nānā (maternal grandfather), who, based on various stories Mum told me, was an agent of sorts for the colonial power: at one point he had the title of subedar. The title originates from the Mughal Empire era. Subah translates to province, and in that era, subahdar or subedar referred to provincial governors. In the British colonial era, a subedar was a Viceroy commissioned officer. I don't believe Nānāji ever fought for the British. By the time World War II began, he was in his forties. But he did recruit Indian soldiers for the army (he could recruit Indian soldiers, only). According to Mum, he recruited his brothers-in-law. I may have told the story of one of Mum's uncles who survived a bullet close to his heart because he had a Bible in his pocket. I can't recall if it was the uncle in Europe, or the one in North Africa.

I never asked either Nānāji or Nānīji about their connections with the Salvation Army, because my grandfather was not into talking about the past, my grandmother was blind, and perhaps subconsciously I didn't want her to dwell on a time when she was not. Nānīji was part of the SA's Home League. She visited homes and was a homeopathic healer, as well as community helper. So whatever little information I do have is from Mum.

. . . .

An anecdote from when I attended the all-girls school in Lahore. There was one classmate from a wealthy family (most of them were) who used to pick on me a lot, and say things about me being Christian, or something bad about me. Some days I would come home, feeling totally crushed, but I never spoke much about it, until that one day when I was surrounded by relatives, and I described the name-calling. My cousin's husband interjected, Well, you just tell her that her dādā pardādā (grandfathers) used to wipe the asses of the British!

I laughed at the silliness of that. And I knew I would never say that to her. Even now, it makes me chuckle a bit considering how connected my grandparents were to the Brits, and also how his suggestion was almost the flipping of what some Muslims have long referred to us Christians as: bathroom cleaners. Note: This reference is used only for Pakistani Christians, because a number of Hindus who converted to Christianity were from "lower castes." The Urdu/Punjabi word used as an insult has been passed down through generations.

Even in recent years, a Muslim friend's mother counseled him not to be friends with me because I come from a family of bathroom cleaners. I don't know that I ever forgave him completely for sharing that, and obviously I've never forgotten. But I digress, as I am wont to do.

. . . . .

I do not believe it is a stretch to say that members of my family had/have aspects of internalized colonialism, which then morphed into white supremacy (both are related). I know that I wasn't even immune to it until I left Pakistan, and saw more of the world around me (and I mean people from various parts of the world at uni). Reading about decolonization helped. Reading beyond the standard U.S history texts helped. Being around more Black, Brown, Asian and Indigenous college mates helped. Decolonizing is a process. I still need to check myself at times, should I slide back, unawares (We are not alone in this, much as desi families deny it).

But there are quite a lot of desis who either have internalized it so deeply, or are very good at giving that impression (I tend to believe the former), and that grieves me. Especially when they are people in my own family. People who know we are not white, and yet so often, aargh, express hurtful thoughts about those who are not. Siblings. Cousins. It boggles the mind. How do we Brown people diss others who are darker than us? That's more or less a rhetorical question considering the number of people who use Fair & Lovely, or whatever the hell it is called now.

We inherited the internalized colonialism of our ancestors, and some of us have not been able to free ourselves from it. The vitriol about Kamala (outside of much of her fucked-up politics), I mean, hello! Did we forget that she is part desi? That some of us are even darker than she is?

But that is what internalized colonialism/white supremacy does. It elevates whiteness over everything. It makes those of us awash in it complicit in the same oppressive attitudes Europeans have had towards us for centuries. And desis exhibiting such attitudes don't always realize how soul-crushing and destructive this behavior is. That it does not exist in wealthy families alone, but also in poorer ones. Or from those who were able to escape poverty, as my father Benji did.

Those of us desi women who have either internalized white supremacy or patriarchy or both, are doing our Brown and Black sisters, brothers, and siblings a disservice, and quite honestly I hope they have something left within to help them liberate themselves. It was absolutely disgusting (though so not unsurprising) to see a picture of Nikki Haley writing Finish Them on a bomb to be dropped on Palestine.

I even have the teeniest bit of hope for her, misguided as it may be.

. . . . .

On a whole other topic, perhaps, I've also been thinking quite a bit about culture and roots. I probably shouldn't take even the little time I do off work. I think too much as it is! I was listening to Susan Abulhawa, the Palestinian author, poet, and activist in conversation with Ahmed Eldin, and listening to her talk about roots and history, among other important things pertaining to the Genocide was inspiring.

I'd already been thinking about roots before watching the conversation, and what she said about Palestinians having strong roots to the land made me think of it again. And if I can remember what I wanted to say about that, I'll come back to it in another post.

*The title of my post is the bridge in a Pakistani band, Junoon's song, Talāsh (Search). It translates to "May we be liberated from mental slavery." I usually translate it as Bob Marley's Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery, but the former translation is the more literal (and correct) one.