The Rockstar and the Mullahs

Music, man and maker.

When T2F sent an email regarding the screening of The Rock Star and the Mullahs, a documentary by Ruhi Hamid, the title piqued my interest before I read the documentary revolved around Salman Ahmad. Even though Junoon by far is the only band in Pakistan that truly deserves the accolades that befit true rock legends, after the band broke up, Ali Azmat seemed to be the true survivor of the three. Yet, reading the credentials of Ruhi made watching the relatively old documentary a must.

Released in 2003 on BBC, the documentary was originally the project of Angus Macqueen, a multi-award winning director and producer. Ruhi, who was in awe of his work, was much surprised when he called her to assist in the project, which came with Salman as a pre-requirement.

What was the project? Through Salman, the veritable “rock star” the contradictions that in Pakistan live in juxtaposition would be highlighted such as extremist elements, burgeoning musicians, banned musicians, presidential accolades to artistes. The conflict between music and Islam.

The rock star would be pitted against various religious schools of thought regarding the very existence of crafted music. To what desired outcome? According to Ruhi, the journey of the documentary was organic, changing and evolving according to the environmental and situational tangents cropping up; hence, there was no pre-seated expectation for a specific end. There was no script for the documentary. Salman would engage on screen ad hoc, according to his personally derived arguments regarding the subject that was close to his own heart. He travels to Peshawar and then to Lahore and in both places engages in dialogue with people of faith. The documentary takes one to different madressahs where students, young and old, are confronted with the question of music and its place in Islam and to conversations with MMA representatives in the then government, the Minister of Minority Affairs, Mullah Hafiz Akhtar and one Mullah Bijli, named so due to his electrifying sermons.

As this documentary was shot at a time where a coalition of Islamist parties had formed part of the government at a provincial level, many bans had been implemented in the Frontier, the validity of which was upheld by using Islamic law as the baseline.

Music was not allowed: Musicians were arrested, threatened by the police, their families harassed. Shops selling music were forcefully shut down, as were cyber cafes. None of the music confiscated was destroyed — as mentioned in the documentary, the tapes and records were taken for personal use by the very people who banned them.

The irony of the situation was that the MMA had strong-armed one part of the nation to blindly follow the new laws and no one understood why. Perhaps the one area where Salman actually achieves to show the audience something that they could take home with them was when his conversations on a bus in Peshawar and again in a madressah reflected that these men had no idea why music was banned and whether Islam actually supported this newfound law.

Another generalised propaganda in the middle class came through in the documentary: Anti-American sentiment. Not only were the Taliban seen trumping up western ills and evils, footage of the elementary section of Bahria College, Karachi, displays how ill-placed words can create uneducated ideas and opinions. Little girls spout regurgitated ideas of the widespread ills of America that surely were caught from discourse of brainwashed adults.

While there is no doubt in my mind about the imperialist and inhumane foreign policy of the US or about the brilliant in-house hogwash they feed their own citizens, there is also no doubt that the anti-America rhetoric in the street in those days had little sustainable logic, even in the minds of the most calm haters of Americanisation. Perhaps the mullahs rode the wave of anti-American sentiment while trying to “purge” Pakistan of catastrophic “evils” like a simple chord structure.

Footage of the then Coas President clapping on stage with Junoon was perhaps the only point where nauseous was a better adjective to explain how one felt, though the arts did see support and patronage from the trailblazer of “enlightened moderation”.

Visually, the strongest shots were those in the very beginning of the documentary where passionate fans of Junoon head banging would fade into shots of hafiz-i-Quran moving their heads and bodies in similar synchronisation with their chanting of holy words.

Shots of Junoon in its glory days, video snippets from concerts and casual time spent together were bittersweet and nostalgic in the wake of bitter members of the now broken up band. Areas that did not work out were shots of Salman praying and his blatant disregard of the madressah students’ discomfort at his singing a verse of the Holy Quran on their premises.

An improvement would have been more musicians, even if it were short snippets. Having only Salman to represent music placed limitations on the audience’s interpretation of how musicians in Pakistan actually perceived or dealt with the music versus Islam conflict. His Sufi manifesto automatically places him in a relatively small minority; the rest of the mainstream musicians address the conflict with different dialogues. The fact that Sufi rock was a Junoon identity discredits his actual inclinations, whatever they might be.

Post-screening, the Q&A had one very common concern arising from the audience: Where were the moderate and educated Muslim scholars? As Ruhi mentioned in the course of conversation, one of the reasons to take up this documentary was to show the West that in Pakistan, people other than extremists existed. It did seem remiss to not include an educated scholar of Islam who would not only bridge the gap but represent the millions of moderate Muslims in Pakistan, who do exist, just quietly, unlike the rock star or the mullah.

Ruhi Hamid is a documentary maker whose work reflects an eye for humanity where others avoid and stumble. Her body of work is mostly regarding conflict areas or human interest stories where her subject is an ordinary person in extraordinary circumstances.

This documentary was a rare addition in her work subject matter and methodology wise. From her being the camera woman as well as the director, here she had a crew and a subject that was current and vast and had important people featured. Whereas this piece of work is old and could need some updating, it did bring an important subject within reach for many: the misuse of religion to control society.

The evening ended with Ruhi’s husband, DJ Heretic, at his turntables. Interestingly, not from Pakistan at all, he mixed house music with very old funky desi numbers. The music had a jazz and funk feel fused with some latino beats.


Published in Images, Dawn on July 27, 2008