Sitaras, tamghas, hilals and nishans: what do they mean?

Posted by Huma in Featured Articles, Pakistan on 03 25th, 2009 | 17 responses

Dawn.com’s Huma Yusuf looks at the Pakistan Day awards ceremony and wonders what it means for Pakistan today.

Another Pakistan Day, another awards ceremony. On Monday, President Asif Ali Zardari gathered “outstanding” Pakistanis – both military personnel and civilians – around him at the Aiwan-i-Sadr to confer all manner of stars and medals. Often, the announcement of civilian awardees sparks controversy as the chattering and politicking classes can’t help but wonder whether nepotism, favouritism, cronyism – or any other nefarious –ism – facilitated the selection. This year, however, the awards have raised different questions about the society we all inhabit.

Firstly, one can’t help but remember that President Zardari recently muddied the award waters by bestowing some of our nation’s highest honours on US administration officials. In January, then US Vice President-elect Joe Biden was granted the Hilal-e-Pakistan for strengthening democracy (read: pumping Pakistan with even more non-military aid). At about the same time, then US Assistant Secretary of State Richard Boucher snagged the highest civil award, the Hilal-e-Quaid-e-Azam, for “deepening bilateral cooperation” and promoting peace, stability and prosperity. Pakistanis were outraged, particularly by Boucher’s acknowledgement. Many quipped that he was being awarded for enabling the NRO, sanctioning Predator attacks in FATA, and generally arm-twisting the Pakistani leadership.

And so it is that in Zardari’s tenure as president, civilian awards were doled out to US dignitaries before Pakistani citizens. That choice has tainted awards-giving, and the question at the back of everyone’s mind when Zardari bestows a medal is: what’s he getting out of it?

Of course, Zardari’s bad judgement should in no way detract from the wonderful achievements of Pakistanis who have done their nation proud and earned rightful recognition through government awards. Indeed, we should be inspired by the innovation, research, dedication and professional commitment that thrive here against all odds.

While we’re admiring award recipients, though, we should take a moment to reflect on what their achievements mean for our society at large. Under normal circumstances, the awards a nation bestows upon its brightest and best reflect that nation’s values and cultural aspirations. The work of those who receive national awards should tread a nation’s path to progress; their efforts should serve the national agenda; their research should illuminate questions of national concern. In Pakistan, however, the achievements of civilian awardees increasingly betray a disconnect with the society in which they are achieved. In other words, the Pakistan Day awards ceremony was yet another reminder that the Pakistan we currently inhabit is drifting further and further away from the Pakistan that was meant to be.

What are we to make of Habib Jalib’s posthumous Nishan-i-Imtiaz in a country where poets have seen the insides of more jail cells than publishing houses because they dare to critique dictators and power-hungry civilian leaders through verse? (Ironically, those who critique the government are often rewarded with sitaras and tamghas, but only well after they’re six feet under.)

How can we take former chief editor of Dawn Ahmad Ali Khan’s posthumous Hilal-i-Imtiaz seriously in a country where the recently passed ‘Prevention of Electronic Crimes Ordinance’ further stifles media freedom by making the character assassination of a member of state punishable by imprisonment?

How should award recipients Ali Moeen Nawazish and Greg Mortenson feel on receiving a Pride of Performance award and Sitara-i-Pakistan, respectively? Nawazish set a world record by securing 21 A grades in his A Level exams, while Mortenson earned international acclaim for setting up 78 schools that educated 28,000 children – including 18,000 girls – in Pakistan’s northern and tribal areas. What do their achievements mean in the face of a government that let Taliban militants destroy 130 girls’ schools in Swat before intervening?

Similarly, what do we make of actor Shafi Mohammed Shah’s Sitara-e-Imtiaz and singer Humera Channa’s Tamgha-e-Imtiaz in a country where CD and DVD shops are regularly blown up and burnt, and where, with the government’s support, the TNSM has outlawed all entertainment and media sales in Malakand.

The list of civilian award recipients is long and impressive. But the discordant notes that their achievements strike in the context of contemporary Pakistani society are alarming. If things continue like this, what will tomorrow’s citizens collect stars and medals for?