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ÿþA n t i - M u s l i m b i a s : G r e e n l i g h t t o y e l l o w j o u r n a l i s m |
Tausief Ausaf
WHAT is common between the Western and Indian media? Both are insatiably hungry for anti-Muslim angles in negative stories. And after 9/11, it has become convenient for them to link any Muslim individual or group to any imaginary terror threat. Unverifiable and contradictory gibberish, rapidly morphed into an official line and endlessly repeated on channels and papers, compels gullible viewers to accept the “story” as truth.
Some British tabloids shamelessly thrive on sensation. They can stoop to any level to sell. To them, Muslim extremism is a big story. Muslim moderation is not. The harrowing experience of Inayat Bunglawala, media secretary of the Muslim Council of Britain, is still fresh in mind. Daily Express denounced him in a big bold headline as a “fanatical extremist” who condoned, if not plotted, terror attacks against Prince Harry. All Bunglawala had said in reply to a reporter’s call was: “Regrettably Harry might be a target while on armed service in Afghanistan.” The reporter twisted that fact and consequently the paper had to pay Bunglawala £45,000 in libel damages.
The Sun, an expert in linking imaginary terror plots to Muslims, splashed on Dec. 9, 2010 a screaming front-page headline: “Al-Qaeda Corrie threat.” The story claimed that “cops” were “throwing a ring of steel” around the studios in Manchester after being “tipped off” that a high-profile show “could be hit by a terror strike.” It was complete nonsense. The paper had to eat crow the next day with a clarification: “… We would like to make clear that while cast and crew were subject to full body searches, there was no specific threat from Al-Qaeda as we reported. We apologize for the misunderstanding and are happy to set the record straight.”
Daily Mail (UK) (called “Daily Fail” by a section of readers because of its shooting-from-the-hips style) has a penchant to highlight baseless stories implicating Muslims. On Dec. 5, 2011 its headline announced: “Alarming rise of Muslim honour attacks.” The paper described honour killings as “punishments usually carried out against Muslim women who have been accused of bringing shame on their family,” in the caption under a photo used to illustrate the story which features Muslim women in various forms of Islamic dresses. The best part is this: A spokesperson from the Metropolitan Police Service was quoted as telling the paper that “honour-based violence cuts across all cultures, nationalities and faith groups — it is a worldwide problem.” How the Mail linked the ugly phenomenon to the Muslim community exclusively is beyond comprehension.
Media’s Islamophobic cousins in America are not far behind in the competition to sensationalize issues for greater TRPs. In the winter of 2010, the leader of a tiny cult of idiots announced plans to stage an “international” day of Qur’an burning in Gainesville, Florida. Since it was perfect spicy stuff to put Islam on trial, the media decided that Terry Jones’ idiotic plan was the most important news in the country. At a press conference, Jones lied to everyone that he was going to call off his 9/11 burning show because he had reached a deal with the people behind the Park51 community centre in Lower Manhattan.
The truth that few Americans know is: An organization called the Cordoba Initiative was granted permission by the appropriate authorities to turn an old factory in Manhattan into a community centre. The proposed centre was to include a basketball court and space for different religious communities to have interfaith relations. It was also going to have a place for Muslims to pray, if they liked. But the story wasn’t digested. Why? Because people were told by the media that what was planned was a “Ground Zero mosque.” Of course, the planned community centre was not, strictly speaking, a “mosque.” And it was most definitely not “at Ground Zero.” Most of US channels and papers preferred to blow this issue out of proportion, sidelining more relevant issues like the nation’s unemployment crisis.
How could some Australian journalists lag behind while their colleagues were busy milking “Islamic terrorism” stories dry? Canberra had to make a formal apology to Indian doctor Mohamed Haneef for his wrongful detention in 2007 over failed terrorist attacks in London and Glasgow. Haneef was detained and charged with giving support to a terrorist organization after his SIM card was wrongly linked to the attempted car-bombings. The whole yarn about Haneef’s SIM card being found in the vehicle used in the Glasgow incident – on which the case for the doctor being a jihadist conspirator rested – turned out to be fiction peddled by anonymous “sources.”
Coming to India, no right-wing media organization considers itself complete until it has taken credit for some stories having Muslim-militancy angles — rightly or wrongly. And in order to circumvent a libel suit, they know, a small corrigendum or clarification at the bottom on Page 17, if necessary, anyway goes unnoticed.
Seven Muslims arrested for blasts in the Indian town of Malegaon in 2006 were released on bail. As usual, media frenzy accompanied their release with journalists telling them to make the victory sign. The same newspapers and TV channels had accepted the Maharashtra Anti-Terrorist Squad’s (ATS) claims that these Muslims had planted the bombs that killed 37 people from their own community, while taking lightly claims made by Malegaon Muslims that the boys were falsely accused. At the release, the lawyers of the accused and community leaders from Malegaon were being chased for interviews, but there was no sign of the ATS heroes. Media didn’t deem it necessary to explain their own conduct, and no one took the ATS men to task. Since the first deadly blasts in Mumbai in 1992, people have developed an automatic perception that there is a Muslim behind every terror strike. To some extent, this bias is shared by the police and intelligence agencies as well. Every time there is an explosion, under pressure from media and the government, police round up Muslim boys linking them to hard-line groups and declare them terror plotters. Blind media, unfortunately, swallow the story because it sells.
While the Manmohan Singh government’s recent electoral gimmick of not allowing a controversial British writer at the Jaipur Literary Festival may have won the UPA votes of some semi-educated Muslims in the coming elections, the episode also brought to focus a regrettable trend in the Indian media of completely ignoring religious sentiments of the country’s principal minority while endlessly promoting and glorifying Salman Rushdie whose one-point agenda is vilification of Islam. Self-censorship was thrown out of the window by a section of the media in order to be seen as the champion of the freedom of expression.
Some years ago, Indian newspapers were awash with reports about Muslims protesting against the suggestion that all children studying in schools be forced to sing the Vande Mataram song, which, several papers, channels and politicians declared, was India’s “national song.” Refusal to sing this song, they claimed, was a thoroughly “unpatriotic” act suggesting thereby that Muslims by definition were “anti-national.”
Eminent Indian journalist Yoginder Sikand aptly summed up the issue: Media projection and coverage of the Vande Mataram controversy was cleverly contrived to put Muslims in the dock and to defend a certain vision of Indian nationalism that is framed in “upper” caste Hindu terms, in which Muslims, Dalits and other non-”upper” caste communities have little or no space for their identities, aspirations and interests. Few “mainstream” Indian papers cared to mention crucial facts of the history of the controversial song. The Vande Mataram is part of a novel, the Anandmath, which reeks of anti-Muslim hatred and is the rallying cry of radical Hinduism.
Media’s role in a sensible society is to report objectively without being bitten by the bias bug. The moment channels and newspapers, websites and radio stations start taking sides disregarding the other side of the story, they become liabilities. The prevalent anti-Muslim bias can be tackled to a great extent if Muslim graduates join journalism and try to put the record straight. In India, the majority of Muslims read Urdu newspapers that have a limited reach and the intelligentsia get no idea of their problems. The Muslim voice goes unheard because there is a little presence of committed Muslim journalists in English-language papers and channels. Time the Muslim community woke up from its slumber and took genuine steps to safeguard its interests.—AN
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An Iraqi hero in America |
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Naomi Wolf
ONE of Iraq’s only working filmmakers, Oday Rasheed – whose brilliant film 2005 ‘Underexposure’ followed a group of characters in Baghdad after the United States-led invasion in 2003, and whose new film ‘Qarantina’ is now premiering – is in Manhattan. The glamorous settings in which he is now showing ‘Qarantina’ – a screening at the Museum of Modern Art, for example, and in the private homes of American directors and stars – could not be further removed from the violence-riddled context of his daily life.
In Baghdad, Rasheed has gained fame – and notoriety – by seeking to inspire a new generation of Iraqi filmmakers and other young artists. ‘Qarantina’ is one of only four feature films completed in Iraq in the past 12 years. A member of a collective called Najeen (Survivors), Rasheed is part of a vanguard of younger artists, writers, and filmmakers whose work attests to their commitment to art in the midst of crisis.
It is startling to see him walk into a New York living room: his demeanour is quiet and dignified. An air of solemnity envelops him. He has experienced unthinkable trauma, and is still exposed to it. “Of seven close friends I had growing up,” he tells me, “five are dead.” One was recently murdered by a gunshot to the head while he was standing in his kitchen.
Some days, he says, “you wake up and the radio or TV reports five car bombings,” leading to a kind of claustrophobia – part of the subject matter of his film. I noted that he might be experiencing post-traumatic stress from the loss of his friend. “I have had that – have done that already,” he smiled.
Rasheed is just turning 40, and his life reflects his country’s dramas: part of what has been called a “lost generation” of Iraqi artists and intellectuals, he and his friends were isolated for years by sanctions. But he also describes the Saddam years as an era in which, while there was no freedom, intellectuals had room to manoeuvre, as long as they “knew what to leave alone.”
He lived through the US-led invasion during a formative time in his creative life – he was writing for television and engaged in film criticism and commentary while trying to survive bombardment, looting, and chaos. But he also had to maintain his intellectual integrity.
When the US military sought to showcase the fact that a filmmaker was at work in occupied Iraq, Rasheed was swept to a formal dinner in one of Saddam’s former palaces in the Green Zone, attended by senior US officials and military contractors – an invitation that one would not want to receive, and would not be able to turn down.
Now Rasheed reflects on his country’s turn toward religious extremism: he describes a pre-invasion Iraq in which women were professionals and fairly emancipated, whereas now women wear headscarves under pressure, “for a peaceful life.” His friend, a young Iraqi actress named Zahra Zubaidi, had to flee the Middle East after having played a rape victim in the Brian de Palma film Redacted; she has since emigrated to New York.
Constant intimidation by religious extremists and political factions is the intellectual’s fate in Iraq today. And yet Rasheed refuses to be discreet: “Everything I believe, I believe in it,” he says. “I cannot lie or not answer the questions.”
Rasheed is in New York mainly because it is the location of his next film, which “deals with the influence of the US contractors after the invasion of Iraq, not only on the lives of Iraqis, but also on the life of the US.” As for Iraq today, Rasheed says, “I do not think that Americans are indifferent to what happened and what is happening, but the daily details of cruelty do not give them either the time or the energy to think about larger issues.” Indeed, Rasheed notes that at every US screening of his film, audiences need to apologise before they begin to relate to Rasheed as a filmmaker rather than as a representative of his country. “Personally, I do not ask anything; I’m here to clear up some confusion by the medium of film.”
Iraq, ravaged by war and now shaken daily by violence, is known as the most intellectually inclined of the Arab countries. As Iraqi and other Muslim intellectuals in the region often repeat: “Books are written in Egypt, printed in Lebanon, and read in Iraq.”
Here is hoping that Raheed and his colleagues continue to build up an Iraqi culture that is vibrant and free; and here is hoping that the relationship of US and international audiences to Rasheed goes from one of expiation to one of engagement with his work.
His embrace of the right to his truth, which is the artist’s task, is nonetheless remarkable, given that he is working in an environment in which part of the creative process involves trying to stay alive.
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An Iraqi hero in America |
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Naomi Wolf
ONE of Iraq’s only working filmmakers, Oday Rasheed – whose brilliant film 2005 ‘Underexposure’ followed a group of characters in Baghdad after the United States-led invasion in 2003, and whose new film ‘Qarantina’ is now premiering – is in Manhattan.
The glamorous settings in which he is now showing ‘Qarantina’ – a screening at the Museum of Modern Art, for example, and in the private homes of American directors and stars – could not be further removed from the violence-riddled context of his daily life.
In Baghdad, Rasheed has gained fame – and notoriety – by seeking to inspire a new generation of Iraqi filmmakers and other young artists. ‘Qarantina’ is one of only four feature films completed in Iraq in the past 12 years. A member of a collective called Najeen (Survivors), Rasheed is part of a vanguard of younger artists, writers, and filmmakers whose work attests to their commitment to art in the midst of crisis.
It is startling to see him walk into a New York living room: his demeanour is quiet and dignified. An air of solemnity envelops him. He has experienced unthinkable trauma, and is still exposed to it. “Of seven close friends I had growing up,” he tells me, “five are dead.” One was recently murdered by a gunshot to the head while he was standing in his kitchen.
Some days, he says, “you wake up and the radio or TV reports five car bombings,” leading to a kind of claustrophobia – part of the subject matter of his film. I noted that he might be experiencing post-traumatic stress from the loss of his friend. “I have had that – have done that already,” he smiled.
Rasheed is just turning 40, and his life reflects his country’s dramas: part of what has been called a “lost generation” of Iraqi artists and intellectuals, he and his friends were isolated for years by sanctions. But he also describes the Saddam years as an era in which, while there was no freedom, intellectuals had room to manoeuvre, as long as they “knew what to leave alone.”
He lived through the US-led invasion during a formative time in his creative life – he was writing for television and engaged in film criticism and commentary while trying to survive bombardment, looting, and chaos. But he also had to maintain his intellectual integrity.
When the US military sought to showcase the fact that a filmmaker was at work in occupied Iraq, Rasheed was swept to a formal dinner in one of Saddam’s former palaces in the Green Zone, attended by senior US officials and military contractors – an invitation that one would not want to receive, and would not be able to turn down.
Now Rasheed reflects on his country’s turn toward religious extremism: he describes a pre-invasion Iraq in which women were professionals and fairly emancipated, whereas now women wear headscarves under pressure, “for a peaceful life.” His friend, a young Iraqi actress named Zahra Zubaidi, had to flee the Middle East after having played a rape victim in the Brian de Palma film Redacted; she has since emigrated to New York.
Constant intimidation by religious extremists and political factions is the intellectual’s fate in Iraq today. And yet Rasheed refuses to be discreet: “Everything I believe, I believe in it,” he says. “I cannot lie or not answer the questions.”
Rasheed is in New York mainly because it is the location of his next film, which “deals with the influence of the US contractors after the invasion of Iraq, not only on the lives of Iraqis, but also on the life of the US.” As for Iraq today, Rasheed says, “I do not think that Americans are indifferent to what happened and what is happening, but the daily details of cruelty do not give them either the time or the energy to think about larger issues.” Indeed, Rasheed notes that at every US screening of his film, audiences need to apologise before they begin to relate to Rasheed as a filmmaker rather than as a representative of his country. “Personally, I do not ask anything; I’m here to clear up some confusion by the medium of film.”
Iraq, ravaged by war and now shaken daily by violence, is known as the most intellectually inclined of the Arab countries. As Iraqi and other Muslim intellectuals in the region often repeat: “Books are written in Egypt, printed in Lebanon, and read in Iraq.”
Here is hoping that Raheed and his colleagues continue to build up an Iraqi culture that is vibrant and free; and here is hoping that the relationship of US and international audiences to Rasheed goes from one of expiation to one of engagement with his work.
His embrace of the right to his truth, which is the artist’s task, is nonetheless remarkable, given that he is working in an environment in which part of the creative process involves trying to stay alive.
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Of EU-US strained ties |
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Judy Dempsey
WHEN Thomas de Maiziere described the state of the trans- Atlantic relationship to a packed audience in Munich, he shied away from unpalatable truths.
Yes, the German defence minister conceded, there have always been ups and downs in the relationship, and there has always been criticism that Europe was not pulling its weight militarily, especially now. But on the whole, de Maiziere was upbeat. Europe was not doing so badly in terms of cooperating with the United States in Afghanistan, for example. And even the European Union’s defence and security policy was not doing too badly.
Tell that to top US defence experts and Atlanticists, who were attending the Munich Security Conference that brings together defence and foreign ministers and experts from many countries. Unlike de Maiziere, these experts and former politicians did not pull their punches.
They said that the Europeans did not grasp just how bad the trans-Atlantic relationship had become as Europe refused to pick up more of the military burden. Nor did the Europeans understand the implications of Washington’s strategic shift from Europe to the Asia-Pacific region.
A particularly hard-hitting analysis came from Stephen Hadley, a former national security adviser to former President George W. Bush. He is one of the experts for the new Euro-Atlantic Security Initiative that aims to forge a new cooperative relationship between the United States, Russia and Europe.
Europe, Hadley said in an interview, had become a “free rider.” It was taking the United States for granted in providing defence and filling military capability gaps. “Europe has become so enamoured with soft power that it has stopped investing in hard power,” Hadley said. “In terms of hard security, it makes Europe a free rider.”
Hadley and other US security experts insisted that they did not want a Europe that was weak and divided to the point that the grand project of European integration that the United States has encouraged since 1945 would collapse.
With few exceptions, European leaders seem to ignore that Europe needs the tools of hard power if it wants to aspire to being a global player. Instead, they point to their success in toppling Col. Muammar el-Gaddafi’s regime in Libya. Sam Nunn, a former US senator, said Europe’s performance in Libya and in Afghanistan “pointed out a whole number of deficiencies.” He said that the Europeans lacked logistics, intelligence and air power. They could not have done it without immense military support from the United States.
The Europeans can always blame the global financial crisis of 2008-9, and now the euro crisis, for the sharp decline in defence spending. According to NATO statistics, defence spending among European NATO countries fell to $275 billion in 2010 from $314 billion in 2008. That is a drop of more than 12 per cent. Since most European countries are members of NATO and the European Union, Europe as a whole is in very bad shape militarily, say analysts.
But the problem is not just about money. Europe’s unwillingness to invest in military capabilities like drones and electronic intelligence surveillance equipment predate these crises.
The European members of NATO believe that the answer to some of their deficiencies is “smart defence.” On paper, it means NATO members pooling and sharing capabilities, and better coordination. In practice, little has happened.
If the price involves sovereignty, there are few takers. Indeed, despite paying lip service to cooperation and wanting to become global players, NATO and EU members put national sovereignty before collective interests. Even Europe’s two most important military powers, Britain and France, no longer have the capabilities to execute the whole spectrum of military operations alone. They have to rely on each other, and especially the United States, as they did during the Libya campaign.
Some of the smaller European countries have chosen to specialise. But they want a say over how their equipment is used. De Maiziere, the German defence minister, and other European ministers, still believe that the trans-Atlantic relationship was fine, steered clear of such awkward questions in Munich.
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