This summer, thanks to several generous gifts in support of Dean David N. Hempton’s campaign initiatives, HDS continued its ongoing effort to provide students with financial support so that they can serve communities locally and abroad through organizations unable to offer paid summer experiences.
The Dean’s Summer Internship Awards are $5,000 stipends that enable several MTS students to make positive contributions through internships with nonprofit or public service organizations, and then take those experiences with them back into the classroom in the fall.
Below, one of the award recipients, Salwa Tareen, explains in her own words how the stipend allowed her to work for Never Forget Pakistan, a legal and social advocacy organization. Previously, Waskito Jati, a fellow award recipient, wrote about his work with Solidaritas Perempaun, a women’s rights group in Indonesia.
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Political turmoil. Violence in suburban streets. Increasing religious and ethnic intolerance. “A battle for the soul of this nation.”
At any other point in time, these terms may have been used to describe a summer spent in a developing country such as Pakistan. Indeed before my own departure, many expected this to be the case. Instead, these are words ripped from American headlines following recent events in Charlottesville and across the country.
As a newly-minted American citizen returning to Pakistan after more than a decade, it is difficult for me to reflect on my summer isolated from the parallels between the two countries. Because as Pakistan celebrated their summer of cricket victories and new heads of state, America struggled to come to terms with itself.
Amidst this frenzy of global events, I was an intern at Never Forget Pakistan, a legal and social advocacy organization based in Karachi, Pakistan. Founded in the months following the 2014 terrorist attack on Peshawar’s Army Public School, the organization was a response to countless protests across the country calling for Pakistanis not to forget the violent and tragic loss of life.
In its aim to combat extremism with activism, Never Forget has organized on a variety of issues—from calling for the arrest of religious leaders with ties to banned outfits and dispelling myths regarding blasphemy laws to raising awareness on human rights abuses in Kashmir and promoting legal advocacy of marginalized people. In doing so, the organization has formed a space for themselves that neither adopts an entirely secular human rights model, nor a religiously-based approach.
It was this middle-of-the-road attempt to unite the Pakistani public that initially drew me to the organization. I wondered how an activist organization maintained this nuanced stance in an increasingly polarized political and social landscape, what motivated activists and workers in these spaces, and what limitations or obstacles they faced in their pursuit of justice.
To find an answer to these questions, I collaborated with one of Never Forget’s founders, Mohammad Jibran Nasir, to question not only how his organization seeks to bring about change in Pakistan, but also to consider a competing (and increasingly influential) sector of change agents in the country: Islamic charitable organizations.
Philanthropy is an incredibly common phenomenon in Pakistan. From individual trusts and family foundations to private hospitals and schools, you can find a charity at nearly every street corner in Karachi. Internationally, the late Abdul Sattar Edhi is known as the paragon of Pakistan philanthropy. In fact, many subsequent charities have seemed to follow his example in establishing ambulance networks, orphanages, and morgue services.
In addition to these individual efforts, Islamic charitable organizations represent a large portion of non-profits in the country. For those familiar with the principle of Zakat, the religious duty to donate a part of one’s wealth as one of the five pillars of Islam, this widespread trend of giving should come as no surprise in a Muslim-majority country like Pakistan. However, there continues to be doubts regarding the use of these funds and their connection to extremist activity both in and outside the country.
Thus, our task was to assess not only the activity of these organizations, but also to ascertain whether the Pakistani public truly supported their initiatives. We considered questions such as: What is the relationship between religion and philanthropy in Pakistan? Do Islamic charitable organizations specifically harbor connections to illicit activity? And, for Never Forget’s purposes, what type of public response would action taken against such organizations result in?
Tracking down the answers to these broad and far-reaching questions required conducting interviews with journalists, scholars, and the leaders of some of the largest charitable organizations in Pakistan. Although our topic seemed narrow and niche in the beginning, I was consistently surprised at interviewees’ eagerness to share their insight, observations, and experiences.
Outside of formal interviews, the topic struck a chord with family members, cab drivers, and vegetable sellers all over Karachi. No matter who I spoke to, everyone had an opinion on the problem and never failed to offer their own solution. Yet, as our conversations progressed, the landscape of philanthropy, religion, and politics only became more complex.
First, we learned that there was no easy way to categorize local charitable organizations. The diversity in mission, values, and ideologies of Islamic charitable organizations themselves cannot be understated. This makes it increasingly difficult to paint all of them with a broad brushstroke.
Second, despite the negative connotations of Islamic charitable work internationally, the sincerity of service cannot be denied. With cases of widespread corruption at the highest level of government in Pakistan, it is difficult not to be cynical about any organization’s motivations and intentions, including charitable ones. Yet, all my conversations with non-profit leaders pointed to a genuine level of sincerity and hope to uplift those in need.
Third, all faith is not blind faith. Through surveys, we found an overwhelming majority of Karachiites not only considered charity to be very important to their faith, but also cared deeply where their money was being spent. This information contradicts common assumptions that Pakistanis donate merely to fulfill a religious obligation, turning a blind eye to the consequences of their actions.
As I returned to the United States, these conclusions stuck with me, as did the countless conversations I had across Karachi in my broken Urdu. I was reminded that we often discount the complexities of those things that are right in front of us. That is not to say that I am any wiser than any seasoned Karachiite. (I know better than to argue that.)
Rather, my experience in Pakistan provided a reminder of the human impact of what we study at the Divinity School: the complexity of religious experience, the importance of service, and an understanding of our place in and among the world. This applies just as much in Cambridge as it does in Karachi. This summer only served to highlight the need for these lessons everywhere.
In time, I hope to return to Pakistan to continue wrestling with tough questions regarding religion, politics, and identity. For now, I am thankful to Dean Hempton and the HDS fellowship committee for allowing me to take the first step on this journey.