The enormous success of the right wing anti-Islam party in the recent elections in the Netherlands indicates a widespread schism within the Dutch and wider European societies where the presence of the Muslims as equal participants of society is disputed.
'Stop migration from the Muslim countries! Block the building of mosques or Muslim schools! Stop subsidizing the multicultural programs', were prominent slogans of Geert Wilders, head of Freedom Party (PVV) during the election campaign in the Netherlands. His group obtained 1,5 million votes and increased its number of seats from 9 to 24 in the parliament. It is probable that the PVV enter into a coalition with the mainstream liberal party VVD to form a government. This can lead to an extreme xenophobic and anti-Muslim government in western Europe.
The anti-migrant propaganda of Wilders appealed to certain quarters within the Dutch society. The old working class neighborhoods that traditionally supported the Labor and Socialist parties got disillusioned with the presumed 'elitist' attitude of these parties. With increasing unemployment, economic downfall, changing neighborhood demographics-- with more migrants, caused a feeling of isolation among these groups: 'this is not my street', is often heard complaint. The migrants are easy targets of such socio-economic isolation. Add to this the fast integration of Europe that increased distance between the people and decision-makers, thus ‘evaporating our national symbols', as neo-nationalist like Wilders will argue for.
The traditional polarization of the Dutch political scene further added to the election win of the PVV. Wilders chided the traditional political parties for ignoring the worries of 'common man' on burning issues of migration, criminality and security. Afraid of loosing their vote bank the other political parties did not present a clear opposition to Wilders' accusations. In the process they lost to Wilders' sentimental political ploy on these issues.
The success of parties like the PVV is a dangerous development with respect to the future of democratic values in Europe. Wilders' party does not follow the rules of a traditional political party: it does not have a membership or party hierarchy or hold any party elections. In this sense it is mere a 'movement'. Wilders successfully avoided any questions about bringing democracy within his own party. For the PVV Wilders is a party ideologue, he formulated his party's election program, and he chose the candidates, and acts as the main media person of the party. An acceptance of such one-man demagogy within the Dutch political system shows an approval of certain undemocratic tendencies within a society that projected itself as a 'tolerant'.
This is even more clear if we look at Wilders' ideas and his political program. In the past he advocated to 'ban the Quran' and he likes to declare 'Islam as a fascist ideology'. Such a theme is also reflected in the film 'fitna' that he produced about the negative aspects of Islam. In his election campaign he asked for banning migration from the Muslim countries, and deporting the 'criminal' Muslims to the country of their origin. His anti-Islam program is based on the notion that European civilization is founded on 'Jewish-Christian tradition' thus denying any role of the Muslims in the recent history of the country. Moreover he even asked for 'ethnic registration' of non-white population thus importing the kind of practices that the Nazi-German applied to its subjects.
Even more worrying is that Wilders' political agenda was received without a broader outrage within the Dutch public space. It indicates a clear indifference, if not an implicit support, within the broader public space about Wilders' program. The political win of the PVV nonetheless present a dangerous tendency within the Dutch society where the majority of voters elected a group that tries to usurp the democratic rights of a minority.
The win of Wilders in the Netherlands cannot be seen without taking into account the broader debate about Islam and Muslims in the European countries. Whether it is debate about banning of hijab in public spaces in France and Belgium or the issue of height of minarets in Switzerland, Islam has become a politicized subject in Europe. These reactions to the Muslim presence however indicate non-acceptance of the emerging realities within the Dutch or European societies.
dinsdag 15 juni 2010
vrijdag 28 mei 2010
Migration and the politics of names
IT was not the first time I was asked about my ‘actual’ surname or, achternaam, as they say in Dutch. This time was during my introductory meeting with the FSW staff at the VU. I have been dealing with this question now for over a decade. Years ago my Dutch language teacher called me ‘Mohammad’ following the order of my full name ‘Mohammad Amer’. I told her that ‘I am called ‘Amer’, and if you call me ‘Mohammad’ I might not respond to you’. She said ‘that means Amer is your, roepnaam’ (meaning, in Dutch, literally the name people call you)? ‘Kind of’, I told her. Thus she noted my name as ‘Amer, Mohammad Amer’ on the attendance list. I accepted that as it sounded quite lyrical whenever she spoke it.
In this early period I explained to other people why I should be called ‘Amer’ and not ‘Mohammad’– as ‘Amer’ was the name my parents gave me while ‘Mohammad’ they might have added for some religious, devotional reasons or simply because everybody has two names thus I should also have a second name. However, when I came across official institutes or formal occasions in the Netherlands I had to accept gradually that when someone called out ‘Mohammad’ they usually meant me. Occasionally, when I insisted on calling myself ‘Amer’ and not ‘Mohammad,’ people thought me arrogant for preferring to be called by my achternaam (surname) – usually used for addressing people formally. On other occasions people thought that I was shy about using the name, ‘Mohammad,’ due to its specific religious connotations.
It is not that the Pakistanis do not have surnames but the story is a bit complex, and hard to cover within the post-Napoleon nomenclature that underlies the Dutch naming system. There are a number of possibilities available for choosing surnames within the Pakistani context: a most common usage is where the kids, or a wife after marriage, takes the first, and not second, name of their father or husband, as their surname. Take the example of the former Pakistani premier Mohammad Nawaz Sharif. He took ‘Sharif’ from his father, Mohammad Sharif, while his son is called Hussain Nawaz, and his wife Kalsoom Nawaz. This is a preferred system of adopting a surname among upwardly mobile groups in Pakistan. With the migration and settlement however this choice is no more self-evident. The Dutch municipal officials would give you only limited possibilities of choosing a surname – it must come from a father or mother, or a husband, in the case of married women. Thus while their cousins ‘back home’ are free to choose first or second name of their parents or that of husbands as surname, the Pakistani migrants have to accept the choices that the Dutch system of naming provides them.
Another category is where clan or caste names are adopted as family names. We have the famous families like Bhuttos or Zardaris, which are actually clan names. The choice for the caste name as family name becomes a wider practice mostly among the Punjabi ethnic groups. The caste system among many Pakistanis still plays a role mostly in arranging marriages where caste compatibility is measured before deciding about a potential spouse. When using the caste name as surname, only ‘higher’ caste names would be used as surname. Historically the caste system is quite flexible, as one can move upward in the system through, for example, migration. By using caste as surname, certain rigidity is created in the caste structures, and the European systems of naming curiously further solidify it through its inherent inflexibility.
In more recent times a certain Islamization of names has taken place. Children are given names following certain figures from Islamic history or to adopt names that have some religious meanings. In such cases people look for meanings and the personal name should also reflect it. Where such a search for meanings is related with recent religious insurgence, visible in all religions, however one should not exaggerate the impact of such search on everyday choices of the migrants. During my fieldwork many Muslim youth, who otherwise emphasized the Islamic aspect of their identity, would justify the necessity of caste, either for adopting it as name, or for its implied social status, or simply for ‘knowing’ somebody through his or her caste name. I will explain its significance through an interesting ethnographic note: some months back I was invited by a former Pakistani political activist to a social gathering in Amsterdam. The gathering occurred at a pizzeria owned by one Sheikh sahib or Mr Sheikh (name of a merchant caste) on a side street of the P.C. Hooftstraat in Amsterdam. Beside the activist friend Choudhry sahib (a land owing caste) the other friends accompanied were Raja sahib (a Rajput or ruling caste) and a Malik sahib (a sub-caste of Rajputs). During the whole gathering they called each other with these caste names and not by ‘actual’ names. Except the name of my political activist friend, I still do not know what the ‘actual’ names of his friends were. I am also not sure whether, considering their position as ‘successful migrants’ the actual names matter for them at all.
Another case of ambiguous naming is when Pakistani or South Asian writers and literati use their pen-names under which they publish their literary works. Such names can be of poetic import, and are sometimes adopted from the birth place of the user. During my Persian classes in Islamabad in the 1980s an Iranian teacher used to call me Agha (Mr) Morgahi as I was born in a place called Morgah. I liked that name, and adopted it myself, mostly for my writings, although it remained for an ‘unofficial’ use.
Mohammad Amer (“Morgahi”) is finishing his PhD at the SCA after the ISIM, the Leiden-based institute of Islam, was closed down.
In this early period I explained to other people why I should be called ‘Amer’ and not ‘Mohammad’– as ‘Amer’ was the name my parents gave me while ‘Mohammad’ they might have added for some religious, devotional reasons or simply because everybody has two names thus I should also have a second name. However, when I came across official institutes or formal occasions in the Netherlands I had to accept gradually that when someone called out ‘Mohammad’ they usually meant me. Occasionally, when I insisted on calling myself ‘Amer’ and not ‘Mohammad,’ people thought me arrogant for preferring to be called by my achternaam (surname) – usually used for addressing people formally. On other occasions people thought that I was shy about using the name, ‘Mohammad,’ due to its specific religious connotations.
It is not that the Pakistanis do not have surnames but the story is a bit complex, and hard to cover within the post-Napoleon nomenclature that underlies the Dutch naming system. There are a number of possibilities available for choosing surnames within the Pakistani context: a most common usage is where the kids, or a wife after marriage, takes the first, and not second, name of their father or husband, as their surname. Take the example of the former Pakistani premier Mohammad Nawaz Sharif. He took ‘Sharif’ from his father, Mohammad Sharif, while his son is called Hussain Nawaz, and his wife Kalsoom Nawaz. This is a preferred system of adopting a surname among upwardly mobile groups in Pakistan. With the migration and settlement however this choice is no more self-evident. The Dutch municipal officials would give you only limited possibilities of choosing a surname – it must come from a father or mother, or a husband, in the case of married women. Thus while their cousins ‘back home’ are free to choose first or second name of their parents or that of husbands as surname, the Pakistani migrants have to accept the choices that the Dutch system of naming provides them.
Another category is where clan or caste names are adopted as family names. We have the famous families like Bhuttos or Zardaris, which are actually clan names. The choice for the caste name as family name becomes a wider practice mostly among the Punjabi ethnic groups. The caste system among many Pakistanis still plays a role mostly in arranging marriages where caste compatibility is measured before deciding about a potential spouse. When using the caste name as surname, only ‘higher’ caste names would be used as surname. Historically the caste system is quite flexible, as one can move upward in the system through, for example, migration. By using caste as surname, certain rigidity is created in the caste structures, and the European systems of naming curiously further solidify it through its inherent inflexibility.
In more recent times a certain Islamization of names has taken place. Children are given names following certain figures from Islamic history or to adopt names that have some religious meanings. In such cases people look for meanings and the personal name should also reflect it. Where such a search for meanings is related with recent religious insurgence, visible in all religions, however one should not exaggerate the impact of such search on everyday choices of the migrants. During my fieldwork many Muslim youth, who otherwise emphasized the Islamic aspect of their identity, would justify the necessity of caste, either for adopting it as name, or for its implied social status, or simply for ‘knowing’ somebody through his or her caste name. I will explain its significance through an interesting ethnographic note: some months back I was invited by a former Pakistani political activist to a social gathering in Amsterdam. The gathering occurred at a pizzeria owned by one Sheikh sahib or Mr Sheikh (name of a merchant caste) on a side street of the P.C. Hooftstraat in Amsterdam. Beside the activist friend Choudhry sahib (a land owing caste) the other friends accompanied were Raja sahib (a Rajput or ruling caste) and a Malik sahib (a sub-caste of Rajputs). During the whole gathering they called each other with these caste names and not by ‘actual’ names. Except the name of my political activist friend, I still do not know what the ‘actual’ names of his friends were. I am also not sure whether, considering their position as ‘successful migrants’ the actual names matter for them at all.
Another case of ambiguous naming is when Pakistani or South Asian writers and literati use their pen-names under which they publish their literary works. Such names can be of poetic import, and are sometimes adopted from the birth place of the user. During my Persian classes in Islamabad in the 1980s an Iranian teacher used to call me Agha (Mr) Morgahi as I was born in a place called Morgah. I liked that name, and adopted it myself, mostly for my writings, although it remained for an ‘unofficial’ use.
Mohammad Amer (“Morgahi”) is finishing his PhD at the SCA after the ISIM, the Leiden-based institute of Islam, was closed down.
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