“I am looking for a suitable match for my son. Do you know of anyone? She should be from a respectable family, pretty, and light-skinned.”
That was the criteria in the society of Pakistan; the culture I grew up in. And the ladies said it without a hint of embarrassment. It was a given that light-skin was a mark of beauty.
Listen to this:
“My son is dark-skinned, so my daughter-in-law has to be light-skinned or our progeny will be ruined.”
I witnessed this conversation. And I bought into that value system. I will make no excuses for my youth.
In grade school, girls would tease dark-skinned girls, calling her kali.
My father was light-skinned, my mother dark-skinned. He was handsome, she was beyond beautiful; stunning even in her eighties. They fell in love, were married, and this is what the ladies whispered to one another:
“Such a handsome man! What did he see in this kali?” My mother told me that.
As for me, by Pakistani standards, I am neither light nor dark-skinned, just enough of a blend to pass the match-making test. When I went away to college, the girls in the dorm exchanged skin-lightening remedies, from rubbing lemon juice into the skin to using hydrogen peroxide to bleach facial hair.
Where did that preference come from? Blame the British—the white colonial masters. They conferred status on those who aspired to become British in their ways. Those who indulged in their native culture and ‘primitive’ ways, were looked down upon. A slave-mentality was inculcated in the hearts and minds of the colonists, an inferiority complex about their culture, language, and skin color. Whiteness became associated with rightness. And it endured long after the British left in 1947—in the age I grew up in.
In 1958 my father went to the U.S. for military training and observed discrimination against Blacks. He told me about the Loving case, the law prohibiting inter-racial marriage. He told me about the time when he and his Black colleague–an officer in the U.S. army—went for a drive. Daddy pulled into a café for a coffee break, but as he got out, his colleague said: “You go, I don’t want coffee.” As he approached the entrance to the café, he noticed a sign: “Black men not allowed.” Daddy felt embarrassed. He often told me this story expressing his sadness. After Obama’s election, he wrote an informal op-ed of sorts celebrating his victory with a footnote: Mrs. Loving died just months before the election.
When I came to America in 1971, in every encounter with a Black person, I saw a persecuted human being. Decades later, I had my run-in with Cornel West. He was a guest speaker at my professional association. In his speech, he said: “Pakistanis are racist.” I grew hot under my three-piece suit and after the session, confronted him in private. I don’t recall my precise words other than my ‘how could you!’ tone, but I do remember him telling me that a family member of his had married a Pakistani man, “. . . let me tell you. Pakistanis are racist.” I fought back, until the President of the association walked up and broke it up. So outraged was I that I sent a letter of complaint to the President and board members of the association. The response was swift—they will pay more attention to who they invite. When I told my office staff, some of whom were Black, they were shocked and disappointed in him. That is when I realized that the man I had confronted, was a celebrity, a hero of sorts. In my moment of Pakistani patriotism, I had failed to see the ‘she must be light-skinned’ as indicative of what? - bias, prejudice, or even racism. Now each time I see Cornel West on T.V., I feel a twinge of embarrassment. There was a grain of truth in what he said. But just a grain, not a bushel. We won’t paint all people of a nation with one white or black brush. There is more grey than we know.
That brings me to the Pakistani-Americans and Muslim Americans in the moment. As protests erupt worldwide over racial injustice, Muslim leaders in the U.S. are urging their flock to join the movement. On-line sermons, classes and seminars now feature Islam and race.
The prophet Muhammad’s last sermon on racism is being invoked:
“No white has superiority over a black, nor black has superiority over a white; no Arab has superiority over a non-Arab, no non-Arab has superiority over an Arab; except in piety and righteousness.”
The Quran is invoked:
“And among His wonders is the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the diversity of your tongues and colors; for in this, behold, there are messages indeed for all who are possessed of knowledge.” 30:22
”O mankind, indeed We have created you from male and female and made you peoples and tribes that you may know one another.” 49:13
The prophet Muhammad urged mankind to fight injustice:
“Whosoever of you sees an evil, let him change it with his hand; and if he is not able to do so, then [let him change it] with his tongue; and if he is not able to do so, then with his heart — and that is the weakest of faith.”
It is not enough that you have to be non-racist. You have to be anti-racist.
It’s not enough to condemn injustice, you have to establish justice.
Years ago, long before the George Floyd killing, my son prepared to go for Hajj–the pilgrimage to Mecca. He was shopping for a tour group, interviewing travel group leaders. One of them—an imam— got back to him, saying, “I am sorry but I can only talk for a few minutes because I have to get to a meeting of Black Lives Matter.”
“We don’t need to talk further. I am going with your travel group.” Interview over.
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