In my younger days, 1970s and 80s, it was a common sight to see men, young and old, carrying guns everywhere in Hashtnagar, literally meaning eight cities, the area that includes Charsadda and 7 other towns in the area. Guns were carried while travelling in bus or walking around, being on a bicycle or riding the newly introduced motorcycles. Even the Imam of our mosque, who used to visit only for Friday prayers from Shabqadar, used to carry a German C96 Mauser, a big pistol with a wooden holster. As kids we used to fancy the gun more than the sermon and looking at the firebrand while he used to deliver his Friday sermon; and then shaking his hands after the prayers was a rare pleasure. He was a very kind man, soft spoken, gentle, and always delighted to see the kids coming to the mosque. These were the days when guns in Pashtoon society had nothing to do with violence. Violence was there, but every person carrying a gun weren't trigger happy. True, there were family feuds and other issues that ended in violent encounters, but it was nothing compared to the state of affairs we are in at the present.
The tragedy in Charsadda has brought the brave side of Pashtoons to the fore. The professors sacrificing their lives to save their students and students and local staff defending the university are acts of bravery that have been lauded nationally as well as globally. In the mixed expression of grief and frustration we have seen outcries like "we don't need laptops, give us guns", and many similar slogans. These are very natural emotional expressions after the loss of so many lives and the emerging sense of mistrust in the state institutions to protect educational institutions, especially those of higher education. But all this fury and anger should't make us blind to the very purpose of having educational institutions, higher education in particular.
The emerging debate of carrying guns for the sake of personal security and collective good on campuses is not an easy question to answer. This has nothing to do with the Pashtoon traditions, the sacrifice of teachers and students, the bravery of these young men as well as the local staff. There is a deeper moral question involved. A question that could not be brushed aside in the sentimental remembrance of a past that looks pretty through the lens of nostalgia. The last few decades were the years of the rise of education and that of the importance of the child in a family in this region. These were also years of the rise of nucleus family due to increasing number of working class Pashtoons. The youth got educated and started looking for jobs. A working class mind always thinks about getting a better career, looks for better schools for his/her child, and, naturally, likes to avoid anything that threatens their job security. And what could be more fatal to job security than a family feud, an old enmity, or a new one. Had there been any older scores to settle, the Pashtoon working class avoided getting into new ones.
Marx was right while saying that cultural change happened best through the change in the instruments of production. The land tillers got into 9 to 5 office routines. Sons (and also daughters) bringing cash on a given date was a great help to support the farming family. Slowly but gradually everyone wanted to have more and more of their family members into jobs, preferably government jobs. The change in the instruments of production also brought change in the family structure. Nucleus families emerged out of the ages old joint family system. The nucleus family brought one necessary change with it: the rise of the importance of the child. The little guys became the centre of attention of the parent. The bread winning father and the house-holding mother's focus of attention is now the child. And what is the most important thing for a child after a healthy meal, clothing, and health? It is education. Look at the network of private schools in every nook and corner of KP. Look at the rise of universities in every corner of the province. And not only are there universities, there is competition among young men and women to get admitted into these universities.
What does it signify? It signifies the emergence of a new paradigm. It is not simply a paradigm shift. Pashtoons have reinvented themselves in one of the darkest hours of their history. They have decided to transform the tribal tradition of gun loving folk to that of book loving, education thirsty nation. This is the new national identity of the Pashtoons. Our decision to work at universities and the youth's to get educated there is a cultural change, made through a moral decision of a people who see life differently. This is the social role this new Pashotoon society has assigned to teachers and students. In the same way we have abdicated the gun loving and carrying role in favour of the security apparatus of this country. Asking us to perform a social role we no longer own is too naive. It is not possible to go back to my childhood days and watch "Tamache Mullah (The Religious Scholar with a Pistol)" in the Friday sermon. He is no more there, nor is anyone with any semblance to him. In the words of Iqbal, "Worn out ideas could never rise to power in a people who had worn them out".
The right thing to do is to support and sustain universities and all teaching institutions perform their social role and make it possible for the institutions responsible for security to perform theirs. It is never about expediency and ad-hocism. It is about firm decisions keeping in mind the right roles each and everyone among us are destined to perform. Pashtoons are courageously going through the worst of all times. The national leadership should recognise it and make sure that this cultural progress is respected and defended. This is the basis of a true national unity. A nation failing to achieve this doesn't stand a chance in the comity of nations.
