(Ahlul Bayt News Agency) - Last Thursday one of the deadliest sectarian bombings in recent history took place in the Pakistani city of Quetta. On Friday the relatives of the victims placed the coffins of the 89 dead on the city's main road, and staged a sit down protest, refusing to bury their dead until the government met their demands for protection.
Throughout the weekend, thousands of people continued the sit-in while solidarity protests took place in the cities of Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad, as well as London, New York and Toronto. Faced with mounting national, and international, outrage as the coffins continued to lie in the road, the Pakistani Government finally responded late last night sacking the Chief Minister of Balochistan, the province in which Quetta is located. A new Governor has been appointed who has given assurances that action will be taken against the leaders of the group who claimed responsibility for the atrocity; the Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, a banned extremist Sunni group, with its roots in the Punjab province of Pakistan.
Sectarian violence in Pakistan against the Shia has escalated to such an extent over the last few years, it is now being described by some as genocide. Elsewhere in the world sectarian tensions are also on the rise. The continuing problems in Iraq, the civil war in Syria, the protests in Bahrain are all being demarcated along sectarian lines.
The schism between the Sunni majority and Shia minority of the Muslim world dates back centuries. It centres on the succession to the Prophet Muhammad, with the Shia disputing the legitimacy of the first Caliph, or successor, to the Prophet. In their eyes the rightful successor was Ali, the son-in-law and cousin of the Prophet, who later became the fourth Caliph. Ali's caliphate was marred by civil war as Muawiyya, the then governor of Syria, refused to accept his position.
The biggest impetus to the Shia movement came when Muawiyya, who became leader after the assassination of Ali, nominated his son Yazid as his successor. The Imam Hussain, son of Ali, and grandson of the Prophet, refused to give allegiance and a bloody confrontation took place on the plain of Karbala in Iraq. The Imam Hussain was martyred along with his small band of companions. It was this event that eventually led to the downfall of the Umayyad Empire; allowing the Abbasids to ride in on the wave of sympathy engendered for the family of the Prophet.
The death of the Imam Hussain is a deeply emotive and controversial issue. To this day the Shia movement draws impetus from it, and is renewed by the annual commemoration events in the first month of the Islamic calendar, Muharrum. The deeply divisive nature of the debate between Sunni and Shia has been exacerbated over the centuries not only by theological differences, but also by political and historical factors such as the power clashes and border disputes between the Sunni Ottoman Empire and Shia Safavid Empire of Iran.
The events in Pakistan made me think nostalgically of my childhood, when Shia and Sunni lived peaceably side by side. As a small child I spent three years in the Punjab province of Pakistan. My father hailed from an all-Sunni village, while the village next door was all-Shia. I can still remember my excitement at being allowed to make the 20 minute trip to witness the commemorative procession of the 10th day of Muharrum. The star feature of this, in my six year old eyes at least, was the 'Zuljanah', the white horse representing the horse the Imam Hussain rode in the battle of Karbala.
My maternal grandmother's village was a mixture of Sunni and Shia. One Muharrum my cousins and I decided the rooftops of the Shia homes would give the best vantage point to witness the various ceremonies. The bloodiest casualty amongst us was my five-year-old cousin who, in his eagerness to see over our shoulders, managed to tumble down a ladder!
Children from Bradford, West Yorkshire, play together as Syima did when small. The Joseph Rowntree Foundation's 2011 report, Living Through Change, found that poverty shared by different communities was more important than divisions between them. Photograph: Gabriel Szabo/Guzelian
Maybe as a child I was unaware of any deeper currents, but even when we moved back to England some of our closest family friends were Shia. Indeed, one of my earliest memories of Bradford is of the house where the Muharrum gatherings would take place. My parents were Sunni but brought me up without a sectarian mindset, a fact for which I am deeply grateful. In fact, my first awareness of sectarianism came via the politics of university Islamic societies, a feature that is alive and flourishing to this day. Intrigued, and having a fascination with history, I went through a period of reading narratives, arguments and counter-arguments from both sides and for a while this formed a significant part of my Islamic learning.
However, about eight years ago I became seriously ill. The prospect of mortality made me examine my spiritual health. From that point on I decided to concentrate, not on historical points, and the whys and wherefores of sectarianism, but on my own self-development. The event crystallised certain points for me – namely that I didn't want to be labelled; I wanted to be free to believe in the Islam brought by the Prophet, without being placed in the narrow box sets of sectarian beliefs developed after his death. I decided that I did not want my Islam to be like Rumi's Elephant, where each person believed their part of the elephant to be the whole elephant. Islam, like all religions, is at its core about becoming a better human being and this, I decided, was where I wanted to focus my attention.
Surely we should view diversity as a blessing rather than as a continuous point for strife. The most basic common denominator between all of us is our shared humanity whatever our religious beliefs, or lack thereof. Cannot we as human beings unite around this point of commonality, and view each additional facet of shared experience, or belief, as an extra blessing?
Syima Aslam, who Tweets here, is a freelance sales and marketing professional based in Bradford. She also blogs about Islam, feminism, culture and parenting.
Throughout the weekend, thousands of people continued the sit-in while solidarity protests took place in the cities of Lahore, Karachi and Islamabad, as well as London, New York and Toronto. Faced with mounting national, and international, outrage as the coffins continued to lie in the road, the Pakistani Government finally responded late last night sacking the Chief Minister of Balochistan, the province in which Quetta is located. A new Governor has been appointed who has given assurances that action will be taken against the leaders of the group who claimed responsibility for the atrocity; the Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, a banned extremist Sunni group, with its roots in the Punjab province of Pakistan.
Sectarian violence in Pakistan against the Shia has escalated to such an extent over the last few years, it is now being described by some as genocide. Elsewhere in the world sectarian tensions are also on the rise. The continuing problems in Iraq, the civil war in Syria, the protests in Bahrain are all being demarcated along sectarian lines.
The schism between the Sunni majority and Shia minority of the Muslim world dates back centuries. It centres on the succession to the Prophet Muhammad, with the Shia disputing the legitimacy of the first Caliph, or successor, to the Prophet. In their eyes the rightful successor was Ali, the son-in-law and cousin of the Prophet, who later became the fourth Caliph. Ali's caliphate was marred by civil war as Muawiyya, the then governor of Syria, refused to accept his position.
The biggest impetus to the Shia movement came when Muawiyya, who became leader after the assassination of Ali, nominated his son Yazid as his successor. The Imam Hussain, son of Ali, and grandson of the Prophet, refused to give allegiance and a bloody confrontation took place on the plain of Karbala in Iraq. The Imam Hussain was martyred along with his small band of companions. It was this event that eventually led to the downfall of the Umayyad Empire; allowing the Abbasids to ride in on the wave of sympathy engendered for the family of the Prophet.
The death of the Imam Hussain is a deeply emotive and controversial issue. To this day the Shia movement draws impetus from it, and is renewed by the annual commemoration events in the first month of the Islamic calendar, Muharrum. The deeply divisive nature of the debate between Sunni and Shia has been exacerbated over the centuries not only by theological differences, but also by political and historical factors such as the power clashes and border disputes between the Sunni Ottoman Empire and Shia Safavid Empire of Iran.
The events in Pakistan made me think nostalgically of my childhood, when Shia and Sunni lived peaceably side by side. As a small child I spent three years in the Punjab province of Pakistan. My father hailed from an all-Sunni village, while the village next door was all-Shia. I can still remember my excitement at being allowed to make the 20 minute trip to witness the commemorative procession of the 10th day of Muharrum. The star feature of this, in my six year old eyes at least, was the 'Zuljanah', the white horse representing the horse the Imam Hussain rode in the battle of Karbala.
My maternal grandmother's village was a mixture of Sunni and Shia. One Muharrum my cousins and I decided the rooftops of the Shia homes would give the best vantage point to witness the various ceremonies. The bloodiest casualty amongst us was my five-year-old cousin who, in his eagerness to see over our shoulders, managed to tumble down a ladder!
Children from Bradford, West Yorkshire, play together as Syima did when small. The Joseph Rowntree Foundation's 2011 report, Living Through Change, found that poverty shared by different communities was more important than divisions between them. Photograph: Gabriel Szabo/Guzelian
Maybe as a child I was unaware of any deeper currents, but even when we moved back to England some of our closest family friends were Shia. Indeed, one of my earliest memories of Bradford is of the house where the Muharrum gatherings would take place. My parents were Sunni but brought me up without a sectarian mindset, a fact for which I am deeply grateful. In fact, my first awareness of sectarianism came via the politics of university Islamic societies, a feature that is alive and flourishing to this day. Intrigued, and having a fascination with history, I went through a period of reading narratives, arguments and counter-arguments from both sides and for a while this formed a significant part of my Islamic learning.
However, about eight years ago I became seriously ill. The prospect of mortality made me examine my spiritual health. From that point on I decided to concentrate, not on historical points, and the whys and wherefores of sectarianism, but on my own self-development. The event crystallised certain points for me – namely that I didn't want to be labelled; I wanted to be free to believe in the Islam brought by the Prophet, without being placed in the narrow box sets of sectarian beliefs developed after his death. I decided that I did not want my Islam to be like Rumi's Elephant, where each person believed their part of the elephant to be the whole elephant. Islam, like all religions, is at its core about becoming a better human being and this, I decided, was where I wanted to focus my attention.
Surely we should view diversity as a blessing rather than as a continuous point for strife. The most basic common denominator between all of us is our shared humanity whatever our religious beliefs, or lack thereof. Cannot we as human beings unite around this point of commonality, and view each additional facet of shared experience, or belief, as an extra blessing?
Syima Aslam, who Tweets here, is a freelance sales and marketing professional based in Bradford. She also blogs about Islam, feminism, culture and parenting.