The Rock Star and the Mullahs

Salman Ahmed is a man on a mission: to challenge Pakistan’s hardline mullahs on why they believe music is not allowed in Islam. Being the lead guitarist of Junoon, South Asia’s biggest and most famous rock band, means that Ahmed has somewhat of a prior bias, but that doersn’t stop him from going to find out what the other side thinks, even if it entails talking to
religious students in a madressah or meeting with a fearsome Peshawar mullah called "Mullah Electricity" who thinks that all women should be kept at home and all the people living in the world’s 52 Islamic nations are the children of swine.

This is the gist of a BBC documentary called "The Rock Star and the Mullahs" directed by Angus McQueen and Ruhi Hameed. Aired earlier this year on BBC 4 in Britain and PBS in the United States, the documentary, which has just won a prestigious South Asian Journalism Association award, follows Ahmed as he travels from Karachi to Peshawar and then to Lahore in order to investigate the position of music in Pakistani society.

It’s an ambitious project, and one that at times seems a little overwhelming for McQueen and Hameed as they attempt to sift through the exotic imagery and religious sensationalism that is an easy pitfall for so many Western journalists and filmmakers in Islamic countries. But the opening sequence intersperses a Junoon concert with students memorizing the Quran at a
madressah, showing that the ecstasy of rock and the fervor of religion are identical in look and behavior. It’s an electrifying comparison that will leave you feeling surprised and a little shocked, even if you possess liberal leanings, as will a later scene involving a rock star, some half-dozen would-be
mullahs, and an electric guitar...

The film soon gains a warm, personal touch as it introduces us to Ahmed, a thoughtful, eager musician who’s been called the "Bono of Pakistan" for his
social activism and his populist stance. Dressed like the typical rocker in shades and ponytail, Ahmed exhibits none of a rock star’s hubris when he talks about his country, its people, or their attitude towards Islam. "In Pakistan, everything that happens to you is a sign from God." He’s equally at ease in a prayer line with a group of madressah students, hosting a music show with two slick VJs on Indus Music, or addressing an assembly at a girls’ college - a man of and for his people, as eager to discuss and learn as he is to make music.

Ahmed meets with the young students of a religious school and talks to them about why they believe that music should be declared haraam, or forbidden, in Islam, as has already been done in the NWFP by a group of fundamentalist mullahs who feel that music is equal to obscenity. The students don’t back down one inch on their beliefs, despite some earnest preaching by Ahmed
on rock music’s behalf. You expect a confrontation between the students and the rock star, but in a touching volte-face, they compliment him on the beauty of his long hair, ask him for autographs, and escort him to his car and wave him goodbye when he leavers the grounds of the madressah. You can’t help but being touched by the tolerance that has such untapped potential in Pakistan, and the lingering sense of regret that it isn’t nurtured enough in this violent and fragmented society.

Ahmed’s stance is equally respectful when speaking with Mullah Electricity, who looks and speaks as though he’s been conjured straight from a textbook on Islamic terrorism. But like his opponent, Ahmed is in no mood to compromise with anybody. He truly believes music is a way of expressing spirituality that he isn’t ready to give up any time soon, no matter how
much the students or the mullah try to convince him that his profession is sinful. Thus the documentary is a tribute to Ahmed’ s steadfast beliefs, and his courage in defending them to some of the most feared elements in society.

Ahmed goes on the streets to find out what ordinary people think about the music-as-obscenity issue too; he boards a bus in Peshawar to talk to the passengers, who all end up singing Junoon songs with him; he visits a shopkeeper who shows him rows of empty shelves and explains that the MMA ban on music means a loss of livelihood for many; and he visits with a popular Pathan wedding singer who has been arrested in the past for staging public performances in the strict Frontier province. It seems that no one, religious or layperson alike, can give Ahmed a satisfactory answer to his question: "Why is music not allowed in Islam?" or even prove to him that such a directive is written anywhere in the Quran.

There is some, but not enough, attention given to the tradition of Sufi music in Pakistan, which is presented as the homegrown version of Islam in opposition to the imported Saudi Arabian version followed by the hardliners. McQueen and Hameed also touch upon the vast rage felt by Pakistani Muslims
about the war in Iraq, but only in a cursory manner. Too much to say in too little time, but the subject demands a deeper treatment in an expanded format – maybe a three part series instead of a fifty minute single shot at addressing the issue in all its complexity.

But these are minor quibbles. McQueen and Hameed do a good job of exposing the huge contradictions in Pakistani society regarding music with simple, vivid illustrations, as a man on the Peshawar bus innocently points out that while the mullahs have banned music, "they all listen to music themselves". "The Rock Star and the Mullahs" is an arresting piece of filmmaking; big, bold, and brave. It stirs up controversy, excites the senses, and gives viewers plenty to think about. Finally, its biggest strength is the warmth of personality of its protagonist, Salman Ahmed, the rock star who may not have all the answers, but has definitely got all the right questions.