I arrived in Lahore the morning that the latest terrorist plot was revealed. I was on a flight from Glasgow full of young British Pakistanis who, like me, hadn't been to Pakistan for years, and who looked slightly alarmed when the cabin crew greeted them with a formal Assalaam-o-alaikum. I had come to see family and friends, and in virtually every house I visited, people asked me about whether the terror plot was an invention. I took this for a joke on the first few occasions, but soon I realised that people meant it. Everyone from teenage cousins to ex-members of parliament then went on to explain that the arrests and the publicity surrounding them were obviously an attempt to divert attention from Israel's aggression in Lebanon.
Like any conspiracy theory, this one draws on paranoia and a desire to shift the blame—in this case, to shift it away from British Pakistanis. But there are other elements in this reaction, and they reveal a lot about Pakistan's encounter with the modern world.
I had lunch with a group of cousins, all studying at university and some with hopes of studying abroad. I answered detailed questions about which mobile networks were the most popular in Britain and the features of the latest handsets. I struggled to articulate the difference between certified and chartered accountants. There was a fascination in Lahore with the "west," which isn't surprising on account of its relative wealth, but there is also a profound belief in its ingenuity. Of course the Americans could engineer the events of 9/11 and blame al Qaeda. After all, they've led the revolution in computing. Their streets are tidy. Their water is clean. When I try to puncture this view of American omnipotence by pointing out the US's failure to master Iraq and Afghanistan, I'm told that the US wants a civil war in Iraq, that it is looking for an excuse to stay for as long as possible. These views are an expression of the belief the west is at war against Islam—but one of the roots for them is an almost touching belief in the overwhelming power of the west.
The other factor behind the conspiracy theories is that Pakistanis are bitterly aware that their newspapers and television do not tell the truth. Corruption is widespread in Pakistani society, and yet is rarely reported. People know how things really work, and the media tries to tell them that they work differently. When government ministers announce new money to deal with problems of sewage and water supply, everyone assumes that the money will end up mostly in the pockets of officials and middlemen—which is often true. Usman, who works for a pharmaceutical company in Lahore, told me that the retail price of medicines includes a premium built in to cover the cut taken by doctors for prescribing the products of any particular company. The media doesn't report this but patients know—and have to buy the medicines anyway.
In the seven years since I was last here, the country has certainly made economic progress. There's been a liberalisation of the motorcycles market—previously, only three brands were allowed—and, as a consequence, prices have tumbled, payment installment schemes have come into place, and the evocative sound of motorcycle exhausts has grown, as has congestion. The number of cars has grown too, as changes in the banking sector have led to the creation of leasing arrangements. Property prices in the big cities, and elsewhere, are booming.
Amid all of this, the conspiracy theories don't die, but there's also a sense of puzzlement about why Pakistanis abroad would plan terrorist attacks. There is broad support here for those fighting in Kashmir, as there was for those pursuing the Islamist cause in Afghanistan against the Soviets. But those battles are seen very differently. They are struggles for freedom, and for the spread of Islam. It's difficult to see plans to blow up civilian aircraft in Britain in the same way.
The other puzzlement is about why Pakistanis living somewhere like Britain do not become completely "westernised." I'm asked regularly about how easy it is to buy alcohol, about which techno DJs I like best. There's almost a sense that, given that these delights are so readily available, surely most young people are unable to resist. This flows from the spread of "western practices" here in Pakistan. Despite official restrictions, it's possible to buy alcohol even in small rural towns. I'm writing this article in an internet café, where every seat is against the wall and every computer surrounded by a wooden box, so that users can view pornography without worrying about peeping Toms. As older people in particular see it, if young people here are embracing western temptation so readily and at the risk of legal sanction, surely young British Pakistanis must indulge to excess.
In the end, what I find more puzzling is the reaction of British Pakistanis to the discovery that most of the plotters were from their own community. The conspiracy theories that you hear in Pakistan are also widely believed by British Pakistanis. It does seem that the sense of Muslim grievance in Britain has only deepened in recent months, with spokesmen defensively changing the subject to Lebanon or the lack of a public inquiry into 7/7. It's unclear what it will take to redress this.
In the meantime, I've been warned here that I'll be interviewed intensively when I go back to Britain and that I really should come back more often—if the British let me.
