Women and TV Culture in Pakistan : Gender, Islam and National Identity 9781788311779, 9781786724373, 9781786734372

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Munira Cheema is a lecturer in Media and Cultural Studies at the University of Sussex, as well as Associate Director of the Sussex Centre for Cultural Studies. She previously taught at Roehampton University and University of the Arts London. She has recently published articles in Feminist Encounters: A Journal of Critical Studies in Culture and Politics, and is a contributor to Television for Women: New Directions and Women in Media and Politics: Perspectives from Nations in Transition. She completed her AHRC-funded PhD at the University of Sussex.

WOMEN AND TV CULTURE IN PAKISTAN Gender, Islam and National Identity

MUNIRA CHEEMA

Published in 2018 by I.B.Tauris & Co. Ltd London • New York www.ibtauris.com Copyright q 2018 Munira Cheema The right of Munira Cheema to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Every attempt has been made to gain permission for the use of the images in this book. Any omissions will be rectified in future editions. References to websites were correct at the time of writing. Library of South Asian History and Culture 13 ISBN: 978 1 78831 177 9 eISBN: 978 1 78672 437 3 eISBN: 978 1 78673 437 2 A full CIP record for this book is available from the British Library A full CIP record is available from the Library of Congress Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: available Typeset in Garamond Three by OKS Prepress Services, Chennai, India Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

In memory of my aunt, Tahira Haleem, whose resilience I admire. I would not be who I am today without her love and support.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements 1.

2.

3.

Amidst Culture, Islamisation and Politics: The Rise of New TV Culture Between Politics and Privatisation: Evolution of Television Culture in Pakistan What Defines the Public/Private Distinction in Pakistani Society? Sketching Gendered Citizenship in Pakistan Scope of the Study Theoretical Framework Methodology Overview of the Chapters

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1 3 7 9 12 16 17 21

Breach in the Culture of Shame: Openness in Gender-Based Content Recalling PTV Losing Modesty/Abandoning the Dupatta Openness in Content: Consequences for Home and Lounge Glorifying or Highlighting Taboos: Is Openness about Vulgarising Gendered Content?

46

Understanding the Dynamics of the Production of Gendered Content Recalling PTV: Producers’ Perspectives Perceptions of the Producers about their Viewers

55 55 60

23 24 29 38

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Selling Crime, Misery and Rape: The Ratings Paranoia in Gendered Content Producing Gendered Content and Social Responsibility 4.

5.

6.

7.

Empowering Women or Bringing Change through Drama Serials: Producers’ Perspectives Content Heads and Producers on Bringing Change/ Emancipating Women through Drama Serial Showing Reality, Bringing Change: In Conversation with Drama Writers Interactive TV: Is Empowering Women and Bringing Change on Producers’ Agendas? Finding a Feminist Public Sphere in Interactive TV Highlighting Gendered Crimes: The Case of Breakfast Shows Producers of Crime Shows: Is Empowering/Bringing Change on Producers’ Agenda? Producers of Gender Issue-Based Talk Shows: Is Empowering/Bringing Change on Producers’ Agenda? Women Empowered or Disciplined through Gendered Content: The Case of Drama Serials Home and Relationships at the Heart of Drama Serials A Woman’s Vulnerability in Marriage: Highlighting Halala in Drama Series Consuming Drama Series and Changing Reality Engaging with Roag: An Emancipatory Project Interactive TV: Viewers Empowered or Disciplined Viewers’ Patterns of Engagement with Breakfast Shows Viewers’ Engagement Patterns with Religion-Based Talk Shows A Window to the Real World: Viewers’ Engagement Patterns with Crime Shows

Conclusion Revisiting the Attributes (Subjectivity and Performance) of the Public Revisiting the Concept of Popular Culture and Cultural Citizenship

64 73 77 80 88 98 99 105 113 117 129 131 138 141 145 150 152 156 161 171 173 174

CONTENTS

Revisiting the Concept of the Public Sphere Revisiting Methodology: Lessons Learnt The Project of Emancipation for Pakistani Women

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176 177 178

Appendix 1 Focus Groups Introductory questions (female viewers) Questions about transitions in the media Drama series Questions related to Begum Nawazish Ali Gender-based talk shows Breakfast shows (Case study: Morning with Maya) Ending questions

182 182 182 183 183 183 184 185

Appendix 2 Interviews General questions to all the producers Specific questions to the producers of drama series Questions for the producers of interactive formats Questions for producers of gender-based talk shows

186 186 187 187 188

Appendix 3 Case Studies Drama series

190 190

Appendix 4 List of Interviewees Writers Producers/Directors Production CEOs Content Heads Heads/CEO/President of television channels Sales/Marketing Heads Producers’ three top-rated gender-based talk shows in Pakistan Producers of crime shows Five hosts of breakfast shows of different channels CEO of Media Logic Research Manager

193 193 193 193 194 194 194

Appendix 5 Brief Survey

196

194 194 194 195 195

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Appendix 6 Focus Groups Overview of the lower middle class groups Overview of the middle class groups

197 197 198

Appendix 7 Transcribing Data

200

Notes Bibliography Index

202 212 223

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book could not have been completed, or even begun, without the relentless support and constant presence of several people in my life. First and foremost, I am indebted to my doctoral supervisors, Dr Kate Lacey and Dr Kate O’Riordan, for their expert guidance, and open-door policy. They gave me time, encouragement and advice – all of which ensured that I stayed on track and completed my research. My doctoral thesis examiner, Joke Hermes, provided some very constructive comments on this work. Janice Winship has been there for me throughout this journey, so I want to thank her, not just for offering clear, sound advice on improving this study but also for always being present when I needed direction. My anonymous peer-reviewers introduced me to some interesting anthropological work in media studies, and I am grateful for that. I thank my mother, Dr Parveen Rizvi, for her unconditional love, profound counselling and perpetual support. For several days in a row, and sometimes even months, she tirelessly watched over my daughter, as I scrambled to meet deadlines. My gratitude to my husband, Nauman Leghari, and my daughter, Zara, who always support me. It was a long and difficult journey for them but one that they endured with patience. My brother, Tariq Ali facilitated my mother’s journeys to the UK, so that she could help take care of my daughter. My best friend, Rabia Alavi, diligently read several drafts of my work, and worked round the clock on tight deadlines.

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Fawwad Khan was tremendously helpful in the coordination phase of my fieldwork. He arranged several of my interviews with media personnel, some of which would have been otherwise difficult to procure. My aunt, Nasreen Rizvi, aptly used her connections to coordinate some of my focus groups in Sohni Chalet, which would have been difficult to arrange on my own. The warm hospitality of my immediate family in Pakistan deserves immense recognition. The loving support of my aunts, and their constant encouragement, along with intellectually-stimulating conversations about Islam, gender and politics, contributed greatly to my research work. My driver, Tanvir, facilitated most of my focus groups, executing all the arrangements with zeal – right from deciding, procuring and serving food for my focus groups, to ensuring my safety and security in the more difficult and conservative neighbourhoods. Most importantly, I would like to thank all the housewives for indulging me in conversations that extended beyond their viewing practices and into the politics that they face at home.

CHAPTER 1 AMIDST CULTURE, ISLAMISATION AND POLITICS: THE RISE OF NEW TV CULTURE

In 2016, 1,100 women died in the name of honour in Pakistan – from women living in rural areas to those enjoying celebrity status in the cities, honour victims emerge from any ethnicity, class and family background. However, lately several trends have changed. While growing up in Pakistan, I used to read news reports (in newspapers) on gendered crimes in society; now, I watch these reports on TV news and other genres. A very recent example of this change is the airing of Baaghi (Revolutionary), a drama serial based on the life of Qandeel Baloch, a social media celebrity killed by her brother. For the first time in television history, a Pakistani broadcaster has taken up the challenge of airing the real-life story of the victim of a so-called honour killing. Through such content, society seems ready to break its silence on gender-based crimes, and a lot of this results from changes in the media landscape of Pakistan. This deluge of change in content is a direct outcome of the liberalisation of the media, a policy introduced by General Pervez Musharraf in 2002. In the pre-liberalisation era, gender issues did not occupy the same space in television broadcasting as they do now. Historically, there have been programmes to raise awareness of gender-related issues, such as family planning, but television producers would not touch on the controversial topics considered taboo in Pakistani society.1

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Since 2002, there has been a distinct change in television content, and practices such as a woman’s marriage to the Holy Qur’an,2 incest, honour killings (karo kari),3 stoning to death, adultery, remarriage after divorce, domestic violence, marriages of minors, homosexuality and the rights of women living in joint families4 have been raised in the news and across different genres. The inclusion of such content makes television very different from what it was a decade ago. In the post-liberalisation era, it is difficult not to spot the change in gender-based content. This operates on two levels: firstly, in terms of gender-related issues that had not thus far been discussed on television and, secondly, in terms of giving access to the public sphere via the new interactive genre of the talk show. Producers have not only used drama serials to offer gender-specific issues, but have also incorporated new genres to entertain and inform gendered audiences. There are programmes that are exclusively based on raising awareness of gender issues in a serious manner, and there are other programmes that highlight such issues in an entertaining way. Gendered content has three defining features. First, it is about the re-negotiation of the relationship between the public and the private realm. Second, it grants its audiences access to the mediated public sphere without dislocating them from the privacy of their homes. Third, it opens spaces for practising cultural citizenship, an aspect that can have far-reaching consequences for the female citizenry in Pakistan. At the same time, I identify two contradictory waves in this content: one that transcends the silence on gender-based issues in the name of culture and religion, and another that seeks the answer to these issues in Shari’a.5 Despite the phenomenal growth of television in Pakistan, there has been no in-depth study to date that examines why television producers have felt the need to introduce new genres dealing specifically with gender-based content, nor has much academic attention been paid to the question of how Pakistani women feel about this new wave of content on Pakistani television. The aim of this book is driven by my motivation to acknowledge this change in broadcast culture and decipher the agendas of producers in bringing changed content vis-a`-vis gender, as well as to discover how female audiences react to this change. In tracing the motivations of the producers, this book attempts to locate spaces for public sphering in commercially driven media. By examining audiences’ engagement with gendered content, this book demonstrates how viewers can be understood in terms of publics and cultural citizens. This chapter

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describes the broad context of my research in terms of prevalent gender politics and media culture in Pakistan and against the tensions between a liberalisation agenda in the media and the rise of religious conservatism.

Between Politics and Privatisation: Evolution of Television Culture in Pakistan Before the liberalisation of television in 2000, Pakistan had one terrestrial channel, the Pakistan Television Corporation channel, commonly known as PTV, which had been the state broadcaster since 1964. As state broadcaster, content on PTV reflected the policies of government in power. In the case of news, the state channel was used as the mouthpiece of the government, with hardly any screen space provided to opposition parties. However, with regards to gendered representations on screen, it is observed that the liberal governments relaxed the control on content (for example, women can be seen without dupatta),6 whereas the religiously inclined governments introduced their own agendas, with restrictions on the appearance of women such as the dupatta policy7 (see, for example, Ali, 1986; Suleman, 1999; Kothari, 2005; and Nasir, 2012). From 1964 to the early 1990s, Pakistani viewers could only watch one television channel owned by the government. In the early 1990s, the Pakistani government began to relax its control over the broadcasting culture in Pakistan by allowing Network Television Marketing (NTM) to launch as the first-ever private channel. This was an entertainment channel known for music, celebrity anchors and drama serials. After three years of broadcasting, the channel suspended its services, which left a craving for liberal media among its viewers (PEMRA, 2009). Furthermore, in 1998, the Kargil War8 was instrumental in drawing people towards buying satellite dishes, mainly because the official version of the war was not adequate for the citizens of Pakistan (Khan and Joseph, 2008). Crabtree (2009) claims that Pakistanis ‘in desperation bought illegal satellite dishes, tuning in to Indian television during the war’. Through dishes, Pakistanis could watch, not only foreign news channels but also Indian entertainment channels. Nevertheless, soon the popularity of satellite television ‘was eclipsed by a

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thriving cable industry that was cheaper and easily accessible in Pakistan’s cities and small towns’ (Proffitt and Rasul 2013: 598). At the time, Pakistani viewers were tuned into Indian channels, specifically Star Plus, to watch daily soap operas, a genre alien to Pakistani viewers. Indian channels were becoming readily available through cable operators, and their stories were based on issues facing joint family households. Additionally, the narratives were somewhat liberal for Pakistani society, with extramarital affairs as one of the central themes. On the political front, in the period from 1997 to 1999, the Pakistani government proposed implementing the Shari’a, which was followed by a coup d’ etat led by General Musharraf on 12 October 1999. By 1999, Pakistan had become vulnerable to several challenges both globally and at home. At the same time, it became an ally of the USA in the ‘war on terror’, which was followed by the mushrooming of extremist elements in society. Radical elements, such as Al-Qaeda and the Taliban, gained prominence in the province of Pakhtunkhwa and the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) of Pakistan, only to gain further hold in the cities. Amidst these crises, the country needed a strong media base to reflect a softer image of Pakistan on the global level. Pakistan needed a television culture of its own, different from PTV’s culture, and similar or better than what was offered at the time by other foreign satellite channels (including Indian news channels). Additionally, it was the time when the Cold War had ended and globalisation had escalated, when Pakistanis could access information not only through satellite channels but also through internet technologies. In 2002, the Independent Media Corporation launched its channel, Geo News, followed by other networks. Their direct competitor was not PTV, but foreign satellite channels. Since the military regime had already legalised cable television operations in 2000, the government welcomed the proliferation of new channels. The new private channels, launched in the subsequent decade, reflect a strong television culture, characterised by distinctiveness in its content and free from the direct influence of the government. However, there is still a code of conduct for these channels. The Pakistan Electronic Media Regulatory Authority (PEMRA) was founded on 1 March 2002 to issue licences and suspend services in cases of violation of its charter.9 In the last 15 years, PEMRA has issued 91 licences, of which 50 are entertainment channels and 35 are news and current affairs channels (PEMRA 2010– 2014).10

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There are five media groups that have a monopoly over the Pakistani media industry, including electronic and print media. These are the Independent Media Corporation, Pakistan Herald Publications Limited, ARY Group, Waqt Group, and Lakson Group (see, for example, Rasul and McDowell, 2012). Interestingly, it has been observed that these media houses took advantage of the post-9/11 situation and clearly chose to take sides, either with the Islamist elements or the state. As an ally in the ‘war on terror’, Musharraf’s government was considered to be proAmerican. In this scenario, private media emerged ‘as an informal power player in Pakistan’s domestic politics’ (Hassan 2014: 66). ‘The anti-Americanism of the political parties inclined them to side with the extremist clergy on television, thus reinforcing the Islamisation of the electronic media’ (Ahmed, 2006, cited in Hassan 2014: 74). In this regard, the role of PEMRA is controversial, and the content of Pakistani cable channels is regulated under PEMRA mostly when content explicitly challenges not just religion, but the State and the judiciary.11 There have been instances in the post-liberalisation era when transmissions of certain channels have been suspended for challenging and criticising the government (Walsh, 2007; Reporters without Borders, 2010). At times, political parties force cable operators to suspend their services, or the sitting government influences the content of certain private channels.12 If PEMRA does not take into account content that is objectionable to a set of viewers, then, pressure groups such as religion-based parties, the independent clergy and even influential citizens take to the streets to protest or file complaints. Likewise, on 20 May 2014, Geo TV’s licence was suspended on the charge of airing blasphemous content on one of its breakfast shows.13 Furthermore, there is an increase in the moral policing of the media landscape. In a recent study on Pakistan’s journalistic culture, Pintak and Nazir (2013) note that the overall approach of journalists ‘is a synthesis of Western practices and the development journalism of Southeast Asia: objective but respectful, independent but cooperative . . . this approach is, in part, expressed within the idiom of Islam’ (2013: 662). In this regard, I argue that the policy of liberalisation should not be confused with complete freedom of expression in Pakistani television culture. Instead, it should be seen as somewhat liberal compared to the content on PTV.

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Moreover, gender-related policy changed along with changes in government or society. During Zia’s Islamist government (1979–88), several initiatives were taken by the State to restrict freedom of expression in popular culture. This was the first time that the dupatta policy was introduced in relation to the appearance of women on screen (Kothari 2005: 291). In his second tenure (1997– 9) as prime minister of Pakistan, Mian Nawaz Sharif reinforced the conservative dupatta/stole scarf policy on PTV. At the time, television in Pakistan was facing multiple additional restrictions, including restrictions on the depiction of performing arts, popular culture and Western attire (see, for example, Ali, 1986; Kothari, 2005; Nasir, 2012). It was the second time in PTV’s history that a government had imposed such a restriction on the appearance of female actors and hosts. Additionally, it was the first attempt to impose a Shari’a-led policy on women’s representation on television (Blood 1994: 243). In 2004, the MMA, a coalition of religious parties that were part of the Opposition in Parliament (2002– 7), launched an ‘anti-obscenity campaign for the protection of women, which their youth-wing (Shababe-Milli) claimed was a feminist act’ (Brohi 2006: 71, quoted in Zia 2009: 91). At the time, MMA was the ruling party in the North West Frontier Province of Pakistan, and proposed a Prohibition of Indecent Advertisements Bill 2005, which ‘would make publishing indecent and humiliating advertisements a criminal offence’ (Zia 2009: 91). As part of this campaign, activists would deface the images of women on billboards all over the country. Such campaigns were launched in the name of protection of women from objectification. At present, there may be no official policy in relation to the appearance of women on screen, but other pressure groups, such as religion-based groups, have gained strength of late. In 2012, in response to a petition filed by the religious parties, the Supreme Court directed PEMRA to define obscenity and vulgarity in the media. This was the first move towards including a definition of obscenity in PEMRA laws, as there was no precedent definition in the Constitution of Pakistan.14 Recently, in August 2012, the ex-chairman of Jamaat-e-Islami (a political party) filed a petition to the Apex Court against vulgarity and obscenity on screen. This was taken up by the Chief Justice, who then advised PEMRA to redefine obscenity on the screen in the Pakistani context. This issue was later directed towards the Parliament and the Council for Islamic Ideology as

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the principal stakeholders to define ‘obscenity’. In parallel, other issues raised in this debate were those of vulgar and immoral programming. In the debates to define obscenity, PEMRA declared that ‘any content which is unacceptable while viewing with the family transpires obscenity’.15 There was a clear divide in opinion between the conservative and liberal stakeholders. Whereas liberal participants were of the view that it was impossible to detract foreign influence from Pakistani television (Indian and Western) and that the understanding of obscenity had evolved, conservatives sought to define obscenity in the light of the Qur’an and the Sunnah (Prophet’s acts). This issue remains outstanding in Parliament, for there is no consensus on how to approach the matter. Here, it is pertinent to mention that even members of secular and liberal parties have expressed concern about how Indian content has corrupted Pakistani television, referring to the free viewing of Indian channels and borrowing from Indian content. However, no attempt has so far been made to set limits to the ‘obscene’ content in Indian soap operas. Added recently to this media landscape are the Turkish soap operas dubbed into Urdu, which run on several Pakistani entertainment channels. The United Producers Association (UPA) has criticised PEMRA for its double standards towards foreign content, where it allows greater liberty in terms of what can be shown in Turkish soap operas (intimate scenes), and less towards local channels, where similar content is deemed obscene (Mahmood, 2012).16 Still, within this media ecology, religion is by far the strongest of all factors that influence the context of production and reception. Therefore, in this book I approach the production and reception of gender-based content in relation to a social environment where religious conservatism is garnering public appeal.

What Defines the Public/Private Distinction in Pakistani Society? Gendered content revolves around the public/private distinction in Pakistani society, as defined under Shari’a, as well as the viewers’ sense of who they are, which partly depends on their engagement with religion. Therefore, in this section I offer a brief account of the duties and rights of women prescribed under Shari’a.

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Abul Ala Maududi, one of the founders of the Pakistani right-wing political party, Jamaat-e-Islami, has played an instrumental role in defining modern day Islam in Pakistan. Along with other South Asian public intellectuals of Islam, such as Israr Ahmed and Amin Ehsan Islahi, who were campaigning for political Islam, Maududi did not initially approve of women’s participation in the public sphere. However, he eventually mellowed his stance on women’s participation in the public sphere based on the need of the hour (Jamal 2010: 334). Maududi (2010) discussed the restrictions that Islam imposes on women in a book titled Al Hijab Purdah – The Role of Women in Islam (where purdah is translated as ‘veil’ or ‘separation’). When referring to the private sphere, he stresses that ‘in this organisation, the woman has been made queen of the house. Earning a living for the family is the responsibility of the husband, while her duty is to keep and run the house with his earnings’ (Maududi 2010: 147). Syed Jalaludin Omri (2006), another Islamic intellectual and the Ameer (Head) of Jamaat-e-Islami India, similarly notes that women’s activity sphere is their household, and ‘it is no fairness to a woman that she should be taken out from her natural field of work and pushed into an unnatural field of work. It is not advantageous for her, rather a great loss’ (2006: 14). Accordingly, a woman cannot emerge from the roles assigned to her by nature, and she falls short of the competencies that are required for the public domain. Traditionally, what further barred women from accessing the public sphere can be seen in another narration discussed by Maududi: an unmarried woman is not allowed to go on a journey except in the company of a mehram (a male member of the family with whom sexual relations are forbidden). In the light of the hadith from Abu Da’ud (third of the canonical hadith collections), Maududi notes that ‘a woman should not be given such freedom of moving alone as may land her in trouble’ (2010: 150). Such an understanding, taken directly from the Qur’an and the tradition of Hadith, restricts women to the household and sheds light on her lack of judgement in public matters. This backdrop is essential to the reader, because television grants women access to a mediated public sphere that does not require them to leave the environment of the home. I will, however, raise the issue of consent from a mehram, required for women to directly participate in the mediated public sphere (Chapter 7).

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If Muslim societies obtain their understanding of the public/private distinction from the Qur’an and the Sunnah, then this has consequences for the level of personal autonomy women have in the private sphere (home). For instance, if women are completely walled off from the public sphere, how can they comment on issues of public nature or make their personal issues political? In the conservative society that Pakistanis currently live in, access to a mediated public sphere can empower women who are otherwise living under the influence of such Islamic interpretations. In recent years, it has become difficult for Muslims in Pakistan to depart from the classical texts. The blasphemy law has never been as powerful (Hanif, 2012).17 Only recently, the Council of Islamic Ideology again recommended a model bill for women’s protection that criminalises honour killings and marriage to Qur’an, but at the same time prohibits interaction with men and allows light beating of a wife (if need be).18 Still, there are a few liberal scholars, such as Amina Wudud (1999), Asma Barlas (2002), Asghar Ali Engineer (1997) and Javed Ahmed Ghamidi (2012), who have taken issue with such traditional interpretations of Islam that place women in the private sphere, assign a subordinate position to them or call them naqis-ul-aqal (intellectually deficient). Nevertheless, these scholars have no place in the mainstream public sphere (prime time) in Pakistan. A specific case that draws attention is that of Javed Ahmed Ghamidi, who was forced to leave the country and is now seeking asylum in Malaysia.19 His speeches and talks have become controversial due to his position on apostasy and etiquette for socialisation between men and women (popularly known as Mard o Zan ka ikhtilaat).20 I argue that even if the counter-narrative is pushed out of popular channels and prime time TV, it still features in the mainstream public sphere and nurtures its own counter/subaltern public (to use Fraser’s term). In this sense, the liberalisation of the media has opened many areas for debate on the rights of women in different genres.

Sketching Gendered Citizenship in Pakistan When questions related to the rights and freedoms of women are raised in the mediated public sphere, the debates revisit not just Islamic laws, but also State law. Pakistan was created as a separate homeland for the

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Muslims of the subcontinent. To date, the discourse on nationalism has been claimed in the idiom of Islam and national identity and cannot be abstracted from its sole raison d’eˆtre (see, for example, Grunenfelder, 2013; Rouse, 2004; and Shaheed, 2010). At its inception in 1947, Pakistan enacted the Government of India Act (1935) with some amendments. The Child Marriage Restraint Act (1929) and the Dissolution of Muslim Marriage Act (1939) were enacted long before the Partition of the subcontinent. After the inception of Pakistan, Ayub Khan, the second president of Pakistan, was first to introduce the Family Law Ordinance (1961), which raised the legal age for marriage from 14 to 16 years for women and 18 to 21 years for men. Lawrence describes it as ‘[t]he benchmark of Pakistan’s effort to provide legal rights for all its citizens’ (Lawrence 1994: 177). Although he judges the Ordinance as ‘hardly radical’, he argues that its provisions, nevertheless, ‘did curtail polygyny and also enhanced women’s rights in the event of divorce’. Additionally, it was a law that was criticised by the Islamist forces for the way it interfered ‘in the private domain, a domain in which only Muslim law courts can intervene’ (177). The other major statutory development in relation to women’s citizenship can be found in the current constitution, which came into effect on 14 August 1973. In the constitution, women secured equal rights to men (Articles 8– 28). Yet, these constitutional developments do not seem to occupy the mediated public discourse on gender in Pakistani television; instead, the conversation on women’s rights has just started. Women are represented as subjugated beings with restricted agency. Several examples of this depiction will be taken up in this book. In 1979, the Hudood Ordinance was passed under the dictatorial regime of Zia-ul-Haq. Part of the project of the Islamisation of Pakistan (aka Nizam-e-Mustafa), the Hudood laws, promulgated in 1979 and enforced in 1980, ‘are a collection of five criminal laws, collectively known as the Hudood Ordinances. The Offences Against Property Ordinance deals with the crime of theft and armed robbery. The Offence of Zina Ordinance relates to the crime of rape, abduction, adultery and fornication. The word Zina covers adultery as well as fornication.’21 The Offence of Qazf Ordinance relates to a false accusation of Zina. The Prohibition Order prohibits use of alcohol and narcotics. The last is the Execution of Punishment of Whipping Ordinance, which prescribes

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the mode of whipping for those convicted under the Hudood Ordinances. (Jahangir and Jilani, 2003, cited in Imran 2005: 85). This became the first step towards the Islamisation of politics and debates on rights, especially those concerning women. Whereas the Zina Ordinance complicated the distinction between adultery and rape, the Law of Evidence reduced women’s ‘legal status to half that of men’ (Toor 2008: 260). Since the Ordinance was inadequate in distinguishing between rape and adultery, women subjected to rape were often accused of adultery. The Ordinance polarised society: the conservative segments of society welcomed it, whereas human rights activists with a secular outlook protested against it. After General Zia’s death in 1988, Benazir Bhutto was elected twice as a prime minister, but did not take any step to repeal or amend the Ordinance. It was not until Musharraf’s tenure in 2006 that the law was amended and renamed the Women’s Protection Bill. This Bill allows us to differentiate between rape and adultery; however, it is not immune to criticism from the Council of Islamic Ideology.22 In the post-liberalisation era, activists, victims, legal advisors and Muslim scholars actively debated the Ordinance on television. Although debates in the media (public sphere) may not be the only factor that led to the amendment of the law, broadcasters (especially Geo TV) played a significant role in bringing the issue to the attention of ordinary people. Whereas the remnants of the Hudood Ordinance are still in place, its amendment has been a step to empower women in Pakistan. Yet, clearly, having rights does not mean full protection for these women. In fact, I argue that despite their rights, women continue to suffer from exploitative practices in the name of religion and culture. In the case of Pakistan, there are multiple factors at play that compel women to display a certain form of social behaviour. Women in Pakistan are required to conform to strong regional customs as well as strict religious practices. Issues related to morality and sexuality are guarded not only under State law and the Islamic code (Shari’a), but also through customary law applied by the community-oriented Jirga system (Toor, 2008). Citizens pick and choose from these three (Shari’a, culture/jirga and State law) systems according to their own subjectivities. For instance, so-called ‘honour killings’ are a practice that falls under regional customs, whereas women’s right to choose their marital partner falls under both customs and Shari’a. The right of a woman to divorce

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and her choice to live in a nuclear family system fall under her rights in Shari’a, whereas living in a joint family system is rooted in culture. I do not mean to generalise this scenario by stating that all women have limited access to the public sphere and are struggling to reclaim their rights either under Shari’a or State law. In fact, Pakistani women do not form a homogenous whole with the same aspirations for identical social behaviour, nor does Pakistan have a single form of feminism that represents all Pakistani women (see, for example, Mumtaz, 2005). Throughout the book, I will discuss emancipatory ideals initiated by gendered content. Most certainly, the liberalisation of the media in 2000 initiated a public discussion on issues related to women’s access to the public sphere, thereby redefining the viewing experiences of audiences in Pakistan. The rise of private channels played a significant role in bringing the Hudood Ordinance into public view. In fact, it was the popular genres on local television that took up themes related to rape and adultery, in order to highlight the exploitative nature of the law.23 I argue that the awareness generated through popular culture facilitates cultural citizenship, which, in turn, strengthens the civil and social dimensions of the traditional model of citizenship. In other words, I suggest that women’s absence from traditional forms of citizenship can possibly come to an end if gender issues become part of the mediated public sphere (popular culture).

Scope of the Study This book brings together several interrelated concerns, and thus draws on a range of sources and methodologies. It explores and builds on the traditions of reception studies, studies of gender-related content in national television cultures, public sphere theory and feminist media research. This study seeks to understand the significant ‘change in gendered content’ in Pakistan’s television culture by focusing on producers, texts and audiences. Based on the ethnographic tradition of research, this study is the first to address the dynamics of production and reception in Pakistani television culture. On the production side, it provides original data not only from those on the creative side of production (writers, directors and content heads), but also from the sales and marketing side (head of sales and marketing, and channel

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heads). It gives a thorough insight into the system and agendas through which the encoding of gender-based content works. Furthermore, interviews with selected groups of housewives in Karachi provide new insights into the factors that influence the moment of reception. Additionally, it offers an insight into women’s subjectivities at a moment in Pakistani history when media have been liberalised, and traces how their subjectivities impact their political agency. This moment is crucial in opening up research into the area of television studies, especially at a time when social media has become popular. Therefore, this study considers how television is still relevant for a certain demographic group in Pakistan, a country facing multiple challenges, particularly in relation to gender-based issues. According to the Thomson Reuters Foundation, in 2011 Pakistan was ranked third in the world in the list of dangerous countries for women.24 Karachi, where I conducted fieldwork for this project, is also considered to be one of the most dangerous cities of the world.25 It is the financial capital of Pakistan and ‘the third largest city in the world by population within city limits’ (World Population Review, 2014).26 The sociopolitical dynamics of this city are far more complicated than any other urban centre in Pakistan. It is a melting pot for all ethnicities in Pakistan, including Urdu-speaking migrants from India, Pashtuns from Khyber Pakhtun Khwa, Punjabis from the province of Punjab, Kashmiris from Azad Kashmir, even a small minority of Arabs being trained in madrassas in Karachi (Burki, 2004).27 Additionally, militant groups have a stronghold in the city. These groups are said to be involved in land-grabbing, killings of police officers and minority groups, kidnapping and extortion (Rehman and Walsh, 2014).28 The increased presence of Taliban in the city of Karachi is often known as the ‘Talibanisation’ of the city, a term that gained ground when Musharraf was in power (see, for example, BBC, 21 March 2013) However, Karachi is also home to several other parties such as the Mutahida Qaumi Movement (MQM), Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), Jamaat-e-Islami (JI) and Jeay Sindh Qaumi Mahaaz (JSQM). MQM and Jeay Sindh are linguistically and ethnically motivated parties, whereas Jamaat-e-Islami is a religion-based party. Armed clashes among these parties, target killings and land-grabbing have become a norm for the city.29 It is no wonder that in 2013 Karachi was termed the most dangerous megacity in the world.30

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The fieldwork of this study was conducted in areas dominated by Urdu speakers. Originally from India, the Urdu-speaking community migrated to Pakistan at the time of partition. The community is either referred to as the Urdu-speaking community of Pakistan or the Muhajir (migrant) community. The Muhajirs are largely settled in Karachi and Hyderabad in the province of Sindh; this is a minority group in Pakistan. More than 80 per cent of the participants in this research were Urdu-speaking, with housewives living in joint family systems with no direct access to the public sphere except through media or male guardians. This book is, therefore, a timely intervention into the debates on gender issues and women’s rights in particular. I argue that the cultural specificity of this study enriches the debates in Western literature on ethnographic research in television studies. Moreover, it constitutes a fresh addition to the rich tradition of feminist media studies, particularly the early feminist works on the soap opera. Much important feminist work has focused on the soap opera by Modleski (1982), Ang (1985), Hobson (1989) and Press (1991). Although soap operas are different to the genres studied in this book, there are still some overlapping themes, especially in terms of methodology (vis-a`-vis interviews and focus groups across generations). The number of studies on Pakistani TV culture are somewhat limited. However, Suleman (1999), Kothari (2005), Talib and Idrees (2012), Hashmi (2012) and Naqvi (2011) have explored different dimensions of TV content in their studies. In her study, Hashmi (2012) examines how the Late Night Show brought conversations of a social class (upper class) about sexuality and gender onto the TV screen. She argues that the airing of this show allowed viewers in the middle class to engage with issues of sexuality and gender. At the same time, it triggered conversations (in the secondary media) on pushing the boundaries of the public/private distinction in Pakistani society. Hashmi notes that the show’s content is telling in terms of how TV programming can be a site of contestation, where identity questions rooted in culture, religion and politics intertwine to initiate debates on gender. Suleman (1999), in particular, looks at the representation of gender in Pakistani drama serials while arguing that this genre provides occasional space for representations against the dominant ideology. She argues that the media can be used for the project of female emancipation and social

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change, but warns that media alone cannot contribute to change.31 Kothari’s work (2005), on the other hand, is the closest to my project. With a focus on textuality, production and consumption of drama serial, Kothari explores the aspect of zanana (sphere of women), where women-based discourses are created. She attempts to understand how drama serials evolved through periods of different political regimes. Kothari argues that this genre stresses the importance of ‘home’ as an indispensable sphere for women in Pakistan. Furthermore, she notes how these writers have occasionally challenged the patriarchal norms and the state-led dupatta policy. Moreover, she examines how a set of female viewers appropriate the content of the drama serial Padosi (Neighbour) to make the claim that women negotiate their ‘prescribed limits in an Islamist patriarchal society’ (2005: 290). In regional literature, Purnima Mankekar’s study (1999) on Doordarshan’s role in the portrayal and reconstruction of gendered realities during the 1980s and 1990s has informed my choice of methods. Using a similar approach, I have tried to understand and record viewers’ responses within their homes. However, unlike Mankekar, I did not watch television with viewers in their homes. Her study has several other parallels with mine in terms of understanding the reconstitution of gender on television; however, she focuses on state television in a different time, whereas I am interested in a recent wave of change in private TV culture and how it engages women as citizens. Useful as these scholarly works are, this book has a much broader remit. I will consider not just the viewers’ responses across economic class (middle class versus lower middle class) and generation (older women versus younger women), but also in terms of their intersecting identities as women and Muslims. Moreover, my work is not limited to a single genre; it relies not only on the discourse generated by viewers’ responses, but also on that of the producers. In this way, I argue that this study gives a comprehensive view of how gender-based content is produced in Pakistani television culture and provides a more holistic model for doing feminist media research. Although, thematically, this book will engage with gender, Islam and nationhood, it will theoretically intervene in debates on public sphere, cultural citizenship and the political economy of the media.

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Theoretical Framework On the theoretical front, this study utilises the concepts of publics (Warner, 2002; Dayan, 2005; Benhabib, 1992) and cultural citizens (Miller, 1993; Turner, 1994; Pakulski, 1997; Steveson, 2001; Hermes, 2005, 2010) to explore the engagement patterns of female viewers. The idea I pursue is that, at a single moment, audiences can perform as publics, remain cultural citizens for a certain genre or social cause and still be a consumer to a given media text. Likewise, at any other moment, audiences can choose to disengage from a media-text. As much as this pattern of engagement and disengagement is hard to locate, this does not imply that these categories are not stable at a given moment; they can co-exist. Moreover, the study examines how gendered content allows potential opportunities and instances whereby female viewers perform as cultural citizens and as members of the public, yet their moments of reception are heavily influenced by their immediate subjectivities (context/home). In addition to the immediate contexts, the study finds that the viewers are also influenced, tempered and disciplined through gendered discourse that travels through popular culture. Despite disciplining, popular culture raises essential identity questions for women in Pakistan. It invites them to revisit their understanding of rights as basic as living in a nuclear home. Aligning my argument with Hartley (1996), McGuigan (2005), Lunt and Pantti (2009), Dahlgren (2009), Hermes and Muller (2010) and Klein (2013), I suggest that popular culture offers a unique space where identities are negotiated, stereotypes are revisited, taboos are dismantled and controversies are sorted in emotion-laden rhetoric. In this way, gendered content across narrative and interactive genres allows occasions for episodic public spheres on screen and in viewing contexts (viewers’ homes). Following feminist scholars such as Fraser (1990), Benhabib (1992), McLaughlin (1993) and Landes (1998), I seek to understand how gendered content can be reclaimed in terms of a feminist public sphere. I suggest that in its narrative form, this sphere can be treated as a ‘precursor’ to the actual public sphere (see McGuigan (2005) on literary public sphere). Since my intention is not simply to explore the promises of gendered content vis-a`-vis public sphere and cultural citizenship, I am curious about the agendas of producers in producing a new wave of gendered

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content in a ratings-driven model. In this regard, I engage with blindspot debate in the tradition of political economy of media. Scholars (Smythe, 1977; Livant, 1978; Meehan, 1984; Gitlin, 1985; Livant and Jhally, 1986; Napoli, 2012) working in the tradition of political economy of media argue that, like any other commercial industry, media are engaged in selling and exchanging certain commodities. The debate in this direction trivialises the importance of content32 and argues that, for producers, it is the buying and selling of certain commodities that is important, whereas the content is tailored according to popular demand. I do not trivialise the importance of the popular content and its connection to the viewers. In fact, it is in this connection with content that the new popular demand emerges through ratings. Here, popular demand refers to the autonomy (though not absolute) of audiences to choose and reject certain kinds of content. I argue that broadcasters have identified themes (stoning, adultery, halala and divorce) that sell. Moreover, I do not see audiences as mere consumers; I argue that audiences of gendered content can act as critically engaged publics. Based on this theoretical toolkit, I will demonstrate throughout the book how gendered content facilitates spaces for public sphering and how it encourages female viewers to perform as publics and cultural citizens. In their performance as engaged publics, I will highlight the gendered realities of Pakistani society and evaluate the constraints and possibilities of public sphering in the commercial media industry.

Methodology The combination of methods used in this study includes limited textual analysis, a brief survey, 42 individual interviews on the production side and 32 focus groups on the reception side. Interviews and focus groups are the principal methods of this study, whereas the brief survey and textual analysis were only used to inform the questions raised in the interviews and focus groups. The brief survey was used to determine demographic details, family structure, place of viewing, control of remote and media consumption (see Appendix 5). Although gendered discourse travels through most of the TV content, I have chosen several case studies across narrative and interactive genres to discuss with my interviewees. With several sub-genres within the interactive genre, six shows have been selected, namely Alim aur Alam (Scholar and the Global

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Society, 2011– 12) and Hawa Ki Baiti (Daughter of Eve, 2011 –15) for religion-based talk shows, Geo Hina Kay Sath (Live with Hina, not on air) for social issues-based talk shows and Utho Jago Pakistan (Wake Up Pakistan, 2011–14), Subh Saveray Maya Kay Sath (Early Morning with Maya, 2011– 12) and Good Morning Pakistan (2011–present) for morning/breakfast shows. I choose to call it interactive TV, mainly because it allows viewers to interact (as in studio audiences, via email, phone calls and even letter-writing) with the panel of experts and, sometimes, with victims of gender abuse discussing gender issues. The selection of panel varies according to sub-genre. For religionbased talk shows, clergy representing different sects of Islam constitutes the panel; for social issues-based talk shows, the panel consists of a lawyer, a social activist, a doctor and a clergyman, while the breakfast shows include a celebrity guest. For the narrative form, eight drama serials have been used. The narrative form includes drama serials airing one episode per week for 23 weeks.33 These are: Qaid-e-Tanhai (Imprisoned in Loneliness, 2010), Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat (Woman Expelled from Heaven, 2012), Roag (Sorrow, 2011) and Meri Zaat Zarra-e-Benishan (My Self, a Speckle Unfound, 2010). In addition, two crime-show case studies, Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga (Shabbir Will Watch, 2012) and Jurm Bolta Hai (Crime Speaks, 2011–present) were selected, which fall into the category of narrative form as well as interactive genres.34 (See Appendix 3 for synopses of the drama serials.) These case studies were selected based on their popularity (ratings). The study has used textual analysis as the first method to identify gender-based content in Pakistani television culture. I choose to call it limited textual analysis, because it was only used to inform interview and focus group questions. According to Hartley (2003), ‘this method for reading literary as well as television text enables one to talk about universal themes in the social imaginary, both public (politics, war, news) and private (sexuality, identity, drama). At the same time, it focuses on very specific features that could be isolated and discussed’ (2003: 31). Despite its significance, I do not aim to share all the findings of this method; rather, I will use the findings of the textual analysis to identify the gendered themes for building the project. Therefore, this method is used at the first stage of research. My main intention is to look at the treatment and approach to gender-based issues across different genres. The findings of the analysis identify variations in the treatment

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of gender issues and analyse the kind of discussion and engagement that these genres allow for such issues. In assessing the treatment of gender-based issues across different genres, the use of language is of prime importance. Language is considered a ‘domain in which people’s knowledge of the social world is actively shaped’. In addition, language/tele-text (dialogues) offer sites where social identities are shaped (Tonkiss, 2012: 406) Instead of aiming for a word-by-word analysis of the debates in talk shows and dialogues in drama serials, I deployed a two-pronged strategy: the first is used to identify the common themes/issues across the genres, and the second involves the use of highly value-laden words and dialogues that directly refer to gender-based issues.35 The fieldwork for this study was conducted between October 2011 and April 2012.36 The first stage involved planning the fieldwork and selecting appropriate groups of viewers for the focus groups and interviewees on the production side. The second stage involved conducting interviews with the producers and the third stage involved carrying out focus groups among the selected viewers. The nature of the content was such that I wanted all participants in this study to speak openly on gender-based issues in society and how they relate to the gendered discourses on screen. To achieve this, I had to opt for methods that allowed full participation for the respondents. Not only did they have to identify the issues, they also had to relate them to the social realities around them. As an insider to Pakistani society and, specifically, as a woman who had spent 22 years in Pakistan, I approached this study from a feminist perspective. I was looking forward to participants’ accounts on their own stories about, and in relation to, socially-constructed, gendered realities around them and on screen. As anticipated, semi-structured interviews/discussions allowed a space where participants, whether in one-to-one interviews or in focus groups, engaged in interpreting the content in question. Such an approach favours the researcher who wishes to understand different versions of reality through participants’ accounts/stories. Constructing interviews from a feminist perspective can mean coupling feminist research methods with a feminist standpoint epistemology, challenging researchers to ‘understand the world through the eyes and experiences of oppressed women’ (Brooks, 2007: 53, in Seale, 2012). By that, I do not mean that I necessarily had ‘oppressed women’ in my sample;

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however, most of them did not participate in public life and were, in many ways, hard to approach. Additionally, a few of them, though educated, were subjugated within their homes. Interestingly, the context (the home) in which the fieldwork was conducted allowed an insight into their family structure. When researching how women make sense of/appropriate this change in gendered content, the focus groups appeared more relevant than individual interviews. The ethnographic approach to reading audiences emphasises the importance of context and ‘insists that being an audience (or “doing audiencing” or “consuming technologies”) should not be abstracted from its social context’ (Kitzinger, 2004: 178). In this sense, focus groups create a site for arguments/rhetoric, where new sets of meanings emerge through interaction, exchange of different stories or accounts in a comfortable environment. Not all respondents knew each other, but there were many things they had in common: their neighbourhood, viewing habits and lifestyles were generally similar, making them confident about sharing their views. The importance of homogeneity in the group was appreciated when discussions/findings were thwarted by the presence of ‘one unwanted person’ (usually mothers-in-law), which resulted in conducting the groups again without such a presence. Targeting the right sample audience for this research was quite challenging. I belong to the Urdu-speaking community and was raised in Karachi. While looking for the correct sample, I realised that other communities (Siraiki and Bengalis) in the lower middle class were not welcoming enough, nor were they willing to share their media consumption habits. Therefore, ‘snowballing’ turned out to be the only way to access the viewers, and groups were divided into two broad categories on the basis of class/income and age. In each income group, are two sub-categories: middle-aged and young. Middle-aged (between 35 and 55 years) refers to those women who have seen the transition of Pakistani television, and young (between 18 and 26 years) refers to those who have watched Pakistani television only during the post-liberalisation era. The findings in the chapters on the reception side will be presented across generations and class. All 32 groups were conducted exclusively in the Urdu-speaking community of Karachi. Each group has a minimum of four respondents and a maximum of six; the duration of each group was between

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50 minutes and two hours, in cases where the discussion continued over refreshments and dinner. These groups were conducted in four different localities in Karachi. Following Barbour (2007), I argue that there is no single or widely-approved formula for transcribing and coding data. Interestingly, there were several surprising elements that made the coding frame more flexible. In the first stage of transcribing, most data was transcribed in the form of notes taken during recording. Data was later formally transcribed through listening to the audios, and a fieldwork report of approximately 80,000 words was developed. The second stage of transcribing was the stage of ‘data reduction’ (McLellan, MacQueen and Neidig: 2003). Thorough examination of the fieldwork was undertaken to identify the ‘patterns of association and variation’ (to use Tonkin’s term). Based on these patterns of association and variation, I developed a summary report that highlighted the key findings of the fieldwork.

Overview of the Chapters The empirical chapters on viewer-led data present findings across generation, class and genre, whereas chapters on producer-led data present findings across genres only. Chapter 2, the first empirical chapter, commences by setting the stage for viewers’ initial response to the transition in TV culture. It begins with how they recall PTV and how they compare it with the content of private channels that they refer to as ‘open’. What appears to be ‘open’, in terms of gender-based content, focuses on three issues: firstly, it refers to losing modesty and abandoning the dupatta (the long stole that is used to cover the chest, which is an essential part of women’s wardrobe in Pakistan); secondly, it refers to the use of language that is offensive for family viewing in the lounge; thirdly, it relates to issues that are considered inappropriate for discussion in an Islamic society, such as homosexuality and prostitution. In other words, the themes raised in this chapter will highlight how ‘change’ in content is met with resistance, or an inherent desire not to change the content, but often comparing it with the content in 1990s. By engaging with the theoretical debates of the ‘commodity question’, Chapter 3 explores how producers in different capacities (directors, production heads, content heads and writers) assume that housewives form the actual audience group. Additionally, it explores the

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importance of ratings for setting any trend or formula for popular content (for example, how tragedy, misery and negativity sell better than optimism in relation to gendered themes). It then goes on to analyse the extent to which commercial broadcasters understand their role as facilitators of a public sphere. Chapters 4 and 5 pursue a similar discussion across narrative and interactive TV to find out whether producers have an agenda to emancipate and empower women or not. Utilising concepts of popular culture, the discussion shows how narrative form allows a ‘relatively unconstrained’ discourse of gender issues (Chapter 4). The findings in Chapter 5 allow a theoretical conversation with the debates on reclaiming the concept of public sphere for feminist agendas. I share how producers that work for the interactive talk show genres discuss the limitation of their platforms in bringing about change, although there is a significant exception in the case of religion-based talk shows and their hosts. Changing direction to comprehend how viewers appropriate gendered content, Chapters 6 and 7 evaluate the engagement patterns of viewers in terms of their performance as cultural citizens and publics. In the section on drama serials, I describe how viewers identify three themes: firstly, the issue of the joint family system and how it relates to the viewers’ own subjective positions; secondly, the issue of halala,37 namely the right of women to divorce under Shari’a; and thirdly, a specific issue that has influenced the viewers directly, the case of Roag, a drama serials that highlights the issue of child rape in a public space. Chapter 7 addresses the question of change and empowerment of female viewers in relation to interactive genres. The discussion demonstrates different levels of engagement across class, age and religious inclinations. All viewers in my sample acknowledge the importance of reporting crimes against women; nevertheless, this raises other problems. The necessity of breaking the silence on gender-based crimes is linked to rising stress levels, and there is concern about protecting the honour and dignity of the victims. The last chapter, namely the Conclusion, revisits the theoretical questions raised throughout the book. It examines how this project has intervened in the existent debates on publics, cultural citizenship, public sphere theory and popular culture. It discusses how reception depends upon the viewers’ immediate context, their class and their identities as Muslims, Pakistanis and women.

CHAPTER 2 BREACH IN THE CULTURE OF SHAME:OPENNESS IN GENDERBASED CONTENT

To gather women’s first impressions on gendered content, I initiated focus group discussions by asking, ‘what comes to your mind when you think of current gendered content?’ Women would instantly respond with ‘sab kuch sab itna khula hogya hae’ (‘everything is so open.’) Almost all respondents in my sample used this phrase to describe the transition in TV culture. By setting the stage for viewers’ discourse on gendered content, this chapter seeks to understand what defines the transition in content for them. During fieldwork, the recurring concern of the viewers, as well as some producers, was that gendered content is somewhat ‘open’. The term ‘openness’ is hard to define vis-a`-vis gendered content, because it does not imply a single trend. Instead, it includes multiple trends that seek to define gender dynamics on screen. The viewers’ usage of this term does not imply the liberalisation of the market; rather, it is used in relation to change in content. The word used in the local language for open is ‘khula’. Translated literally, it means something that is not concealed. The word khula (open) is used to refer to issues that should be culturally concealed, silenced or walled off; otherwise, it is used for issues that fall into the domain of sharam (shame). The whole idea of openness cannot be understood unless juxtaposed with concealment or with what falls into the category of shame in Pakistani culture. Shame is an ambivalent concept in Pakistani society; it can refer to several things. Alvi

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(2013: 178) rightly defines this ambiguous concept in terms of ‘far richer than its usual English translation “shame”, which is often associated with modesty, morality, piety, and female sexuality and its control’. Alvi explores the additional meanings of sharam in the Pakistani context, ‘as aspects of concealment as a value’: Like nakedness of humans and sacred items, virginity, beauty in concealment, honor in responsibility and as embodied self-control, affinity, self-respect, dignity, pride, reverence for the other, selfsufficiency, vulnerability, security and protection, embarrassment, an obligation to be humble, humiliation, shyness, reservedness, restraint, as well as women of the house, in particular, daughter and sister. From Alvi’s definition, it is apparent that the domain of sharam is not only dense but also vague. When certain practices transcend or negotiate the boundaries of sharam, they are labelled as open or bold.1 Although open and bold can be used interchangeably for such content, I prefer to use the term ‘open’, which literally translates into khula (the word used by the viewers). Following viewers’ discourse, openness in terms of gendered content refers to three issues in this study. Firstly, it refers to losing modesty and abandoning the dupatta that covers the chest; secondly, it refers to the use of language that is offensive for family viewing in the lounge;2 thirdly, it relates to subjects that are considered taboo in Pakistani society. There are several taboos in Pakistani society, among which I focus on taboos related to gender issues, such as incest, prostitution, homosexuality and sexual ambivalence, which are considered inappropriate for discussion in Islamic society. Setting the stage for viewers’ engagement with gendered content, this chapter focuses on how openness in content triggers the practices of restraint and disciplining among viewers, thereby allowing them to disown representations and themes. In other words, this chapter aims to share viewers’ first impressions of gendered content.

Recalling PTV Until 2002, Pakistanis watched PTV as the prime outlet for television viewing. There was a long, 34-year association with a single channel; therefore, it was only natural to compare new content on private

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channels with that of PTV. For a long time PTV used its canvas to address many social issues in a subtle manner. During fieldwork, viewers seemed to resent how private broadcasters highlighted these issues in recent years. Their comparison to PTV’s content occupied our discussions on gendered content. Here, I will firstly evaluate how older female viewers in the middle class, who grew up watching PTV, recall it, and then I will assess the responses of younger women. Tasneem notes how PTV adhered to decency as follows: There is a huge difference between a PTV production and a private production. Simply by looking at the screen, you can make out whether or not it is a PTV programme or another private channel’s, mainly because you can spot decency and grace on the PTV screen. I would go as far as saying that producers with PTV experience, who are now working for private channels, have an edge over new entrants (directors) to the industry, mainly because there is a difference in their value system. Just by looking at the screen I can easily make out the difference. (Sohni Chalet) (emphasis added) Tasneem lives in Sohni Chalet, a housing compound where a sample size of five groups of 20 women each had a mean age above 50 years, which suited my plan to seek responses from women who had witnessed the development of the television industry in Pakistan. Except for two, all respondents had a post-graduate qualification. Sharing the same neighbourhood, these women were either friends or know each other well. Tasneem lives in a nuclear family system and is happy with her sons living independently. She discusses how a single glance at the screen enables a viewer to distinguish between the state channel and private channels. Liberalisation in content is taken as vulgarisation and deteriorating values. Consider, for example, how another set of middleaged women at Sohni Chalet compare the programmes of state television to those of private channels: Alia:

There is too much censorship on PTV in terms of news, and no one watches it anymore. However (Farah), there was some standard that PTV followed and, since we had one drama a day, everyone used to watch it. At the moment, it is more about vulgarity, a trend that we have

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borrowed from the Indian channels. We have compromised a lot of our language as well, and our drama serials highlight themes around extramarital affairs; I have strict objection to this as well. Sabeen: I do not think we should really object to it, because it is our reality and it is what is happening in society. Tahira: If we compare private channels with PTV, I would say yes, there is no censorship on the news as there was with PTV. However, apart from that, this content is devoid of ethics and affects the home (Sohni Chalet) The discussion above offers some interesting exchanges on PTV. Living in the same residential compound, all four respondents knew each other quite well. Alia and Farah are not only next-door neighbours, but are also good friends. While recalling PTV, these viewers are concerned about the nature of openness and how it affects the fabric of the home. Their prime concern is how programmes on private channels threaten the etiquette of respect in Pakistani homes. However, Sabeen reminds them that the liberalisation of media is about reflecting reality on screen. This invites attention to a crucial dimension of gender-based content that is based on realism. Nevertheless, there remains a realisation that the state poses certain limitations to programming. This resentment over censorship is usually directed towards news and infotainment, rather than entertainment channels, which means that they want to be fully aware of their socio-political context, yet have reservations about its expression on television. Two women in another group in the same residential area mentioned how they prefer state television over private networks to date, because they have concerns about the content’s influence on the ethics of their home. Another group of middle-aged housewives, living in the middle-class locality of Ancholi, compare the programmes on private channels to those of PTV: Zaheena: We feel that these channels have made society more open and that we are letting go of our traditions and the mannerisms we were once proud of. Ammi: The young generation can say anything in front of the older generation; this was not the case when we had PTV.

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Now there is nothing off-limits. PTV was careful about our values in the home. (Ancholi) This group had a unique composition, with Ammi (mother) being the member who was above 60 years of age. Ammi was very active throughout the discussion. Since I conducted these focus groups at her home, I could not ask her to leave the room. Apparently, she was very friendly towards all the participants who lived in the same neighbourhood. I could gauge that they respected her considerably and referred to her as Ammi; perhaps this is one of the reasons they attended these discussions. This helped me by enabling me to easily conduct many focus groups in this area. However, my concern was whether her constant presence would make young respondents more conscious about what could be said. Throughout the discussion, PTV was recalled as a responsible broadcaster that could not have gone wrong with values. These viewers read gendered content as a transition in the value system of Pakistani television culture. Although they did not acknowledge that television can influence them directly, they still sounded fearful of the impact such content may have on their value systems. In Pakistani culture, respect for elders is of prime value, such that even women, who may otherwise have a subordinate position in relation to a male guardian, assume a position of power as mothers-in-law and grandmothers. Most of these housewives seemed concerned about their children’s attitude in front of their grandparents and how they could become spoiled through their viewing habits. In a candid discussion over refreshments, while referring to how obedience is at stake, women stressed that young children often use strong language or pick up issues of pregnancy from television and then use them in the lounge (the space utilised for family time). In addition, they commented on how such occurrences were easily avoidable in the days of PTV, because censorship was so strong that viewers hardly had such issues. Young women who were university students had not seen the glory days of PTV, but had all watched the classic drama serials in the repeat transmissions that are aired regularly. Hania: Have you not noticed, the protagonists were not sacrificial lambs in the days of PTV. Back in the 1990s, when we started watching Star Plus [Indian channel], the trends in

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our drama serials changed and we almost copied the Indian style of content. In the Indian soap operas, it is quite evident that ‘sacrifice’ and ‘patience’ are the main qualities of the female lead, and this is exactly what we copied for our drama serials. These qualities have somehow become essential for empowering women in Indian soap operas, including in drama serials that have great appeal among the viewers, with women bearing the burden of the extramarital affairs of their husbands. PTV had a bold representation of women who were also upright in character. Javeria: I think our limits should be clearly defined, as they were in the days of PTV. Everything is so khula/open. What is the point of knowing too much? If you look at the West, it is no wonder that they have lost their limits and even their homes. Because their kids are too informed about their rights, they just leave their homes and do whatever they want to. In a similar vein, young students from Karachi University in other groups showed similar resistance towards the trends of ‘openness’ in Pakistani television. Gendered content that is not compatible with the moral etiquette of society is often referred to as the derivative of some foreign influence; for instance, reference to virtues such as patience and sacrifice are often shown in Indian soap operas in relation to the protagonist’s strength in enduring injustice, such as her husband’s betrayal or extramarital affairs, and this trend has directly translated onto the Pakistani screen. The likelihood that Pakistani producers may have started a trend reflective of Pakistani society is not raised as a possibility by these viewers. Concern about losing moral values is far greater than anything else, and state television is recalled as the pioneer of producing decent content. Furthermore, there is an understanding among these women that PTV producers knew what to offer the public and where to stop. University student participants did not approve of meek representations of protagonists on screen; hence, it was somewhat surprising to discover that they did not desire an open discussion on rights, as it may lead to a society similar to the West. In this discussion,

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Javeria generalised the West and India as places lacking in values. Nevertheless, she draws her perception from daily soap operas on Star Plus, a channel that in the 1990s could only be accessed through satellite dishes. What remains constant throughout this discussion on Pakistani state television is that there is disproportionate censorship in the news. Thus, women have switched to private channels; yet they hold a high opinion of PTV programmes and criticise private broadcasters for lack of responsibility. Despite the issues raised here, I only came across two women in my entire class and age sample who were still favourable towards state television. However, their nostalgia towards the state channel should not be taken as a desire to return to those days, because they wanted to be aware of and informed about socio-political realities. PTV is recalled as something that ‘once was’. Perhaps it can be called a kind of a temporal nostalgia ‘where there is a longing for the past, a time that once was’ (to use Higson’s term). In her study on websites that use nostalgia as a central concept, Higson (2014: 123) notes that ‘temporal nostalgia is, of course, very much a product of and a response to the experience of modernity, the experience of a period marked by rapid change, mobility and displacement’ (Boym, 2001; Fritzsche, 2001, also quoted in Higson). It can also be true for viewers in this study who are experiencing a transition in gendered content at an extraordinary pace. This has additionally intersected with access to the internet and mobile technology. Therefore, PTV content appears to be in the distant past, and there is no possibility of reverting to that past. However, this comparison allows them to think about what is at stake in their value system.

Losing Modesty/Abandoning the Dupatta Openness, in this section, is directly related to issues under sharam such as ‘aspects of concealment as a value, like nakedness of humans and beauty in concealment (Alvi, 2013).’ A pattern that emerges frequently in the focus groups discussions is the issue of attire and, specifically, the importance of the dupatta in female on-screen wardrobe. The respondents stress the importance of the dupatta to the point that the appearance of women emerges as something more crucial than the content.

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In Muslim societies, as in Pakistan, female bodies are sites of contestation, social construction, practices, symbols of decency, shame, humility, ethics and repositories of honour and responsibility. The female dress code precedes the behaviour and practices observed under sexuality, and the female body, before anything else, is regulated through the wardrobe. The cultural attire for Pakistani women involves the shalwar (baggy trousers), qameez (loose, long shirt) and dupatta (stole/chador).3 These constitute the national dress as well as a common dress for the Indian subcontinent, such as the sari. Over the years, Pakistani immigrants from India are letting go of their preference for the sari, because it is considered ‘too Indian’; in turn, conservative Muslims argue that it is a symbol of Hindu culture and does not conform to the standards of modesty prescribed for the Muslim wardrobe. With the increase in Islamist elements in Pakistani society, the national/cultural wear that fully covers the female body is now under scrutiny, both in society and on screen. This objection arises from the fact that the dress code is not as modest and does not cover as properly as a Saudi abaya (black cloak worn by women). Therefore, in the last decade it has become a common sight to spot a considerable number of women on the street either covering their heads with the typical Arab-style scarf/hijab (not dupatta), or wearing abaya along with the hijab. In this context, Pakistani women on screen have ceased to wear the dupatta and it has become a common sight to watch them in Western dresses. Furthermore, the fashion industry in Pakistan has grown in the last ten years, and these trends reflect on screen. Like language, dress code triggers a discussion on how the female body is becoming unrestrained, challenging the existing structure of shame in the Pakistani context. In the lower middle class group, viewers were explicit about how the anchor’s wardrobe plays a role in their selection of morning shows. Hence, I could hardly find viewers following Shaista Lodhi’s morning show; the reason was that she does not represent them, because she has abandoned the dupatta. Consider, for example, middle aged women in the lower middle class group, based in New Karachi, expressing their stance on the dupatta: Baji:

We live in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Women who appear on television should conform to our traditional wear, which includes the dupatta on the shoulder, if not on the head.

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Shehnaz: We still remember the dupatta policy on PTV. It was such a good trend, whereas now the dupatta is not only absent from the screen, but one can also not find it with the ready-made clothes in the market. It is all because of the media; the market follows the trends on television. We only like Nida’s show because she wears the dupatta. (New Karachi) All viewers in this class cover themselves with outer cloaks (abaya and hijab). For them, to appear on television without the dupatta is being overtly extroverted and lacking in modesty. During fieldwork, I could not have imagined myself going to these areas without covering my head properly with a hijab. Hijab is not a piece of clothing for these women; it is a shield that defines them as honourable women. It protects them from unwanted gazes and judgements about their character (see, for example, Kandiyoti, 1988). Additionally, these women relate this to how the fashion scene in Pakistan is changing with time, and they appear judgmental towards women who are careless about the dupatta to the extent that they seem to have switched loyalties from Lodhi’s show to Nida Pasha’s show. To understand how Nida Pasha conceptualises the importance of the dupatta: Nida Pasha: I respect my viewers. I wear the dupatta only for my viewers. I do not want any mother to say ‘our daughters have stopped wearing the dupatta because of you’.4 Pasha is aware of her viewers’ choices, and reveals that her show has received countless messages stressing that she is the most followed and respected anchor because she wears dupatta. In addition, she mentions how viewers reacted to her appearance on one of her sitcoms (Nadaniyan), where she appeared in jeans and a T-shirt. While commenting on this issue, Jerjees Seja, the Chief Executive Officer of the ARY Network, mentioned that he makes sure that ‘morning show hosts wear the dupatta on screen. I tell them, “you should wear a dupatta so that women can say that their daughters have learnt something good from morning shows”’. Seja’s response is telling in terms of how moral values are crucial in planning content. He clearly knows the strategies for attracting consumers, but in his response one can also see a sense of

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social responsibility. This is a reminder that viewers cannot be taken lightly because they can change their loyalties to other shows. Moreover, it indicates that, for Seja, retaining viewership among conservative viewers is vital for reasons other than ratings. Interestingly, the viewing sample appears to be far more vocal on issues surrounding the dupatta on screen than gender-based crimes. At the same time, it emerges as an agerelated and class-based issue. Consider, for example, how educated middle-aged women, living in the residential compound of Sohni Chalet, take issue with the dupatta policy during Zia’s regime and even in the post-liberalisation era.5 Husna:

I never liked the restrictions that governments used to have on the state channel, especially on the dupatta policy during Zia’s regime. It was an unnecessary thing to do. We were not given any economic relief in those days; it was a cosmetic change to divert our attention from actual causes. Qamar: I do not want to see the dupatta policy on screen; it seems fake. Yasmeen: We were not really bothered by the dupatta policy. It was annoying because it was not aimed towards changing our perception about purdah (dress code). (Sohni Chalet) Husna is a lawyer by profession and lives with her brother’s family. She is unmarried and appears very confident. Qamar is a retired school headteacher and a widow, whereas Yasmeen is a housewife living in a nuclear family. None of the three women cover their heads. For them, the dupatta policy, as institutionalised by PTV for women on screen, is of lesser value; these women recall it as an imposition and as unnatural for them. Since women in this sample conform to the cultural attire but not to the religious attire (outer garment), this issue has limited value for them. As middle-aged women, their age entitles them under Shari’a to dispense of their outer garments (outer cloak and head covering). They do not express anxiety about how the absence of dupatta may influence their young daughters. For them, the hijab does not define the strength of their faith, nor do they take the dupatta policy as a reminder to cover their bodies as Muslim women. Instead, they criticise the dupatta policy on women’s wardrobe, calling it cosmetic. Such a thought emerges from

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a popular quote in Muslim societies, which is usually coined by liberals and is expressed as follows: ‘Islam is neither in women’s hijab nor in men’s beard.’ Furthermore, they argue that the representation of women on screen should go beyond their appearance and focus on how to portray an image at a global level. For these women, their identity as Pakistanis is reflected through their cultural attire and their command of the language and mannerisms, which can restore the nation’s image. Additionally, I could see a hidden desire to do away with the Pakistani image of being extremists/fanatics/fundamentalists, which is why they did not seem concerned about the dupatta or hijab. Interestingly, woman’s appearance invites them to reflect on identity questions that disturb an ordinary Pakistani in a post-9/11 world. I argue that, while engaging with the symbolic presence of women in dupatta, the educated women question Zia-ul-Haq’s project of forced Islamisation. It is in such portrayals that popular culture initiates identity questions for the viewers (c.f. Turner, 1994; Pakulski, 1997; Steveson, 2001; Hermes, 2005, 2010). The fact that these women question the cosmetic nature of the policy and how it masks real economic issues reminds us that popular culture offers representations that enable aspects of ‘citizen formation’ (Hartley 1999: 162). For the housewives in the conservative Ahle Tashi (Shi’a sect of Islam) community of the middle class, women should wrap their bodies with the chador, if not the abaya. This is because they try to conform to the standards prescribed by Shari’a (Iranian version closer to covering with chador) for women’s clothing. For example, housewives living in Ancholi criticise the trend of not wearing the dupatta and the impact it can have on young girls. Zaheena: We have this unfortunate trend of not wearing the dupatta on screen, and the morning show hosts have completely abandoned the dupatta from their wardrobe. The hosts of the morning shows are seen as role models among young girls and, if they refuse to wear the dupatta, it will have a negative impact on our daughters. It is okay if they do not wear it on their heads, but they should, at least, have it around their necks or on their shoulder; this is part of our culture. Their personalities should reflect that they are Muslims.

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On the one hand, we have these women who appear on television with deep necklines; on the other hand, we have men appearing over-dressed in trousers with shirts and a coat on top. These women are wearing less and men are covering themselves properly. We disapprove of such fashion on television. In the last ten years, television has ruined this society. In boutiques, you can hardly find a dupatta with shirts (qameez). It seems that our traditional wear will soon be replaced by Western wear, with no sleeves and deep necklines, and where do you think are we picking this up from? (Ancholi)

It is generally assumed that women pick up trends in fashion through television, and that anchors/female actors’ wardrobe influences young girls. Zaheena seems concerned about how this may affect their daughters’ perception on the necessity of the dupatta. Furthermore, it is interesting to notice that women have different standards for those who appear on television than for themselves. For instance, even if they wear the chador/abaya, they are comfortable with women on screen not conforming to the Islamic wardrobe; in fact, they want to see them in cultural attire. Obviously, Shari’a allows women to wear certain types of clothing in the private sphere and prescribes an additional/outer garment for public spaces. Television, being a public space, does not conform to the prescribed code; however, these religiously inclined women are not so eager to watch anchors/female actors following that. Butcher (2003) arrives at a similar finding in her study on neighbouring India, Transnational Television, Cultural Identity and Change: When STAR Came to India. Respondents in her study from SEC D-E and rural groups appeared sceptical about how women dress on screen. She explains their fear as follows: There was an overt emphasis on Indian culture being represented in and by the body of the woman. Dress, status, rituals, such as marriage, and definitions of permissible and non-permissible behaviour, commonly referred to in terms of ‘obscenity’, placed Indian culture within the parameters of the female and the space of her display’ (116).

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Likewise, I argue that for women in Ancholi, wearing dupatta meant owning culture, it gave them sense of pride and abandoning one triggers a sense of loss or even defeat. In Ancholi, women quoted from Islamic scriptures on modesty in female attire. To my surprise, they knew the relevant verses of the Holy Qur’an by heart. The most commonly known verse goes like this: ‘O Prophet, tell your wives and your daughters and the women of the believers to draw their outer garments about themselves (when they go out). That is better so that they may be recognised and not molested. And Allah is Forgiving, Merciful’ (Al-Ahzaab 33: 59). Such verses are further strengthened through the statements of Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) in this manner: Abu Dawood narrates that ‘Aishah (RAA) said: “Asmaa, the daughter of Abu Bakr (RAA), came to see the Messenger of Allah (SAAWS) wearing a thin dress; so Allah’s Messenger (SAAWS) turned away from her and said: “O Asmaa, once a woman reaches the age of menstruation, no part of her body should be seen but this” – and he pointed to his face and hands.’ Lately, these references have become so popular that even moderate Muslims are aware of them. In this case, television and the internet have played a significant role in reminding women, and viewers quoted from the Qur’an and Hadith throughout the fieldwork. Nevertheless, cultural attire still seems to have more resonance and importance to them than religious dress; however, there are different viewpoints on how women should dress in accordance with Islam. Whereas some scholars assert that women should cover themselves from head to toe, including their faces, with an outer garment, a few emphasise the point that women should wear clothes that may cover their bodies completely, leaving the hands and face uncovered (Ghamidi, 2011). With such views travelling through society, clothes that reveal the body can be offensive to some. Moreover, viewers in this sample have been vocal about how men on screen seem to be overdressed. Interestingly, they do not have issues with men wearing Western attire. The wardrobe for men has never been under scrutiny in Islamic on-screen discourses or even in society at large. It is very common to see men wearing Western attire in Pakistan; it is one of those legacies of colonialism that continues to linger over Pakistani fashion industry for men. As women’s bodies and clothing are regulated and controlled through religion, culture and gaze, men’s wardrobe goes unobserved, although such readings tend to vary with

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class and locality. I argue that viewers’ engagement is heavily determined by hypocritical practices that run in society. This selective use of religion continues to haunt women living in Muslim societies, whereby a woman’s body and her right to exercise agency is severely tempered through deeply run hypocrisies. These have been reflected in a series of events, whereby female public figures (Mahira Khan, Reham Khan, Malala Yusufzai, Qandeel Baloch) have become the talk of the town on social media because of their liberal dressing. Such practices come to the surface when discussing women’s wardrobe or the right of women to have a nuclear home (cf. Shklar ((1984)) for a detailed discussion on religious and moral hypocrites). I will intermittently touch upon this theme of selectivity in following gender codes. I wanted to find out if young women in my sample thought differently. To my surprise, the younger generation attending state university turned out to be more conservative than the older women in Sohni Chalet. There is a possibility that students that attend state university come from conservative backgrounds, whereas students from the affluent middle class and higher usually attend private universities or go abroad for their education. Yet, one cannot underestimate the role of Islamisation in society. The female students of the English Department reflect upon such trends in this way: Hina:

Now, women are seen smoking in public, they wear jeans and, above all, girls have abandoned wearing the dupatta, and this is no longer something that would turn any heads. This has become a common sight in Pakistan, and it can be closely linked to our representation of women on television. Zunaira: In the last ten years, we have seen such a liberal representation of women’s attire that we have almost altered our traditional wardrobe. Hina and Zunaira seem uncomfortable with how women dress on screen, and there is a sense of loss in their expression. Surprisingly, these young viewers wear Arab-style hijab/scarf, if not a cloak (abaya). In fact, when I attended this university as a student in 2000, only a tiny minority would wear the hijab; yet, now the majority of young women wear it. I see this as a strategy to make their public life easier and not be judged as women

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gone astray. Talking about the dupatta led them to highlight issues of Westernisation of wardrobe; however, they do not mention how Arab imperialism is altering the national wardrobe at the same pace as Western wear has altered it on screen. In another focus group, students noted this trend as follows: Saima: And just look at Shaista Lodhi: her wardrobe does not have a dupatta. Even our news reporters are not wearing the dupatta, and if they do wear something in the name of dupatta, it is usually a narrow scarf. And those who should not be wearing a dupatta, that is, the men of our society, are now wearing scarves around their necks. I am not in favour of the veil or covering heads; what I mean is that we should stick to our traditional dress that covers what should be covered in women as per the Holy Book. The dupatta is for women to cover their chests. In a very assertive tone, Saima, student at the Urdu Department with Islamic Learning as her minor subject, argues that she disapproves of anchors that have abandoned the dupatta. For Saima, the importance of the dupatta is far greater than the stole or hijab, and she refers to another interpretation in Islam that stresses covering the bosom. Moderate Muslims who do not cover their heads follow the saying: ‘Allah says: “And tell the believing women to lower their gaze and guard their private parts from sin and not show of their adornment except only that which is apparent, and draw their head covers over their necks and bosoms”’ (An-Nur 24: 31). Many other young respondents refer to this quote. However, their understanding does not make use of head covering to cover their chests; rather, they stick to the interpretation (rarely used by scholars except for Ghamidi (2011) and Barlas (2006) that covering chests is mandatory while women can leave their head open in the absence of fitna (temptation). Under this interpretation, women can preserve cultural attire and at the same time stick to the standards of modesty. Those who abandon the dupatta on screen and in society are considered to be modern and, to a degree, Western. Ammara Maqsood notes in her recent study on emerging patterns of religious consumption in Pakistan that ‘modern-ness in Pakistan is also defined by dressing in Western styles of clothing, as well as with their familiarity with Western

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culture’ (Maqsood 2013: 92). To this, I will add that wearing Western wear and being familiar with Western culture deepens class distinctions in Pakistani society, where Western wardrobe is usually adopted by affluent classes in society. Viewers’ responses demonstrate how wearing the dupatta is directly linked to questions of identity and morality. Additionally, it is evident that viewers reflect on this issue as a matter of collective concern rather than as a personal choice. It shows that the dupatta is not merely a piece of cloth; instead, it signifies cultural values, modesty, shame and identity for women as Pakistanis and Muslims. University students and the housewives living in Ancholi link this issue to a loss of cultural values. They address the issue of female wardrobe as a social problem, something that is directly related to women’s collective identity. The ‘absence of dupatta’ from the screen allows women to think about men’s wardrobe as well, and positions them in the category of Muslim women. However, these readings vary with class and age. For the middle-aged women in the affluent middle class of Sohni Chalet, this matter has little value in terms of collective identity. Their anxieties about the representation of women on screen highlights their concern for the national image of Pakistan. In this sense, openness in genderbased issues offers occasions for behaving as citizens who reflect upon their collective identities as Pakistanis and as modest women.

Openness in Content: Consequences for Home and Lounge Most of the married women I interviewed lived in joint family households. They consider language as the signifier of mannerisms, etiquette, honour and shame, and as a practice that challenges power within the home. This made me curious about the kinds of limitations and affordances that the home offers to female viewers who engage as members of a gendered public and cultural citizens. Nevertheless, how members of the public are addressed relates directly to the concept of subjectivity. The concept of subjectivity is crucial for this study. In this regard, I follow Dahlgren (1995: 22), who argues that subjectivity is directly related to identity. It is about ‘our sense of who we are to ourselves and to others, because it shapes the way in which we participate, and may well determine if we participate or not.’ This sensemaking about who we are takes place in the private sphere, which I call home in this study, and, specifically, in our minds.

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This idea of subjectivity was stressed by Habermas in his discussion on publics. He argued that in the bourgeois public sphere, ‘the public understanding of the public use of reason was guided specifically by such private experiences as grew out of the audience-oriented subjectivity of the conjugal family’s domain’ (1989: 48–9). Habermas’s idea of subjectivity is Eurocentric, but this section offers an insight into how this concept unfolds in the Pakistani context. I argue that audience-oriented subjectivity operates in a unique manner. Unlike Europe, the joint family system is still prevalent in Pakistani society and this directly impacts the living experiences of women within such households. The private sphere does not follow its own laws, nor is it a realm devoid of external pressures. Rather, home in Pakistani society is a political and hierarchical institution run by either cultural norms or Shari’a. Women are so invested in the relationships at home that they cannot fully participate in the public life of Pakistan. Not only relationships, but the spatial dynamics of home play a crucial role in draining women’s energy to exercise their agency. At the same time, women making sense of their collective identities in society and at home is derived not only from gendered discourse (in popular culture), but, most significantly, from their immediate context. It is not just the hierarchical nature of the sphere that directly affects the notion of subjectivity, but also the spatial constitution of home in a joint family system.6 For example, the living room, referred to as the lounge or TV lounge in Pakistan, has extraordinary relevance in this regard: this space has a politics of its own. It is where members of the family spend most of their time and where the television is kept for viewing. Owing to women’s subordinate position at home, their viewing habits are regulated by their mehram and mothers-in-law. Due to the etiquettes of living in a joint family system, the programmes that feature issues of shame cannot be watched in the lounge with elders and children. In this sense, the lounge becomes a space that offers limited affordance to perform as members of the public through direct participation. This discussion follows two lines of inquiry. The first deals with the impact of content on the relationships within the home, and the second deals with the appropriateness of the language for home. The second aspect is mainly addressed in relation to family viewing in the lounge. At this point, I remind the readers that home is where relationships are structured hierarchically between the husband and wife and between inlaws and daughters-in-law. For instance, housewives based in the middle

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class locality of Ancholi express their concern about the shame and embarrassment they feel when watching with family. In almost all households in Ancholi, the TV is kept in the lounge. On the question about the content’s role in making viewers aware of outside reality, a few respondents argue differently on this matter. Zaeema: We can recall a time when the word ‘rape’ was completely unheard of in our homes or even on television. Now, even a child knows what it is about. Such content has made us aware of certain crimes, and such openness in words and images on screen can trigger some sort of imagination in potential perpetrators. Hira: When our children ask us what a love story is, we feel embarrassed. This has never been our culture . . . this is not suitable for the home. (Ancholi) Knowing about incidents does not guarantee protection for women. Therefore, Zaeema considers such information to be of lesser value than the repercussions of discussing such issues within the family, especially in front of children. She is an extremely religious woman who avoids leaving home, but wanted to be part of this focus group to share her views on content. She avoids watching entertainment channels because she thinks that there is hardly any content for family viewing. The issue raised here is how repeating offensive words on screen can desensitise the viewers, especially young children, who are now becoming familiar with words such as rape. Jay notes in his study that ‘the repetition of a word . . . blunts the original offence caused by inhibition or taboo. This desensitisation effect is not particular to dirty words, but occurs when any word is used repeatedly’ (Jay, 1992: 14, quoted in Kaye and Sapolsky, 2001). In their study on consumption of satellite TV in the Indian context, Crawley and Page (2001: 164–5) discuss how housewives in middle-class Pune expressed their frustration over the content’s direct impact on their children. Both India and Pakistan hardly have any content made for children. Since people usually live in joint households with one TV set in the lounge, children often watch content made for adults. In several other groups conducted in Ancholi, viewers mention that crime shows featuring gender-related abuse give unnecessary details to the viewers. Crime shows focus on how the crime was conducted, which

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leaves viewers with a sense of helplessness, because in the Pakistani context no crime show ever features the follow-up trials. Due to deficiencies in the judicial system, perpetrators, though brought before the court, often find their way out of prison. I argue that watching such shows is not only about becoming familiar with gendered crimes, but also about witnessing the failures of the judicial system and the superiority of a patriarchal culture. Another concern that recurs across focus groups is about ‘embarrassment and shame’. Since women watch television with their children in the same room, they find it difficult to prevent them from picking up issues of intimate nature. In this regard, a woman aged 60 expresses her concern in this manner: Ammi: My grandson is so young and one day, while watching one of the characters in Kaash, he told me ‘granny, she is going to have a baby, she is pregnant’. This is not our culture; the producers should not be showing the bump of pregnant characters and should be reserved in their use of words referring to pregnancy. We have picked up such trends of openness from Indian soap operas. Although part of Islam, multiple marriages had not been a topic for drama serials in our society, yet now every other drama highlights this issue. Zaheena: These drama serials are actually ruining the minds of our kids, and they do not leave any positive impact on our minds either. If drama serials are for awareness, what kind of awareness are these images giving us? If the target audiences are female viewers, who are mostly housewives, then we already know about pregnancy, labour pains and what to use in periods. So, they are either for men watching at home or the children who have made our lives miserable with their questions about feminine issues. (Ancholi) Discussing feminine hygiene/health or intimate issues is generally regarded as offensive in Pakistan, especially in religiously inclined households. Their code of life is defined in the idiom of religion, which strictly prohibits discussing issues of intimate nature with anyone except one’s spouse. Islam encourages intense silence on issues of shame.7 The idea among the viewers is that issues concerning pregnancy and sex (whether in drama serials or

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crime shows) can trigger perversion in children’s minds. For example, it is common in Pakistan that women do not buy sanitary pads on their own and, when buying, such products are wrapped in paper to hide them from others’ sight. Therefore, women find it extremely offensive to watch such advertisements or even any form of content (talk shows on female health) that refer explicitly to female reproductive health. Interestingly, all that is found offensive is directly or indirectly linked to the influence of Indian channels on Pakistani content, especially where content gets ‘open’. The case in point here is that of Kaash May Teri Baiti Na Hoti, an extended serial based on the theme of selling daughters as brides. The plot was realistic and the narrative was engaging, but many viewers raised concerns regarding open references to issues of pregnancy and lactation in dialogues.8 Instead of calling it a cultural lag, I would attribute this level of conservatism to rising religiosity in Pakistan. Religion clearly has a major role in appropriating gendered content. Viewers tend to express their unease towards the content that challenges or negotiates their perception of shame (haya), values and sense of privacy and privateness. An interesting dimension that emerged in this discussion focused on how inappropriate use of language relates to the spatial dynamics of the house. Viewers tend to focus on how language should be adapted per varying spaces (from bedroom to lounge to any public space); in this case, Zainab picked up that what is appropriate in the bedroom between spouses is not appropriate for the lounge, where members of the extended family and children are present. Zainab: I do not think we can watch drama serials such as Dil Toh Bhatkay Ga or Kaash May Teri Beti Na Hoti with our families. The language used is very unsuitable for the lounge. You do not have to say it out loud, because I am sure all our viewers are smart enough to pick up things that are of intimate nature. (Ancholi) Language as the signifier for shame and respect becomes crucial here. In the case of Dil Toh Bhatkay Ga, the protagonist is shown to have an illicit relationship with a male servant, purely because her husband declines her sexual rights in marriage. This topic, highlighting the ordeal of women who are denied their rights in marriage, does not strike Zainab as a more important theme than the choice of words in dialogues

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and their suitability for the lounge. Similarly, the issue raised in Kaash May Teri Beti Na Hoti has immense social value, but does not engage viewers with its theme; rather, viewers expressed concern about the use of language and how television is threatening culture with inappropriate use of dialogue in the lounge, a space that is more public than the bedroom. Additionally, several viewers raised the issue of how they have discontinued watching drama serials/talk shows that cannot be watched in the lounge with family. Note how Mehwish, a middle-class housewife living in Sohni Chalet, which is a relatively affluent, educated and liberal neighbourhood, comments on language: Mehwish: We do have reservations about drama serial such as Yeh Zindagi Hai.9 What exactly are they aiming at with Zindagi-like serials? The language used in this drama serial is not suitable for the lounge, this is not our culture, and what impression would it leave on the expatriate community and those living abroad (perhaps the West)? Pakistanis do not fight all the time at home. This drama is all about a family of a certain class that is uneducated and loud, and does not truly represent that class. (Sohni Chalet) What is striking here is to see how women, whether middle-aged or young housewives, appropriate content differently through locality. For instance, women in Sohni Chalet seem to be consistent in their concern about Pakistan’s image. By referring to Yeh Zindagi as a drama serial representing a certain class, these viewers distance themselves from the class-specific issues raised in it.10 At this point, class clearly intervenes with their reading of the text, and they appear to portray themselves as knowledgeable viewers with an inherent sense of responsibility towards the country’s image. Such readings show us how the public/private dichotomy runs not through television versus home, but lounge versus bedroom. In other words, the spatial significance of the lounge (family room) is such that it is more public than the bedroom within the home. The understanding of the private operates at different levels. On the one hand it refers to the home as private and whatever is outside it as public; but on the other hand, within the home, there are spheres of privacy that operate on the level of spaces such as bedroom versus

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lounge. While noting these spatial dynamics in a South Asian context, Mahajan (2009: 136) notes that ‘the bedroom comes to signify a space in which the self prevails; others must seek permission to enter or to rummage through the contents of the room.’ Adding to this, I would say that for daughters-in-law, the self prevails in their own bedrooms, and any space outside the bedroom becomes a public space that has another set of etiquette ruled by culture and religion. As offensive as it may sound to these respondents, gendered content offers occasions to reflect upon citizens’ understandings of moral boundaries of the public and private within the home. Since 55 per cent of women living in Sohni Chalet watch television in the lounge with other family members, they express concern not only about the impact of the choice of words on the home, but also about Pakistan’s image in the diaspora. These viewers do not want to send an image that is loud; rather, they want to exhibit their adherence to the culture of decency and conservatism in language. In the case of Yeh Zindagi Hai, they attribute ‘loudness’ to the lack of refinement in a certain class. This invites our attention to how class defines and impacts upon the notion of subjectivity. Families are situated within a wider habitat of ‘class’. Although family structure plays a significant role in the public’s engagement pattern to a discourse, so does socio-economic class. Moreover, socio-economic class signifies one’s habitus, which includes class-oriented ethos, privileges, associations, tastes and certain expectations from the members of a class. Members reinforce their social positioning through recognising the hierarchy between their class and other classes, and distancing themselves from the ‘taste as well as expected behaviour’ of other classes. I acknowledge that cultural consumption heavily depends upon the cultural competence that is nurtured by socio-economic class. Bourdieu (1984: xxix) argues that ‘taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier’. I argue that members of different classes can vary in their preference for certain content. Moreover, there is a possibility that the need as well as the pressure to maintain one’s taste/class can influence how women choose to engage and disengage with content that is deemed open. This can be related to Bourdieu’s argument that ‘art and cultural consumption are predisposed, consciously or unconsciously and deliberately or not to fulfil a social function of legitimating social differences’ (1984: XXX). For viewers in Sohni Chalet, the characters in

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Yeh Zindagi are not representative of their class, although they do represent a class in society. Yet, there is a clear acknowledgement in Mehwish’s ‘response’ that it is not their class, but another class that exists in society. This demonstrates differences and diversity within the viewing public for gendered content. In this context, the moment content signifies class, the issue loses its importance for some. The issue of language awakens viewers to reflecting in terms of citizens who are concerned about the image of the country, but not in terms of their gender. Therefore, these viewers may be members of a gendered public but have intersecting identities. In their engagement with popular culture, their national and religious identities come to the fore, whereas their gendered identity takes a back seat. When the variable of class intervenes, viewers distance themselves from certain realities, thinking in terms of a nation yet disengaging from their social self. Their disengagement can be taken as a practice on the basis of which cultural citizens tend to include and exclude certain issues and members in their imaginary community. I argue that practices of exclusion are carried out to protect one’s class, an idea differently coined by Shklar (1984) in her discussion of the hypocrisies of Victorian middle classes. One of the university students takes issue with the appropriateness of this content for family viewing in the following manner: Samra: The media have a role to play in society, but there is no justification for misuse of their power. Crime shows such as Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga and Meri Kahani Meri Zabani are very inappropriate for family viewing. Some cases are so sensitive in nature that they should never have been brought up on a public medium such as television. For instance, cases involving incest can tarnish the relationships at home forever; a girl can misjudge her own father’s intention. Above everything, these programmes are putting relationships at stake. Therefore, the issues involved in these shows have a lesser purpose for the betterment of society and more for increasing our stress levels. While recounting an episode of Meri Kahani Meri Zabani, Samra discusses how the content of crime shows can affect relationships at home. What is apparent in this reading is that young viewers, who are engaging in public

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life online and at universities, do not find such cases worthy of exposure. While calling them stress-inducing, they refuse to appreciate the necessity of being vocal on how vulnerable women are inside the home. I argue that such readings reveal the obsession of society with protecting their own homes and especially their own relationships. When viewers raise the issue of home and its sacredness, they are, in other words, pointing towards the relationships that define them. The issue these viewers face is about questioning their own identity, which is glorified in relation to their fathers and brothers at home. It is a common practice in Pakistani households to add a prefix to the names of women to highlight their name in relation to their fathers (Binte, daughter of) or their sons (Umme, X mother of) or simply Mrs X. In this way, the identity of Pakistani women cannot be seen in isolation or without their affiliation to their male relatives. It has become a regular feature in crime shows to show that crimes against women are carried out by their male guardians. My respondents were less concerned about the reality of relationships (mahram) represented in crime shows and more fearful of losing their trusted relationships.

Glorifying or Highlighting Taboos: Is Openness about Vulgarising Gendered Content? Female viewers expressed their concerns about the ways in which themes such as incest, prostitution and homosexuality are glorified rather than taken up as serious issues of concern. Anything that is out of the ordinary is looked at with suspicion by viewers, who also express that they want it to be removed from the screen, because it falls into khula/open content. I did not necessarily have to develop questions about viewers’ opinions on wardrobe, language or themes that they consider open. In fact, they were eager to share their concerns with me. Zaheena adds to her list on explicit content as follows: Zaheena: Another trend observed in drama serials is that of writing about the lives of prostitutes. We do have prostitution in our society and this element should be highlighted, but on a limited scale. A drama serial or two are enough for such topics; however, nowadays, there are so many serials about or around such elements

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in society. We want to see reality-based drama, and by that we mean the reality of the majority of people. Can you imagine that we also have a drama serial, Behkawa, which has raised questions about a sibling relationship? This is in bad taste. However (Haya), I think writers adopt the story from society, and if it has been raised, then this is the story of someone in our society. (Ancholi)

Zaheena and Ammi raise the gap between actual reality and the distorted version of on-screen reality, implying that prostitution may be someone’s reality, but does not represent their realities. Their contention is that the media should be a mirror image of the majority, rather than representative of all. In this way, viewers disassociate themselves from certain groups in society that either choose to live differently or have no choice but to live differently, compared to how the majority is living. In Pakistan, society in general is prone towards religiosity or other conservative styles of living; prostitution as a profession has no space in an Islamic society, whether women are forced into the profession or choose it themselves, and the punishment for adultery is so grave (stoning) that people are even hesitant to talk about it. Drama serials (Umrao Jan Ada, Zip Bus Chup Raho, Akhri Barish) hardly glorify the profession; instead, they focus on the miserable lives of prostitutes. Yet, the silence on this subject is so profound that viewers get uncomfortable even watching it. Another example raised in the discussion is that of Behkawa, which raises yet another sensitive issue that is not entirely based on incest. It depicts a relationship of warmth and love between a woman and her adopted brother (adopted by the woman’s biological parents). In this serial, the brother develops feelings for this woman who should otherwise be treated as a sister. This narrative is too complicated for the viewers in this group (middle class), but is also not easily palatable for women in other groups. For them, issues on which religion is silent or that take an issue with Islam should not appear on television (prostitution, homosexuality, incest), and issues that are condemned under the religion should also be condemned on television. In many ways, the case of Behkawa warns about adopting children and the possibility of such relationships arising between siblings; this is exactly how it is condemned in religion, but viewers preferred silence on this issue as it appears on

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television, even if the content condemns sibling relationships. Ghazala was the only viewer among the middle-aged women in the affluent middle class of Sohni Chalet who argued in favour of such representations: Ghazala: Akhri Barish [Last Rain] is such a positive drama for girls who want to escape from the clutches of prostitution, yet struggle to assimilate into society. I do not think there is any harm in giving exposure to prostitutes on screen. It is not about glorifying them, and if your own roots are well-entrenched, such viewing cannot have a bad impact on you or your generation. This is the only response I received in favour of such representation; even women in this group differed in opinion and seemed reluctant to watch stories based on the lives of a prostitute. Most of these women were welleducated and spoke as knowledgeable people. They sounded familiar with the glorious days of prostitution in pre-partition India, and two of them (Tasneem and Tahira) even discussed how, during the Moghul Period, this institution flourished, for there was strict segregation of spaces (zanana/female space and mardana/male space) within family homes. Thus, men took liberty in availing such services. Furthermore, these women stress that, over a period of time, this institution has become redundant and should now be condemned. What is evident in this reading is their selective preference for tradition and longing for the past; a particular past for Muslims that glorifies the mannerisms and etiquette of the courtesans, while at the same time distancing themselves from the state/condition of prostitutes in the present times. Once again, I witness women living in Sohni Chalet distancing themselves not only from the content but also its impact on their homes. They are clear on the fact that television cannot alter home dynamics; therefore, anything that appears on television other than lifestyle is of little value in relation to the home. Women additionally emphasise that their engagement with television is for viewing and deriving pleasure. Hence, Akhri Barish offers an interesting watch for them; however, it is apparent that these women did not take this particular serial as fictitious. Instead, their sympathy for the characters grew out of their sympathies for the dark realities of the prostitutes’ lives, which reflects a sense of shared grief as women. Meanwhile, middle-aged women in the lower

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middle class (New Karachi) clearly condemned such content, whether fictitious or in talk shows: Rukhsana: The content that raises concerns over how women in Pakistani society are falling prey to prostitution is based on factual realities. We are watching such realities on television and around us as well. Not that my girls would opt for such ways, but they have realised that it is not easy to have a good lifestyle unless you are ready to compromise on your moral values. Almas: The other day, I watched a girl of around 15 years talking to an anchor about her work [as a prostitute]. I could not believe my ears when she said that she charges 2,000 to 3,000 rupees for only two hours, depending on the conditions. Obviously, all viewers, men and women alike, can easily gather information about her profession and how easy it has become to fetch one of these girls, and if you are willing to compromise on your morality, it is far easier to raise quick money (New Karachi) This response hit me forcefully. I could sense how the content directly speaks to the realities of women living in lower middle class areas. Rukhsana and Almas have teenage daughters working in factories, and they are concerned about the social evils that may influence young girls who step out of their homes to make ends meet. At home, Almas has six children and a husband who recently became paralysed after a stroke. With no male breadwinner, the family depends on the daughters for household income. She is worried about her three daughters who work long hours in the packaging department. For them, giving details and whereabouts of avenues for prostitution can invite unwanted dangers to their homes. They are concerned about their daughters’ low salaries in the factories and even in other professions (such as beauticians in small salons), and the fact that television openly discusses how prostitutes in Pakistan can bring easy money (£15– £20 for a few hours) worries them as parents. For them, such information can tempt young female viewers towards thinking about such professions. Both Rukhsana and Almas share how watching content on prostitution has even made them

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suspicious of women in their neighbourhood living without male members/guardians. In the Pakistani context, women hardly live on their own; even as divorcees or widows they prefer to live with their male relatives (mehram, male custodians), as living alone could cast doubt on their character. There is a sense of anxiety, caution and sadness in their responses, and their performance as cultural citizens depends on the problems they face in their everyday life. I stress that popular culture on television (across different genres) not only highlights prostitution as an issue with socio-political relevance, but also invites women to think about such issues without displacing themselves from their homes. For women like Rukhsana and Almas, the television screen is a window to the outside world, where their daughters move to raise monthly income for the family. This is crucial for women in a country that is immensely influenced by Shari’a. Variations in response on this issue continue in the university student sample. The young women, who are already active in public life on campus, respond to such content in this manner: Nadira: We see different female roles on television. Female characters are glorified as prostitutes and, at the same time, are shown to us as victims of this profession. This gives women awareness about such elements in society, but also enables them to opt for such professions, as it has become our reality. Safina, on the other hand, opines: Safina: Prostitution is a matter that should not be brought up on television to the extent that we have almost assimilated these elements into our society. There was a time when we could not even utter the word ‘prostitute’ in front of anybody, but now television has desensitised us towards this issue, and now we are even discussing it among ourselves. Girls with limited exposure can get influenced. Now, drinking is also a common visual on screen. We could not have imagined ourselves watching such a thing on Pakistani television ten years ago, and this is certainly not something we want to watch.

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Nadira and Safina are not satisfied with the kind of content Pakistani television produces in relation to gender. Whereas they admit that the producers’ intention is not to glorify such professions, they still express concerns over how women may fall into these professions. Except for a few, all groups at the University of Karachi find it difficult to even speak about taboos. There is a clear perception of an audience in their mind (teenage girls of lower income groups or from rural areas) that may become easily influenced without absorbing the explicit intention of the producers. At the same time, there is an embedded understanding that such content has no direct influence on their own lives. Similarly, the inherent fear that emerges here is that these students do not want such elements to assimilate into society. There is a desire/ intention to abstract such elements from society and reduce them to ghettoised groups, and not permit them to be prominent on screen. It is difficult to avoid the presence of such groups on television, because genres such as crime shows often draw stories from such communities. Another factor raised in this discussion is about transsexuals: Raida: There was a campaign on television for the rights of transsexuals to be given status of equal citizens in society. However, we are uncomfortable with this; we are giving them confidence to do whatever they want to do, and you are also familiar with the kind of work they get involved in. If they want to live among us they should live like us, rather than being beggars or prostitutes. Do you think they have assimilated? By asking a rhetorical question on what happens to such elements after they are recognised through law, the discussion reveals the myth of assimilation of transsexuals into Pakistani society. In 2011, transsexuals were given recognition as a separate gender category, but the amendment in the law is still not above the cultural bias towards this group.11 For a young student like Raida, who is active in the public life of Pakistan, it is difficult to transcend the already established sexual stereotypes in society. When asking for such communities to ‘live like us’, viewers stress that there is no possibility of any sexual orientation other than man and woman (heterosexuals). Moreover, it raises concerns about the fact that, if such groups are taken as having distinctive qualities/traits

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but are also talked about condescendingly, assimilation into society will be a difficult project. In such cases, practising cultural citizenship works against its inherent value of social inclusion. Interestingly, even when representations in popular culture are fictitious and it is known to the public that those performing are male artists cross-dressing as women, such representations remain a controversy and offensive to the viewers. The case in point is that of Ali Saleem, who cross-dresses as a woman. He is known for his character of Begum Nawazish Ali, the widow of a retired army officer. Ali Saleem used to host a late-night talk show to which he used to invite politicians and celebrities, as well as the clergy.12 The character is popular for her flirtatious ways and for an appearance that is deceiving and questionable in Islamic society. There has been an on-going discussion of his sexuality in the press. In Pakistan, cross-dressing males are often taken as hijras (transsexuals). Tahir H. Naqvi (2011) notes in his study on Media and the Geo-Politics of Moderation in Pakistan, ‘hijras often engage in the public performance of an imagined female sexuality that can be enjoyed by men without the accusation of homosexuality. For his part, Saleem shuns the title of hijra or female impersonator: the Begum is an “expression” of Saleem, who has recently acknowledged his bi-sexuality’ (Naqvi, 2011: 119). In his interview with Gosh on the Al Jazeera network, Saleem represents his persona as Begum as a liberating experience for himself and an inspirational character for Pakistani women, who are otherwise oppressed under the patriarchal regime. He suggests that it is empowering them psychologically (interview with Gosh, 2010).13 Naqvi, who has recently worked on the transition in the media culture, additionally notes: ‘what ensues during the Begum’s interviews with her male guests, I contend, is a structure of feeling, in which the existing and emergent contours of Pakistani popular culture enter into a kind of dialogue’ (Naqvi 2011: 119–20). Naqvi links this character to ‘an expression of moderate Muslim and feminist agency’ (120). With the popularity of this character, popular culture essentially became a site for performance of sexuality and pushing the boundaries for women to ‘express their desire in the domestic and public arena’ (120). In my entire sample, I did not come across a single respondent who could appreciate the portrayal of Begum Nawazish Ali. It turns out that women in the lower middle class, whether young or aged, do not follow this show; however, those in the middle class sample watched his show

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and found it very offensive. A few young housewives who know this character because of his popularity argue that he is not even worthy of discussion. For middle-aged women in Sohni Chalet, the representation was not very offensive. Despite the confusion over his sexuality, the common perception is that he is a man acting as a female character and, therefore, there is an understanding among these viewers that his flirtatious ways on screen are much more palatable because of his male gender. Women, even as actors/performers, must be careful not to cross the boundaries laid down by the cultural code of conduct for women; even if it is fictitious, women may find it difficult to perform something as a man (by Pakistani standards). Husna: Initially, we really liked the portrayal of Begum Nawazish Ali, but it should not have dragged on for years. However, I think there is an issue with his sexual orientation, I cannot say what it is. Being a man in actual life, he could get away with whatever he wanted to say on screen. Had he been a woman, society would not have taken the same flirtatious attitude. Qamar: Looking at him as Begum, I struggle with the question of whether his character is really about degrading a woman or a man. (Sohni Chalet) Another observation that emerges from this discussion is that these viewers struggle to understand his sexuality. He is taken as a sexual deviant who is trying to fit into the box of either the feminine or the masculine and, in doing so, he fails for them. There is no chance of treating him as someone with a sexual inclination of his own. The question raised by this respondent draws attention to society’s biases towards women. Ali Saleem can get away with the character of Begum because he is taken as a man. Had he been a woman, society would have reacted differently to this portrayal. Viewers do not seem to be appropriating Saleem’s character as liberating for women; rather, they find it unusual, exotic and regressive for both female and male identity. To me, this comes across as rejecting it but, through the character of Begum, popular culture invites these viewers to think about other possibilities in sexual orientation. Such representations open up traditional discourses on

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citizenship to a discourse on identities, otherness and tolerance (see, for example, Stevenson, 2001, and Turner, 1993). Hence, sounding dismissive of a content does not mean that it does not have any impact on the viewers or that they have not engaged with it critically. In this chapter, I aimed to share viewers’ initial responses to change in gendered content. The underlying unity in viewers’ responses towards ‘openness’ draws attention towards their fear of losing traditional values, norms, modesty and a collective image as a nation and as part of an Ummah. As cultural citizens, their reaction to this openness translates into a desire for constraints and censorship on gendered content. Nonetheless, their identities as Muslims and as Pakistanis intersect with their identities as women. This raises the theoretical question vis-a`-vis the constitution of publics. Looking at the responses in this chapter, I argue that we need to rethink whether there is a single public for gender-based content or multiple publics. My position in this regard is that there is still a loose public in relation to gender-based content; however, ‘gender’ is a rich domain related to identity. It is here that religion, culture and even nationalism intersect, while women (respondents) take positions in relation to one of the three paradigms: religion, culture or nationalism. Women become dormant in relation to one issue and active with regards to the other, a practice heavily facilitated by their subjective positions in society. However, this selectivity demonstrates the contradictions that prevail in society, where citizens pick and choose between what should be open and what should be concealed. Class, religiosity, age and spatial dynamics at home intervene in their performances as cultural citizens. For example, the appearance of women on screen comes across to the housewives not only as a socio-cultural issue, but as a religious one as well. However, older women who have crossed the age of desirability (according to Shari’a) do not see its immediate relevance in their lives. Homosexuality, on the other hand, does not appear to engage any of the viewers. This is where I argue that viewers engage with issues that have some degree of relevance to their immediate lives, and tend to reject or distance themselves from issues that do not speak to their own subjectivities. I will discuss this issue further in relation to an emancipatory potential of gendered content in Chapter 5.

CHAPTER 3 UNDERSTANDING THE DYNAMICS OF THE PRODUCTION OF GENDERED CONTENT

Changing direction from viewers’ initial responses to gendered content, this chapter will examine the producers’ perspective on gendered content in terms of its transition and agendas of production. Several dynamics play an important role in prioritising the nature of the content, which goes beyond what producers want to produce, to what they have to produce in a given system. This chapter illustrates the system in which producers are operating. For this purpose, I address four main questions: firstly, what are the producers’ perceptions of their audience; secondly, how crucial are ratings for the gender-based content; thirdly, where does the actual power lie, that is, is it with the advertisers, broadcasters or production houses; fourthly, are private media organisations institutions with a commitment/responsibility towards their public.

Recalling PTV: Producers’ Perspectives There are several factors attached to the history of Pakistani state television (PTV). It has functioned as a tool for government propaganda for a long time; the agenda for programming is still clear; and the concepts are thoroughly worked out. Through the producers’ responses, it becomes obvious that in the post-liberalisation era, those at the

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producing end are experimenting with newer themes to draw ratings, and this strategy for survival in the market contrasts with the motive of production in state television. Those who were directly involved in production at PTV and those who work for the private sector have vivid memories of Pakistani television culture under PTV. Almost all my interviews and focus groups started with memories of PTV. Syed Ali Raza, a young director working for a private production company, explains how the public channel prioritises its agenda in content: Television in Pakistan was launched by a dictator, and all he wanted to do was use it for propaganda. At the time, the programmes were mostly run to nurture a public ‘out there’. Television would usually portray the cultural values of our society and would draw attention to the betterment of this society. These initiatives were, at times, politically motivated. The clarity of aim and message on state television and a sense of commitment towards the public are apparent from the quote above. In relation to gender-based content under PTV, there were no clear guidelines in the initial few years, except that religion and womenoriented issues were treated under special programming. With time, governments tightened their control over gendered content. Agha Nasir, the ex-managing director of PTV, notes in his book on PTV: ‘There was a large-scale, so-called purge, which deprived PTV from the contribution of some outstanding writers and talented directors. Policy directives were issued about themes, dress code and even camera treatment of female actors’1 (2012: 950). Despite restrictions, producers continued working on gendered themes such as child labour/trafficking (Hawa Ki Baiti). In addition, PTV produced two exclusive projects on family planning (Aahat and Nijaat), with the clear intention of putting the message across, and not just drawing consumers for sponsors. Clearly, the execution of such narratives was carried out in a way that did not come across as obscene or vulgar, and, for that matter, did not disturb the cultural values of society. A few directors take pride in their treatment of gendered content. For instance, Ayub Khawar, who has worked for over 30 years for the state channel, recalls his working strategies by comparing them with how creative professionals should make programmes without vulgarising or making them explicit:2

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The quality of drama serials was much better in the days of Zia-ul-Haq. Although he was a religiously-inclined dictator, we could still say a lot of things with creativity and grace, unlike today, when visuals have become vulgar. Khawar refers to an important aspect of producing in an environment that did not facilitate free expression. Interestingly, he does not criticise the policy of conservatism on screen; instead, he argues that their treatment of gender-based issues was far more decent than it is now. These producers and directors hold pride in how they treated certain taboos through symbolic representation. During Zia’s rule, state television became a constraining space that served as a mouthpiece for the government’s propaganda against democratic forces, and forced restrictions on what to say and how to say. The Islamisation policy of Zia-ul-Haq directly impacted the political culture in society, and this was reflected on screen. A lot has changed since in Pakistani society; however, the state channel still adheres to certain standards of programming. Another senior producer, who still works for PTV, explains that gender-based issues of a controversial nature are usually interpreted in the light of Shari’a. Therefore, PTV is still careful in handling such issues. Kazim Pasha explains: Vis-a`-vis openness in PTV, if we run a theme that does not conform to Shari’a, the fanatics would protest and may even set us on fire. However, we are still able to say a lot. These days the content is like ‘in your face’. Pasha is referring to the limitations that state television still faces in dealing with pressure groups in society. Additionally, he draws attention to the fact that PTV took measures on effective gate-keeping and censorship not only under the dictatorial regime, but under democratic regimes as well. State television cannot speak on issues that do not have representation in the constitution (such as homosexuality). When comparing openness in visuals on private channels and PTV, senior director Ali Rizvi mentions how PTV sticks to the conservative code of production. For example: You still cannot find visuals of smoking or drinking on PTV, because it is forbidden in Islam. We are here to reform our society,

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so why should we open up to such things? We have not yet shown anything around issues of homosexuality on PTV, because it is a family channel and our motive is not very commercial. Furthermore, Rizvi expresses how private channels highlight such themes for commercial purposes. In addition, physical proximity among characters is not taken as the norm on state television; in fact, senior directors/producers in PTV defended how they worked through such sensitivities without making the channel look offensive. This draws our attention to the fact that openness in gendered content is, in many ways, offensive to the teachings of Islam, and PTV has to deal with several filters such as the Constitution of Pakistan, Shari’a, culture and other pressure groups (gender movements, nationalist movements and NGOs). In the past, the appearance of women surrounded the genderbased content in Pakistani television culture; for instance, the dupatta, which was not a compulsory part of women’s wardrobe on screen, became mandatory for women during the Zia and Sharif regimes (see, for example, Blood, 1994; Talib and Idress, 2012). Similarly, any visual that may demand physical proximity between men and women was labelled as inappropriate, even if it were a duet between two singers (see for example, Ali, 1986; Nasir, 2012). Interestingly, there was not a single written directive given to PTV centres in different cities on the dupatta policy or gender norms on screen. During fieldwork, I went to the Karachi branch of PTV to interview Pasha and Rizvi and requested a copy of the dupatta policy. To my surprise, they shared that any change in policy is only communicated through a phone call to the General Manager of PTV, which is then passed on to different departments.3 There were several actors, directors and anchors that discontinued working in such an environment, where women actors were shown covering their heads with the dupatta in their bedrooms or even while going to bed. Sahira Kazmi, one of the popular producers, directors and actors of PTV, reacted to the dupatta policy in this manner: ‘I will not cover my head with a dupatta! My honour lies in my conviction, not on my head!’ (cited in Kothari 2005: 290). In their interviews, Haseena Moin (writer) and Sultana Siddiqui (director) also recall such policies ‘as senseless with a serious blow to creativity’.4 Senseless though it may sound, PTV had a reputation of producing decent content targeting the educated middle class. Nida Pasha, an

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anchor and producer, mentions: ‘During the days of PTV, drama serials were not too easy to understand, and there was only one class (educated) that could really understand them.’ Pasha, who is currently working as a prominent morning show host for ARY Channel, and whose parents have worked for over 30 years for PTV, notes that the narratives of the state channel were difficult to understand. I argue that this refers to two issues: firstly, the strict censorship policy on state television restricted the directors from openly saying whatever they wanted to. Producers relied heavily on metaphors to express anything controversial (in terms of religion, culture or politics). In this regard, the content was hard to follow for ordinary people, and one needed to have a certain level of cultural capital (to use Bourdieu’s term) to appropriate the content.5 In our conversation, Pasha shares how the issue of wife-swapping was raised in the drama serial Jangloos (directed by her father Kazim Pasha), but did not seem offensive due to its conservative execution. In a similar vein, other producers (Badar Ikram, Jerjees Seja) criticised governmental policies, stressing that the language used was far richer than the spoken version of Urdu. This raises the question of who formed the viewing public according to PTV and how these viewers increased in number and became fragmented over a period of time. For a long time, only privileged people could afford a television in Pakistan. Agha Nasir, the ex-Managing Director of PTV, notes in his recent book on PTV that ‘there were only 47,000 television sets in 1967, which increased to 6,762,733 by 2004’ (Nasir, 2012: 38).6 Therefore, producers had a clear view of the nature of their addressees. These producers were clearly producing for a public with a certain level of cultural and economic competence/capital that could engage with the content. Young directors/producers, such as Syed Ali Raza, Babar Javed and Nida Pasha, attribute such treatment to elitism. They criticise PTV for not speaking to the lives of ordinary people. Furthermore, it is worth noting that in the post-liberalisation period, PTV programming has changed. The censorship policy of PTV has mellowed in the last decade, with several private productions airing on the state channel. PTV can now use the revenue generated from private production to support and improve the quality of in-house productions (Dawn, 2003; Shahid, 2014). With its responsibility towards the national interest, PTV is still selective in purchasing private software.7

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Perceptions of the Producers about their Viewers Almost all my conversations with producers started with a question about their perception of their audiences. I begin this section with the perceptions of producers and hosts of breakfast shows about their viewers. In response to the question of who they are producing for, Sina Pasha, a director of the breakfast show, mentions that there is an understanding/consensus among the producing team that their target audience are women that are passive housewives: What they are drilling into us, or what production houses and channels are briefing to the directors, is that the majority of our viewers are typical housewives that put food on the stove and sit in front of the television until their husbands come back from work, and who have nothing beyond their kitchens and homes. These women are already there as our viewers and have already created a market for themselves; we have not produced these viewers. We know this from the surveys that are conducted by those in the business of advertising, these surveys tell us . . . What is evident from the excerpt above is that the producers think that there is already an existing market for the kind of content they are producing, and passive housewives constitute that market. When probing further into how these producers have come to appreciate that women constitute their audience group, Pasha revealed that research teams within the channels rely on surveys conducted by their clients/ sponsors, but mainly on ratings. Furthermore, Pasha notes: Through the findings of the surveys, we obtain this feedback: these women have low IQ, probably not exceeding 4 on a scale of 1 to 10, and are typically dumb . . . so we should produce for them. Furthermore, producers rely on marketing surveys as an evidence base for casting the audience as lacking in intelligence. The use of the phrase ‘who have nothing beyond their kitchens and homes’ draws our attention to the fact that daily chores and housework are considered labour of a trivial nature, but it fails to address the question of how they could be regarded as dumb. Besides, it is the same sample of audiences that

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happens to engage well with issues of social nature in other genres (cf. Chapter 5). Moreover, according to the surveys, these housewives are not passive when making consumption choices for the products available on television. As women with relatively low IQ, they are smart enough to choose from the products available through tele-advertising (UniLever versus Engro Foods or other local brands). In a similar vein, Shaista Lodhi, another breakfast show host, replied to the question of what her perception is of her viewers. She stated that ‘my viewers’ understanding of development is limited to how to apply make-up properly’. When I asked how these women engage with the issues of serious nature raised on her shows, she noted in a contemptuous tone that: Oh, who are my viewers? My viewers are women who are either interested in the designer wear we give away by calling or texting our show, or they seek pleasure in watching tragic stories of gendered violence against women. However, if you run a show on raising funds for flood victims, you will get only 13,000 text messages. But if you have designer wear to give away, you get many more text messages, and ratings drop badly with any serious issue. Can you imagine? Look at the indifference of these women and their level of intellect, so now you can make sense of who they are . . . but I do not call these women innocent. They want to live off their husband’s pockets, they are stubborn. In this context, Lodhi’s viewers belong to a class that is willing to spend for a certain lifestyle. Additionally, she points out that the interest in gender-based stories is purely out of curiosity. During the interview, it becomes clearer that the dynamics of production of breakfast shows are somewhat complicated, and content is driven by ratings. The host of this show had serious reservations regarding the nature of the content, hence she displayed an absolute disregard for her viewers. These viewers may not be living up to the expectations of the host, but they certainly conform to the desired expectations of broadcasters and advertisers. This is not something exclusive to the Pakistani context. Baker and Hesmondhalgh (2011) find similar frustration and contempt among creative workers working in the magazine industry; however, they relate the issue of such contempt to how it can impact upon the ‘quality and value’ of their work (2011: 200). Furthermore, such an attitude among

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creative workers underestimates audiences’ ‘capacity for enjoying richer, more interesting, more meaningful products’ (ibid.). Following from the discussion of the hosts’ perceptions of their audiences, the next section will evaluate how directors of drama serials perceive their audiences. The perception of a viewer who is a woman and belongs to a certain class varies from genre to genre, but there seems to be a consensus on the fact that most gendered content is mainly produced for conservative housewives. One of the directors of the drama serials derives his understanding of a viewer through the briefings he obtains from the producers and broadcasters. He notes that: Right now, channels have certain demands. I am making soft wares for a female viewer who is a typical house wife, whose husband gives her a limited amount for the day’s groceries, and who either covers herself with a chador or wears a burqah8 when leaving her home. She may also be someone who wishes for many things in a day, but cannot afford even one. We are making that woman even more intolerant, and this is something that producers are not doing deliberately. Ali Raza’s revelation is telling because, here, the consumer of popular culture appears to be a conservative woman who is perhaps also religious. He suggests that production companies and broadcasters are committed to facilitating a certain system of production without understanding the consequences it may have for the quality of viewers and the content. Since those working in private broadcasting channels depend heavily on their advertisers for revenue generation, their understanding of viewers is directly related to the ratings systems in the industry. What interests me the most in this response is why and how he thinks content makes women more intolerant. On probing further, he argues that, on the one hand, content sells an expensive lifestyle while, on the other, it shows morbidity on screen. This draws attention to the kind of advertising in gendered content. Mainly, ‘five telecom companies alone account for almost 30 per cent of ad revenues’ (Bhushan and Pande, 2011).9 Additionally, product placement is becoming popular in recent years. In a few sitcoms, such as Bulbulay, Q-Mobile and 50/50 Biscuits are used as products advertised within the sitcom. This trend is a regular feature in breakfast shows, where a cooking segment is sponsored by oil

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companies and brand ambassadors for brands like Always and Nestle are invited as guests to promote their new products. In summer, breakfast shows promote brands for lawn prints (lighter cotton fabric), some of which are also brands launched by the hosts in their shows (see, for example, Qamar, 2015).10 In this way, hosts promote their own brands on their shows. Apart from Pakistani ads, local channels use ads made by Indian advertisers for products such as Rubicon, Head and Shoulders and Palmolive soap.11 Housewives are potential consumers for these ads and the content caters to their needs. Holding a low opinion of the viewers or considering them intellectually deficient is not restricted to the anchors. In fact, this perception is originally derived from the ratings and the advertisers’ surveys that inform the executives, filter down to the hosts and are then extended to the production companies to produce for a certain kind of viewer. Consider, for instance, how Badar Ikram, the Business Unit Head of Geo, who plays a crucial role in influencing the content of the morning shows and drama serials of the channel, responded to my question on his perception of viewers: You have to understand that the viewer in Pakistan is at an IQ level of an eight-year-old. They used to call Benazir a corrupt leader when she was alive, now they cry for her. In strengthening his point, the example given by Ikram is an interesting take on the power of the media in manipulating realities/perceptions of the audiences. The point he makes is that the Pakistani media manipulated audiences (rather, the nation) into believing that Benazir Bhutto was a corrupt leader yet, after her death, the media glorified her to the extent that today she is mourned by the majority. It reinforces the opinion of the producers that they are more aware, whereas their audiences are not just ignorant, but also naı¨ve. In addition, Ikram raised the issue of class variables attached to the composition of the audience in question. Television is dumbing down. It used to be a luxury that few people could afford; now, even a roadside hawker has one. India has more trash to offer than we do, but right now our television is talking to the lowest common denominator. Simple talk, colloquial language

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and slang can be related to more easily than anything sophisticated or decent. Either I decide to remain in the high art market and be driven out, or I can talk to the lowest common denominator; yet there has to be a balance. In the above statement, ‘high art market’ refers to the culture of the state channel that meets the standards of sophisticated and decent speech and language. Television started off as an expensive commodity with target viewers of a certain economic class that could afford it. During the fieldwork, practitioners who worked for the state channel referred to it as a medium for the educated class. In a similar vein, Ikram argues that the viewers of the private broadcasting channels are spread across socioeconomic classes in society. In catering to all segments of society, his channel has deliberately altered the content to cater to the popular tastes. He explains a situation of no escape for those at the producing end, because they operate in an industry that runs on the principle of revenue generation. They have already been given an understanding of who their viewers are, and, to sustain them, they must produce content that draws ratings. I argue that this raises a number of questions in relation to the nature of the content. Firstly, it stresses that the state channel produces for the educated class, despite its reach in rural areas where literacy is quite low. Secondly, popular culture has simply redefined the media landscape, yet the producers have a very low opinion of their consumers. This industry cannot thrive nor exist without its consumers, which affirms that the gendered content has some use and value.

Selling Crime, Misery and Rape: The Ratings Paranoia in Gendered Content In trying to understand the dynamics of production of gendered content, I had some interrelated concerns about the actual viewing public and the influence of ratings on content. My first concern is related to the stereotyped characteristics of the viewers (such as housewives, dumb and passive) and whether or not the latter represent a considerable percentage of the total audience. As observed by Napoli, ‘it is simply impossible for measurement firms to recruit and maintain representative audience panels that are large enough to capture the true distribution of audience attention across the wealth of available content options and across all of

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the platforms via which content can be consumed’ (2012: 82). Nevertheless, despite the limitations of the sample (audience panel) by Media Logic, especially in terms of its representativeness, the television industry in Pakistan depends heavily upon ratings. This raises concerns with regards to the gap between the perceptions of producers about their consumers and the actual public for gendered content. The second concern evaluates how a semi-predictable sample of audiences (obtained from ratings’ company) impacts upon the ethical commitment and creative autonomy of the producers working on the creative side of production. Instead of producing art, creative workers (to use Barker and Hesmondhalgh’s term, 2011) may face immense pressure from executives within broadcasting to produce for the predictable audience.12 Producers’ frustration, which is evident in their perception about their viewers, is rooted in their paranoia about seeking ratings. The broadcast industry in Pakistan follows an advertiser-driven model that is run through the system of ratings. At the time of fieldwork, Media Logic and Gallup were the two operators that determined the popular tastes of consumers through ratings. Gallup, to this day, follows a diary-based system, whereas Media Logic operates through a peoplemeter installed in homes across different socio-economic classes.13 The higher the ratings, the more popular the content. In the traditional political economy of the media, several theorists (Smythe, 1977; Livant, 1978; Livant and Jhally, 1986; Meehan, 1984; Gitlin, 1985; Napoli, 2012) have attempted to find an answer to the question: what commodity does the media industry produce? Is it the programme content, time sold to advertisers, ratings or audiences’ labour? Whether one takes this line of inquiry, which argues that audiences are the sole commodity (Smythe, 1977) or the line that stresses that time or space are sold or rented out to the advertisers (Jhally and Livant, 1986; Caraway, 2011), it is still the case that ratings are critical to the broadcasting industry and the exchange of commodities depends on circulation of ratings in the industry, as several scholars, such as Skornia (1969), Ang (1991) and Meehan (1984) have acknowledged. The line of argument I follow is that all commodity exchanges in the commercial media industry depend upon the exchange of ratings, whereas ratings solely depend upon the labour (viewers’ work of consuming/watching) of the audience. Without trivialising the importance of the content,14 I argue

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that producers buy and sell commodities and this is run by popular demand. Popular demand, in this context, refers to the relative autonomy of audiences in choosing and rejecting certain content by consumers who also happen to be gendered publics. In Pakistan, the role of ratings in defining gender-based content is crucial, because the Pakistani market predominantly runs on this basis. All transactions within the media industry revolve around the daily ratings of the programmes. As Meehan argues (1984: 216), ‘the commodity produced, bought, and sold is constituted solely by the ratings’. I will demonstrate that producers are mostly interested in consumers (female viewers) who deliver ratings, which, in turn, suggests that broadcasters are interested in producing for the audiences whose consumption tastes can be easily measured through Media Logic (the leading firm measuring ratings).15 Creativity can suffer in a media system that is run based on demand determined by ratings. To understand this system better, I interviewed professionals on both the creative and the business side of the industry. Those on the creative side expressed their frustration over how they must produce tailor-made gendered content to seek ratings. In terms of gendered content in breakfast shows, these producers have, at times, brought fake victims of domestic violence on shows. Sina Pasha, one of the directors of morning shows, openly expressed her reservations about this issue, saying ‘I would rather direct drama serial based on true fiction than bring in fake cases.’ A few admit that they are doing it for the sake of ratings (Nida Pasha), while other morning show hosts (Shaista Lodhi, Sawaira Nadeem and Faisal Qureishi) distance themselves from the practice by saying that this is common in the industry, yet they have not fallen for this trend. However, Nida Pasha and Shaista Lodhi highlight how ratings directly affect the issue of experimenting with the themes in their shows: I try to do something different, but I have pressure from the channel heads, sponsors and ratings. If I do anything of my choice, then only 2 per cent of my viewers will watch my show, and my channel heads would ask me to leave after six months, saying thank you very much, now we have someone else who can dance better than you and is much prettier. However, I will still not

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stage the drama that other anchors create by bringing in fake cases. (Shaista Lodhi) These days you have to take your viewers seriously, because of ratings . . . Ratings cause anchors a lot of stress, to the point that it can even ruin their family lives, and it has done so in the past; we have examples. I do not think I will be able to do it for long. (Nida Pasha) In the case of breakfast shows, viewers are expected to be committed to a certain host who, not only has celebrity value, but is also in charge of the content. In fact, Lodhi is trying to draw our attention to the quality of the content in a ratings-driven system, and the extent to which she has to surrender to the demands of the market. Nevertheless, she is vocal about the level of compromise in the case of content. There is a clear sense of limitation in creative autonomy in an industry that is purely committed to revenue generation. What is more apparent is the lack of a sense of job security for those creative workers who wish to do something different. In addition, Lodhi is referring to a trend in the industry whereby broadcasters hire and fire the faces who fail to deliver the desired ratings for a show, and the reason for this is that sponsors directly influence the slot of the morning shows, either through integration of products or promoting brands on shows. In a frustrated tone, one of the producers on the creative side asked me a rhetorical question: ‘I cannot go against the market, are you going to pay my bills?’16 This particular slot for gendered content offers them the maximum number of female consumers. At the moment, a breakfast show is supposed to be the only genre through which channels exact/generate all their salaries. In other words, this genre bears the burden of generating maximum revenue for broadcasters; therefore, the production teams for this genre work under tremendous pressure to deliver ratings. During the interviews, these hosts come across as having strong personalities but, on the other hand, they share their fears of being forced out of the market for not delivering ratings. This paranoia of being driven out of the market forces hosts to make huge compromises in relation to content. Like other interactive shows, morning shows offer a platform whereby victims of gender crimes are invited to share their ordeal with the panellists and viewers.

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It often takes the form of an interactive talk show, with a panel of guests that includes a lawyer, doctor or psychologist, clerics and a social activist. The guest victims of the crimes of rape and acid attacks are often seen either unveiled or without blurring their faces on screen. This practice of unveiling comes to me as a surprise in a society where victims are so vulnerable. Nida Pasha justifies this practice in this manner: It is true that responsibility should lie with the broadcaster, but we have to sell our product too. We do get selfish at times (showing rape victims’ faces) to get ratings. We are in a market where we have to sell as well . . . it is a mixture of everything. It is not that the intention to do something good for the victim is missing here. In fact, morning shows are quite effective at highlighting and facilitating the system on the ground, namely the judiciary and police. However, I argue that raising such issues is still conditional. If it delivers ratings, producers are willing to give space to victims of gender crimes. Pursuing this line of inquiry with Asim Naseer, producer of a popular crime show (Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga), a unique take on this practice comes to the fore: If there is a woman who wants to show her face, and feels that showing her face would not affect her or would, instead, give her protection, then we will show her face . . . However, there is one more angle to it: there is a huge difference between print and electronic media. Unless you show the face, you will not have the same impact you wanted for the show. For us, yes, showing faces is about ratings too. While agreeing that part of the practice can be attributed to seeking ratings, it is also about granting protection to the victims. Victims who are threatened by perpetrators often seek protection by reporting to the media with their faces unveiled. Showing their face is about revealing their identity as well as the honour of their family. Women’s bodies (including face) are repositories of the family’s honour and unveiling can, in some cases, offer protection, but can also make the victims vulnerable. The case in point is that of Kainat Soomro, a rape victim whose brother

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was killed after the crime was reported in the news and in a show called Geo Hina Kay Sath (Crilly, 2010).17 The issue of ratings is not restricted to a single genre. In fact, it affects gendered content across genres. Let us see how creative professionals that produce drama serials comment on this. Kifayat Rudini recalls how ratings have become important for both writers and producers in the industry. Post-2002, we have this huge influence of Indian soap operas. We see that the advertising/marketing department in the channels and production companies has decided to come up with additions to our soap operas and drama serials to make them more engaging and draw more ratings. He explains that although he is writing on topics that appeal to him, part of this comes from the fact that production houses need ratings. His extended serial (Kaash’s theme is based on selling a bride), which was on air in 2012, was approved for another 100 episodes due to its popularity. Another case in point is the popular and award-winning drama serial Roag, on child rape, which has been appreciated within the industry and among the viewers’ sample for this study. Babar Javed, the director who is also the CEO of one of the production companies, states: Ratings are very important. If there is a quality script and the broadcaster refuses to take it because it may not deliver ratings, then what will you do? You have to work on the ratings . . . Do you think I would have thought of making Roag II, if there had been no ratings? At the end of the day, figures count; when you get rating figures showing that this is working for you, then you will make a similar project. There is simply no other parameter to assess what is appreciated. Do you think that even 750 households, where these meters are installed, give us the standard? Among the 225 meters installed in Karachi, most are installed in SEC C, D and E. There are hardly 50 meters installed in the Defence Housing Authority and its vicinity. Whatever is watched among the masses, qualifies for ‘hit’. Advertisers deal directly with the system of ratings, and we in production houses are asked to make something on this topic or that formula that works for ratings.18

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Babar Javed raises some interesting issues in this discussion on ratings. Firstly, he suggests that producing a sequel for Roag will be successful because the original project delivered ratings. I argue that there is no set formula for ratings, and making a sequel for a ‘hit’ drama serial can be risky. Javed attempted to make a sequel for Mera Saein (My Lord),19 which did not deliver in terms of ratings. Therefore, it can be argued that falling for an already established trend or working on an old formula sometimes does not work in favour of the producers. There is always a measure of uncertainty involved in following a trend (see, for example, Hesmondhalgh, 2006: 225 for a detailed discussion of uncertainty in production). Many trends in the industry are derived from the ‘hit formula’ or the axioms that run in the industry. In Gitlin’s study (1985: 23), Scott Siegler, CBS Vice-President for drama development, mentions that ‘there are countless axioms that you hear in programming, and I think the one thing that you begin to learn is that all those axioms represent precedents that have been set, but not necessarily rules that work’. There is always a measure of unpredictability in viewing practices. It is always risky to reduce viewers into aggregates that simply tune into an exact slot, because that can never inform us about the viewing experience of these viewers. Furthermore, Javed reveals production houses are usually advised by broadcasters on the formula or trend that can draw ratings for their product. Others in the industry endorse the idea that a line is given to the production houses, which is then taken forward by the producers to the writers. The third factor raised here is about who determines the actual viewership of the content. The trends in ratings have confirmed to the sponsors, broadcaster and producers that it is usually socio-economic groups with a low income that popularise the shows by watching–only 10 per cent of the meters are installed in the affluent areas of Karachi, that is, where SEC A and B live. Hence, on one hand, there is a sense of lack of credibility in the sample size of the audiences and, on the other hand, there is a situation of no escape, mainly because there is no other yardstick to measure the popularity, and, more importantly, the quality of the content. Ali Moin, a writer and Content Head at the Express Channel, voiced his concerns over what is considered popular on television: It is a country where we do not know how many people watch television and where your sample size is 225 households. Imagine,

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this model of rating decides for all the businesses in the media industry! See, this is fake, it is like a phantom circuit that does not actually exist. . . Who tells us that what is popular is acceptable to all, who tells us this, except for the scam created by the system of ratings? . . . Our drama has changed completely in the last ten years, and we seek this morbid pleasure in viewing tragedy. Tragedy is a commercial commodity and is the basic mold for drama serial around which we execute gendered themes. The system of ratings offered by Media Logic is so established and satisfactory for advertisers that all programmes need its sanction to qualify for being popular, where popular does not mean high standard. Furthermore, the population and demographics of the city are such that critics do not agree with the sampling of the viewers. This particular methodology favours revenue-generating departments in the channels and the advertiser. Therefore, calling it a hoax is not true; rather, it is about the perspective of the people in the business. Moreover, it reinforces the prejudice of the creative side of production towards its targeted audiences, because it seems that they want to alienate themselves from popular demand and create a market for themselves among the educated and a certain economic class that is at the same intellectual level as these creative people. Yet, there is a degree of craving for the appreciation of the semi-predictable sample. The question for the producers is mainly to sell, and while I interviewed people working in different capacities in the media industry of Pakistan, there appears to be a stark difference between how writers perceive the system and how those at the sale/marketing side of production view it. Ali Moin argues in the interview that ‘what you have identified as gender-based content’ has little value in the narrative compared to a product in demand. This addresses a crucial issue regarding content that is central to this project; despite the unintended consequences and impact it may have for the viewers, producers are only selling the themes in question for revenue. In a very open and crude manner, Khalid Ahmed, renowned writer, actor and director who has been in the industry for 30 years, demystifies the reality of the gender-based content on screen: Bibi,20 the gendered content that you are looking at is about consumerism, namely a certain kind of content/taste/clothes that

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are sellable in their scripts. I think producers are aware of this phenomenon, but I do not see any attempt to resist the tide. If one’s purpose is to sell a product (in this case, a drama), then selling needs reinforcement by the status quo. Further in the interview, he expresses his reservations about genderbased content by calling it ‘an opium art’ that does not allow critical thinking on any issue. Instead of enriching the discourse on genderbased issues, it reinforces the existing thoughts/norms. Hence, a protagonist whose role conforms to the image of an ideal Muslimah (Muslim woman), or a subdued woman reclaiming her rights under Shari’a, both sell. Writers like Ahmed who have critical insight into these issues, have been pushed to the fringes, because they are unable to comply with the demands of the market. I would argue that, even in this constraining space run by the rules of the sponsors, there is always a small opening for creativity. For example, the issue of personal autonomy with regards to sexual orientation in Fasih Bari’s work (drama writer) gets occasional space on television (though not in the prime time). Investigating further, I followed this issue of ratings with those at the sales and the marketing side of production. Fawwad Azeem, Senior Director of Marketing for Geo Channel, explains that their methodology is ratings-driven and that the Department of Marketing and Sales directly influences the content for this purpose: I do not think independent producers are powerful in this media industry. Our committee rules the content, and 70 per cent of our content is ratings-driven. We are in this war of ratings and revenue. However, PEMRA should regulate whether the market has that potential to absorb more channels or not. While drawing attention to the absence of the role of PEMRA, Azeem asserts that the industry is evolving and operating on its own. In this context, the media industry is operating without any checks and balances from the government or any other autonomous media regulatory body that could offer a standard of quality programming. At the same time, it is interesting to note that the government immediately intervenes or shows reservation if news channels dare to push the boundaries of what is acceptable in terms of freedom of speech

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in relation to politics and religion (cf. Chapter 1). Those who are directly involved in the production of gendered content have limited freedom to work according to their own creative rationale (if any). Agha Fasiullah, Senior Sales Director at Hum TV, argues that creative professionals (producers, hosts, writers and directors) do not come up with creative and original ideas and, even if they do, they lack the expertise to market those ideas on screen. Thus, the creative side is bound to depend heavily on the sales/marketing departments. There is a constant tension between the creative workers and the marketing side of the industry. In fact, Gitlin notes that ‘when the top programmers know they want to pick up a show, they often ask the sales department’s advice about where on the schedule to put it’ (1985: 59). Due to pressure from the marketing side, creative professionals have identified certain themes that are essentially gendered and deliver ratings. All professionals in the industry call these themes ‘sellable [jo bikta hai] content’. In this sellable content, I was looking for a practice that could fall into ‘responsible producing’, where social responsibility takes over producing for ratings only.

Producing Gendered Content and Social Responsibility Following Dahlgren, I argue that the modern-day public sphere can be found in commercial media spheres, episodic though it may be. Since I identify emancipatory trends in gendered content, I found it apt to find out whether or not there is some deliberate attempt, at any level, to initiate conversation on gender issues, or whether producers can relate to a commitment towards social awareness (in the case of this project, gender-based awareness) or not. In this case, there is a clear divide in the perspectives of those who are on the creative side of production and those who are on the marketing side. Enver Sajjad, Content Head of scripts at Geo Channel, explains the situation this way: I try to treat the media as an institution, but it is a commercial medium and we run after consumers. Those who have stakes in this medium have only one commitment, which is making money. This is another way of exploitation in a capitalist society or, should I say, a capitalism-oriented society.

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In the past, Sajjad had worked for PTV, and at the time of the fieldwork he was working for Geo as Content Head. In his responses, I could clearly see how difficult it was for him to come to terms with the fact that Geo Entertainment Channel is working as a commercial organisation. However, when it comes to social responsibility, Geo has several campaigns to its credit. This channel has been active in creating a space somewhat closer to an ideal public sphere in its news channels. Under a series of campaigns on education and women’s rights (Zara Sochyay), the channel has created a perception as an institution or, at least, as an effective pillar of the State. Imran Aslam, the president of Geo Channel, endorses these claims by stressing that Geo has never received any subsidy for its awareness campaigns. There is still a clear division of opinion on this. Dr Liaquat, who was, at the time of fieldwork, the Vice President of ARY Channel and an ex-Minister of Religious Affairs, shares his viewpoint on the funding of the Zara Sochyay campaign: Before moving the Women’s Protection Bill, there was a campaign launch on GEO under the title of ‘Zara Sochyay’, to facilitate the process in the Parliament and build a consensus among the citizens. Though we needed an amendment in the clause to clearly distinguish between rape and adultery, the debates remained controversial. I would also like to add that it was launched on GEO, but there is a possibility that the government might have funded this campaign to build consensus among the people. This is an interesting case, where private channels actively engage in facilitating policy change, yet it reinforces the idea that this is out of commercial motive. It may be healthy for a democracy to have a mediated public sphere where members of the public deliberate on gender-based issues, but this raises questions about the broadcasters’ ethical and normative commitments and its editorial policy. Recently (after May 2014), Geo was accused of seeking funding from other countries to further their agendas on screen (Muhammad, 2014).21 Additionally, the licence of Geo TV has been suspended on these accounts. However, Badar Ikram, Business Unit Head at Geo, comments on the role of his channel as follows:

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We are a commercial television network. We are Geo and not NGO. Geo is not a media institution and our objective is commercial. Our viewer is our consumer, and we look after our clients as well as our consumers. Badar Ikram also argues that the channel is not a non-governmental organisation; however, they both admit that the expectations attached to it are such that it is hard to convince people that it is a commercial organisation. This perception is due to Geo Network being part of the Jang Group, which is the oldest and most established group of national dailies in Pakistan with a maximum reach for any newspaper in the country. Similarly, Todd Gitlin discovers that Arnold Becker, CBS’s Vice-President for television research, argues that ‘I am not interested in culture. I am not interested in pro-social values. I have only one interest. That’s whether people watch the program.’ (1985: 31). This comes across as if there is simply no normative conception (to use Baker and Hesmondhalgh’s term, 2011) towards programming. Similarly, the ARY Network is the first private channel to offer an alternative space for expression in Pakistani television culture, and has delivered in many ways during tough times such as natural disasters. However, it is noted that even those serving on the higher levels in this organisation have no qualms about stressing the actual profit-making motive of their channels. The President of Sales and Marketing at ARY Channel, Faisal Tamanna, maintained that his channel is a commercial organisation that must exact returns for its investors and sponsors. However, at the same time he asserted that: Private companies are independent bodies where investors want returns . . .We have tried that we maintain social value but we do have a commercial motive too . . . . I don’t think media is the pillar of state and why should it be treated like one, for realities on ground are quite different. Tamanna insists that it is merely an academic concept or category that the media serves as a pillar of the state; organisations have their own motives at hand. In the Pakistani context, private broadcasters with news channels have been assertive about the necessity of freedom of speech on television. They have even protested on different occasions to

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stress the fact that private channels offer a democratic space to the public out there.22 A closer analysis of the interview transcripts of those on the production side shows that voicing such concerns can be another way of exercising freedom to seek as many consumers and sponsors as possible. Abstracting one’s institution from the tag of ‘the pillar’ means greater liberty in terms of expression, especially in matters relating to government and State. In this chapter, I have shown that the television industry in Pakistan is comparable to the media industries studied by Gitlin (1985) and Baker and Hesmondhalgh (2011). The commercial imperatives involved in production are greater than producers’ own grounding in ethics and social commitment. The commercial market, organised around advertising, engenders particular constraints. Creative workers lack creative autonomy in their work, which cannot be equated to lack of creative rationale. They feel alienated (to use a Marxist term) from their own labour, specifically in the case of breakfast shows, where hosts have to reproduce tailor-made content for a defined set of consumers. These workers lack job security, and depend on and are anxious about ratings. At the same time, they crave a public and citizens who would engage with their content. The sales and marketing side appears to be more powerful than the creative side of production. The executives in the industry have the final call, but there is no clear editorial policy in these media institutions. Nevertheless, I argue that the sample audience (used in ratings) cannot be abstracted from society; these members represent the issues of a wider public. For example, if tragedy and women-oriented themes sell, it is because these themes directly speak to the status of women in Pakistani society. No matter how constrained and anaemic it may appear, the Pakistani television landscape creates occasional public spheres that engage both the sample audience and other members of the public. Bearing these ideas in mind, the next chapter will explore how producers tend to produce emancipatory content within a television industry that is so ratings-driven.

CHATPER 4 EMPOWERING WOMEN OR BRINGING CHANGE THROUGH DRAMA SERIALS:PRODUCERS' PERSPECTIVES

In the commercial media industry, popular culture operates through the logic of the market. However, scholars of cultural studies argue that ‘popular culture is one of the principal sites where the divisions (based on ethnicity, gender, generation, sexuality and social class are established and contested); that is popular culture is an arena of struggle and negotiation between the interests of dominant groups and the interests of subordinate groups’. (Storey, 2003: 3 – 4). I argue that gendered content within popular culture offers formats that are reflective of the public sphere. By reflection, I do not suggest a mirror image of the original model of the public sphere. Rather, I argue that popular culture fosters an image similar to the Habermasian public sphere, namely an image that reproduces the elements of publicity. In this image, debates on issues of common good/shared concerns are held in two ways: the first relates to how the common good is raised within gendered content (discussed in Chapters 4 and 5), whereas the second relates to how public sphering as a practice is carried out by viewers as members of the public and cultural citizens (discussed in Chapters 6 and 7). As a feminist media researcher, I argue that despite the commercial imperatives attached to popular culture, it still does not

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undermine the original idea of the public sphere; rather, it makes the agency of the weaker publics stronger in some ways. Echoing scholars such as Dahlgren (2009), Hartley (1996), Hermes and Muller (2010), Klein (2013), Lunt and Pantti (2009) and McGuigan (2005), I argue that popular culture in the Pakistani context offers spaces for the intersection of the social, private and political. In modern times, popular culture and politics are intertwined, in that ‘they are discursively structured in many similar ways, and they inform each other, feed off each other’ (Dahlgren 2009: 141). I maintain that the sites of intellectual and popular culture are interdependent and mostly in conversation with each other. I propose that through its entertaining dimension, Pakistani popular culture provides an arena where dominant ideologies and hegemonic agendas are simplified enough to make politics understandable, as well as pleasurable, to the audiences. Moreover, I argue that in conservative societies, popular culture offers a somewhat unrestrained space for raising controversial subjects that may not find expression in the mainstream public sphere. In her study on unconventional representation of crimes against children, immigration and disability, Klein (2013) argues that entertainment-driven genres offer more room for discussion and education than news and infotainment. ‘Through emphasising unconventional discourses around social issues that tend to be narrowly framed, the important role that entertainment television can play in providing additional material for generating discussion (or in other words, to serve the goals of a public sphere) is highlighted.’ (Klein 2013: 53). When addressing social issues such as cultural diversity and immigration, popular culture becomes a site for revisiting the political. Extending this argument further, I propose that ongoing circulation and repetition of topics of social relevance on a weekly basis (episodes) allow citizens to return to an issue again and again. Consequently, popular culture not only offers a space for deeper reflection on the issue of socio-political relevance, but also addresses different aspects of an issue. Addressing the same issue of gender across different platforms (drama serials and interactive talk shows) serves as a reminder to the public that this subject needs urgent attention. Issues such as domestic violence and halala (misuse of rights of divorce for women in Islam) are still not recognised as crimes under State law. It is in popular culture that these issues are raised as discriminatory practices against women. Other rights, such as choosing a

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partner for marriage without consent by the male member of family (wali), honour killings, child rape and the rights of transsexuals are also taken up in popular genres and discussed in terms of the rights for women in Islam. Moreover, the loopholes in State law vis-a`-vis gender are questioned in the discursive spaces of drama serials. In stressing the importance of popular culture, Hermes (2005:3) recognises three qualities. The first quality depends on the element of belonging that popular culture involves. The nature of cultural products is such that they seem so attractive that one craves to belong to the community of avid viewers, fans or buyers. The second feature is the ‘fascination that we have with popular fiction’, and the third feature, which is of utmost importance to this project, is that of linking the public and private domains. Hermes demonstrates that while blurring the boundaries of the public and private distinction, the spaces that these cultural products (including television content) offer are truly democratic. I am more concerned with Hermes’ first and last features of popular culture and how they operate through drama serials. Despite no obvious intention on part of the producers to emancipate women through content (as noted in Chapter 3), I stress that the gendered content that runs through popular culture has the potential to alter the public/private distinction in Pakistani society, which may lead to engaging female citizens in the public sphere and empowering them in certain ways. Gendered content in drama serials at times renegotiates the existing binary of the public and the private in the Pakistani context and, at the same time, reinforces it; it gives exposure to marginalised groups and offers spaces for expression, but also channels the discourse into a particular direction. In this chapter, I will examine whether the gendered content in drama serials that appears to be emancipatory is driven by an underlying agenda to achieve certain ends (in relation to change) at the producers’ end or not. Gender-based empowerment through television has several dimensions. The set of questions in this chapter and Chapter 5 (specific to producers) are: what exactly constitutes gender-based empowerment or emancipation in Pakistani television culture, and is there a conscious effort or implied intention on the part of the producers to empower viewers or to bring change in relation to gender issues in society? By addressing these questions, I discuss whether this is just the beginning of a conversation that may develop into a full-scale public debate, and even lead to deliberation in policies vis-a`-vis gender in years

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to come or not. The content in question is broadly divided into two categories: narrative form and interactive genre (see Chapter 5). The narrative form includes the genre of drama serials. For this, I interviewed 20 people in total, which includes four content heads from different channels, seven writers, and nine directors/producers of drama serials.1

Content Heads and Producers on Bringing Change/ Emancipating Women through Drama Serial Based on themes such as child rape (Roag), honour killings (Tum Ho Kay Chup), subjugation of women in the joint system (Meri Zaat Zara-eBenishan) and rights of women for divorce (Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat), I ask interviewees whether or not these themes can change the fabric of society. This section begins with the responses of content heads who oversee the selection of scripts for different channels. Consider, for example, how content heads of four different channels discuss the ‘element/potential of change’ in scripts: I think that, these days, scripts focus on the home and relationships within the home, and as Content Head I have an issue with this. Home and what goes on within it cannot be removed from what goes on within society. These days, when you watch our narratives, as a viewer you may not be able to tell which ‘era’ is this and which political party is in power. It is true that the personal is political, but what makes it political is also important. Therefore, other factors, such as day-to-day politics, the environment and socio-political turmoil in society are crucial in making the personal political. As a broadcasting channel, we only aim to entertain, but unknowingly and in a subtle manner women are becoming empowered in the process. The genre of ‘drama serial’ is both about commodification of women and about emancipation, but I do not see any point in constantly raising the issue of emancipation yet not going any further on it. We are producing content that highlights the misery of women in a patriarchal society, but women who face such misery in real life are not watching our drama serials. Recently, I can recall Roag as one such project that disturbed viewers, and after this project, morning shows also addressed the issue of child rape. (Ali Imran, Content Head, ARY)

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Imran mentions that narratives reflect an obsession with power struggles in the home and the relationships within it, yet writers/directors usually fail to make this a societal issue; instead, they treat the subject as ‘one person’s story’. Imran emphasises the importance of looking at these issues from a wider perspective by trying to relate gender issues to the issues of poverty and socio-political turmoil in society. Moreover, he points towards another interesting aspect of the commercial industry, where, at times, the broadcasters’ agenda can offer moments for emancipation within popular culture. It clarifies how popular culture can become a site for furthering a capitalist agenda (profit-making), as well as a site for engaging with serious issues. In this regard, Imran refers to one of the projects (Roag) that has been exceptional in terms of its treatment of the subject of child rape. The story revolves around a girl child who is raped in a ‘public place’, not the home, which adds social value to the serial. Not only those who are involved in the production of drama serials but also viewers who are interviewed for this study can recall this serial as a story that disturbed them or made them more cautious.2 Enver Sajjad, Head of Scripts at Geo TV, responds thus to the same question on the potential of drama serial for bringing change: Regarding change, I would say that those who want to bring some change do not watch television, because there is nothing on television for them; and those who watch it, forget it very soon and cannot bring any change. Sajjad notes that those who are watching cannot bring difference in society, or so it is believed. This brings us back to the issue of who is watching. It reinforces the perception of the producers (as addressed in Chapter 3) that those who are watching are passive housewives. In addition, he draws attention to the fact that in Pakistan those who raise their voice for change and women’s empowerment are the liberal feminist activists that come from the upper middle class and do not watch television, whereas those who follow Islamic feminism are not so keen on television (see, for example, Zia, 2009). This relates to the idea that popular culture does not cater to the intellectual class; rather, it caters to a class that does not critically engage with societal issues. Similarly, those who have authority and power to change things are not

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so keen on drama serials, which includes male members of the family. I argue that most of those who are exploited within the home do not have access to television or, if they do have the access, the lounge as a place for viewing may not offer the luxury to watch anything controversial (as noted in Chapter 2). In our conversation on drama serials and change, Ali Moin, Content Head at Express Entertainment, analyses the issue of change as follows: If I were to speak about change, I think we have, in a way, made the urban viewer (woman) more intolerant and empowered, and more aware of her rights as well, but we are not reaching out to rural viewers. Moin’s take is an interesting one, as he equates intolerance with empowerment, which seems problematic. Equating the two is not an alien practice in Pakistani society. When activists speak on behalf of women, they are labelled as intolerant, traitors and liberals. At the same time, Moin raises a crucial point: gender disparities are far greater in rural areas, where commercial television is still not easily accessible. In his opinion, the content needs to address the actual victims or those who are facing discrimination. To this, I would add that given the traditional silence on gender issues, one cannot be quite sure whether those facing discrimination are only restricted to rural areas or not. These responses have raised several issues in relation to the role of drama serials in bringing change. Firstly, there is no ‘underlying motivation’ to empower women through drama serials; yet, given the fact that producers cannot be abstracted from society as media professionals, there is still an implicit intention to send some message. Something that is quite evident in the discussion above is that although the content heads acknowledge the inadequacies of the scripts, they do not doubt the potential of the drama serials to bring change. Moving on, let us see how three leading directors in the industry address the question of whether drama serials can bring certain change or empower women, or not. Babar Javed is the director and producer of several award-winning drama serials such as Roag (Sorrow) and Meri Zaat Zarra-e-Benishan (My Self, a Speckle Unfound). Additionally, Javed is one of the owners of a mega-production house (A and B Productions) for

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drama serials in Pakistan. His project Meri Zaat Zara-e-Baynishan received awards in several categories. Interestingly, in almost every focus group the female viewers mentioned how much they liked the portrayal of the protagonist, who is the victim of a wrongly practised tradition of falsely swearing by the Holy Book (over a dispute between mother-inlaw and daughter in law living in a joint household) and is ultimately divorced and thrown out of her family home. Although his serials highlight controversial issues vis-a`-vis gender, sacrifice remains a prime virtue of all the protagonists. Therefore, I ask him: ‘Why are the portrayals of protagonists in his serials not inspiring enough to take issue with exploitative practices in Pakistani society, and what do his scripts hold in terms of empowering viewers?’ Referring to his projects, he replies as follows: I agree that a lot of the representation of women is about reinforcing the status quo. For instance, in Meri Zaat, Maaye Ni [Oh Mother] and Mera Saaein [My Lord], the protagonists had to conform to social customs. And when you criticise, saying that I have not shown a situation of ‘bail out’, I would say that in our society there is no escape from these norms; it is our reality. Honestly, we do not even think in terms of ‘how would our viewers take it’. It is the job of the channels to conduct focus groups on such things and tell us that they need something on these lines, but I try to engage women with issues of social value. I read this crime story about a man who murdered his own children because his peer (saint) asked him to do so. I will be using this news story in Sabz Pari Laal Kabooter [Green Fairy Red Pigeon]. You have to understand that the people who can make real difference in policy are not those who are watching our drama serials. However, I do see the potential for drama serials to engage people, so if any government collaborates with us with an agenda, then maybe we can empower women. Javed raises some very critical issues: firstly, he acknowledges that as the head of the production house, his work is limited to providing drama serials (as products) to the broadcasting channels, and whether viewers approve of the content or not is the job of the broadcasters to assess. In this way, production companies work as factories, and the ethical

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dimensions involved in the content are to be assessed by the content heads that work for the channels. There is a censor board in every channel; likewise, there is a research department that conducts focus groups for the viewers to assess the viewing tastes of the audiences. Furthermore, it can be noted that Javed highlights realistic stories in his drama serials, given that reality in Pakistan is dark for women and there is no situation where they can ‘bail out’. Despite the emphasis on highlighting the realities on the ground, he acknowledges the potential of this genre to bring change, but simultaneously stresses that any such effort need collaboration with the government. Interestingly, there is no established rule about the genre and the content that can engage with issues of a serious nature. It depends upon many factors, such as the cast, treatment of the subject, willingness on the part of the producers and, above all, it depends on the audiences. At times, producers may intend to engage viewers with an issue of a social nature, whereas, on other occasions, producers may produce only for commercial reasons, yet viewers may engage. The case in point is Roag (Sorrow), a story about a girl child, Nimra, who is raped in her neighbourhood. This serial was produced and directed by Baber Javed. At the time of the fieldwork, it had become the talk of the town for the nature of its content. The narrative revolves around the issues faced by rape victims during reassimilation into society. Having been recommended this serial by the producers (especially Ali Imran), as well as assessing its popularity in my viewing sample, I asked Baber Javed about his motivations in taking up the script: I made Roag, and it was very depressing to watch, but at the same time it was so eye-opening that even I started to have these conversations at home with my wife about not sending the children to school with our driver . . . However, to be honest, I was not too sure about the impact it would have. For Javed, Roag was like any other project. He never assumed that this project would trigger many post-viewing discussions on television and among the viewers. What is usually ignored when producing is the role of the content. In the case of Roag, the treatment of the subject is similar to preaching, whereby characters deliver ‘elaborate’ dialogues about ‘how to assimilate rape victims into the society’ or ‘how not to

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send young girls to a local shop’. Any project that has to do with social reform or engaging the public with a cause demands a deliberate effort on the part of the producers, though Roag could be an exception. Additionally, it is worth noting that after Roag went on air, several morning shows took up the issue of rape of minors as their topic. Whether there was a direct link between the airing of Roag as a pioneer in breaking the silence on child rape or whether it was coincidental that other genres started conversations on this topic could not be verified. In relation to empowerment, it could be argued that there were still limitations to the narrative: the victim was not shown as fighting back for assimilation into the society, rather as opting for seclusion. Thus, the narrative could be given its due for breaking the silence on such issues, but it did so by calling for further disciplining and restricting of women’s access to the public space. This way, content effectively tempers citizen behaviour in a certain direction, as suggested by Miller (1993). How viewers’ engagement with this serial translated into what might be described as paranoia and fear of the outside world will be explored in Chapter 6. In a commercial industry that pursues consumers, Geo Channel runs a Special Project Department (SP 1) for drama serials. The SP1 division is committed to raising awareness on social issues, and, more importantly, gender-based issues. With projects like Bol Meri Machli (Speak Out, My Fish) and Tum Ho Kay Chup (And You Are Silent), the Head of Production works with an intention to engage the viewers with the issues.3 Tum Ho Kay Chup is a serial produced under the Special Project Department of Geo Channel that aims to empower women through its productions. The projects that fall under my department are called ‘Special Projects’ and aim to empower women. My sponsor for these drama serials is our channel, GEO, so neither ratings nor the Sales Department bother me at all. When Iqbal Ansari spoke as Head of Special Projects about ‘ratings not bothering him at all’, he was referring to Geo’s policy of having at least ‘one drama serial’ at a time that aims to engage viewers with gender-based issues regardless of its potential to give ratings or profit. These projects were written by Asghar Nadeem Syed. With Bol Meri

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Machli, the writer attempted to touch upon the issue of homosexuality as well as extramarital affairs, and with Tum Ho Kay Chup he attempted to bring to screen a real case of a Baluchi tribe in which five women were buried alive in the name of honour, as per the customs of this tribe. Even the Minister who represented this constituency did not intervene to stop the crime.4 In terms of ratings, the projects may not have delivered, but they were motivating enough for the viewers to protest against the narratives. Tum Ho Kay Chup offended Baluchis to the extent that a few formed a webpage in protest of such a representation of Baluchis,5 whereas viewers of Bol Meri Machli got so involved with the story that female university students protested against the portrayal of the ‘character of a poet who sexually abuses women’.6 For this serial, the viewers reacted not only against the portrayal, but also against openness, in terms of showing physical proximity between the characters. I would argue that the project produced under the Department of Special Projects was far from inspirational. Rather, it was based on reality but managed to engage the viewing public. Recently, Hum TV launched two projects in collaboration with the Kashf Foundation on women empowerment and child abuse. Its first ever serial, Reehai (Freedom), on child marriage and family planning, aired in 2013. This was followed by the currently-on-air project Udaari (To Fly), on child rape and incest. These projects were essentially produced to initiate a conservation in society on issues deemed private. One cannot be sure of the post-viewing conversations among viewers at home, but the content certainly disturbed quite a few viewers, who lodged complaints against Udaari for showing immoral scenes. Momina Duraid, producer of this project, responded to PEMRA’s notice in this manner: We have very responsibly carved and executed this concept with prime focus on educating our public and children for a cause. We expect our regulatory bodies to encourage us and it’s very unfortunate that instead of supporting us, they have taken a route that can only harm our society . . . We cannot hide behind a wall and close our eyes to any kind of abuse, especially child abuse. (Express Tribune, 2016)7 Government can play an instrumental role in facilitating media for social causes. It is not simply about funding a campaign; rather, it is

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about ensuring a free space for expression on TV. In addition, the way in which PEMRA regulates content is not clear. Mostly, it is in cases of moral code and blasphemy that PEMRA becomes active. I argue that drama serials offer a space where female citizens are invested, hence this genre could be used effectively (by the government) to engage women with social awareness programmes. Although ARY Channel already has Roag to its credit, it has now made a conscious effort to produce at least two serials per year on social awareness. In a recent telephone interview, Jerjees Seja explains his strategy in this manner: I make a conscious effort to produce one serial at a time for social awareness. Now, we have Khuda Mera Bhi Hae [God is Mine Too] on transsexuals. Interestingly, State law has already recognised them as ‘the third gender’, but we are still struggling with such issues. I believe TV can bring change, as it is the most powerful medium in Pakistan. Khuda Mera Bhi Hae is currently on air. The story revolves around the life and struggles of a transsexual in an affluent class. Seja’s project surely breaks the silence on the transsexuals’ right to live with dignity. Although the State recognises them as the third sex on national identity cards, transsexuals continue to suffer the biases of a conservative society. With cases of murder, sexual assault and denying their right to visit the holy sites in Saudi Arabia, transsexuals face immense discrimination (Akbar, 2016).8 These projects aimed to engage viewers with realities on the ground, and were at some level able to touch the audience in the way intended. Filing complaints against content or calling it objectionable in various forums (internet or newspapers) initiates a public debate on our traditional understanding of the private. It allows the viewers to assume the role of a citizen and reflect on how taboos should be addressed. I propose that gendered content can offer effective spaces for public sphering, if discourses are unconstrained (as echoed by Benhabib, 1992). Special projects, in particular, offer occasional spaces where gendered discourse plays out without constraints. In such instances, the pro-social role of literature in effect prepares ‘the ground for legitimate public controversy over current events’ (cf. Eagleton, 1984 cited in McGuigan, 2005:430). I strongly believe that gendered content can be read in terms of the literary public sphere, a sphere where women participate

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frequently. In his accounts on the evolving nature of the public sphere, Habermas (1989) has shown confidence in the critical approach of literature to issues in society. His discussion around the literary public sphere suggests that it functioned functions as a ‘precursor to the public sphere operative in the political domain’ (Habermas, 1989, quoted in Landes 1998: 139). McGuigan (2005) stresses literary fiction as the best source to understand a culture. This understanding of a literary public sphere is somewhat closer to Pakistani drama serials, especially those produced with the intention to engage the viewing public. I emphasise that newspapers are unable to reveal the actual customs and dominant values of a society. With their limited word count, news stories about gendered crime remain factual and even fail to engage the public with gendered causes. However, drama serials, such as Roag, offer a holistic view on gender-based realities in Pakistani society. Being emotionally invested in this genre, viewers develop an association with characters and can feel more for their ordeals. Moreover, I maintain that drama serials offer an ideal genre for developing silent consensus over controversial issues.

Showing Reality, Bringing Change: In Conversation with Drama Writers Drama serials in particular, and television in general, are considered to be a writer’s medium in the Pakistani television industry. Therefore, when I interviewed writers, I requested them to speak on their vision behind highlighting certain gender-based subjects and to comment on this genre’s themes in general. I was interested in knowing whether they think narratives align with the gendered realities around. I will begin with Hasina Moin, one of the most senior writers in the industry. She has earned acclaim for her portrayal of confident women in drama serials on state television (see, for example, Kothari, 2005 and Suleman, 1999). The protagonists in her drama serials were appreciated for their unwavering confidence, but at the same time were criticised for representing a class alien to many Pakistani households. With Aahat, a project funded by Johns Hopkins University that aired on state television in 1994, she contributed a script on family planning. At the time, Aahat drew criticism for being too open in its treatment of a subject that is supposed to be a private matter in Pakistani society.9 In her interview, Moin stated

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that her protagonists were shown to be secure in themselves and loved by men in their families, because she took inspiration from her own life. More importantly, she argued that this is how women should be loved and given confidence to achieve their dreams. In other words, it was important for her to set standards through which the agency of women could be structured. According to Moin, drama serials in the post-liberalisation period do not entertain the viewers; they are rather regressive in terms of impact. She argues that liberalisation in terms of gendered content in television culture has not facilitated a change in attitudes towards gender-related issues in society. For example, in our conversation on drama serials, she expresses her reservation on the treatment of gender-related issues as follows: Showing incest, halala and marriage to Qur’an10 is not performed to address the issue on ground, but to create a spectacle or thriller out of it. With the extra coverage we give to homosexuality and transsexuality, we are encouraging them to come out openly, and no wonder we now have a lot of them at the traffic signs (as beggars). Is this what we call assimilation? In her criticism of glorifying ‘transsexuality’, she implies a direct link between the narratives of drama serials and their impact on desensitising society. To her, these issues do not represent the majority of households in Pakistan. Therefore, giving too much exposure to gender-related issues can only make them a norm for this society and not empower gender in any way. She even mentions that, when writing, her intention was to bring forward the representations of ‘men who know how to love, instead of oppress’, and that through her characters, her viewers could learn to protect themselves. Her concerns raise some important questions in relation to what sort of content can bring about change in society. However, for Fasih Bari, reality has another dimension. Known for his controversial scripts, he refuses to conform to the writing trends that seek to reinforce gender-based practices through this genre. Since 2011, Bari’s serials have become popular in terms of ratings. He is one of the few writers that have taken issue with the representation of women as subservient to men, but in a somewhat different manner. Unlike

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Hasina’s protagonists, Bari’s scripts highlight characters that do not fall into the category of perfect human beings, and are mostly represented as individuals with shortcomings, as anyone in real life. He focuses on issues that surround the lives of people in the lower middle class; however, it is rightful to say that his narratives reflect an obsession with whatever happens in the private sphere, and mostly focus upon issues of sexuality in Pakistani society. For instance, he has highlighted the life of sexual exceptionals in Pakistani society, issues of incest, adultery and, especially, how women in our society get away with many things in the name of sexuality.11 His treatment of such issues is controversial because he does not create an evil out of those who err in relationships; instead, he takes issue with the ‘Shari’a-compliant version of morality’ in society. Nor does he create fantasies, but sticks to what is happening in society. However, when I asked him whether he is aiming to ‘bring some change or open up society on debates around gender and sexuality’, he replied: I think TV will remain inactive in bringing change in society. If we aim for change through television, we have to be very patient, and channels have to experiment with emancipatory themes for a long time. However, I do think that we have been playing hide-and-seek long enough with issues of sexuality. Despite an implied intention to break the silence on issues of sexuality, Bari draws attention to an important aspect: it has only been a few years since the media were liberalised, and it can take a long time before television can catalyse change. Invariably, all those involved in the production of drama serials raise similar responses to the question about their potential to change and empower women. Nevertheless, I spot a contradiction within their answers. On the one hand, writers as well as directors/producers point towards the fact that drama serial do not have the potential to engage women to the point where they can change their approach towards gender-based issues. On the other hand, there is concern that production houses and the broadcasters do not offer inspirational roles in the narratives. In these discussions, writers who are experimenting with emancipatory themes are critical of the popular narratives that glorify powerless women within their homes.

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Every other drama serial is based on relationships within the home, mainly on how to win over a husband or in-laws. Popular representation, in this regard, is that of a protagonist that is submissive and almost selfless in all relationships that define her. The emancipatory moments are defined in ‘closures’, where protagonists are glorified in their positions as ideal homemakers who are eventually acknowledged for their righteousness and sacrifices by others. Women in such narratives do not have a definition of their own identity; rather, the self is glorified in relation to how well they submit to the system/culture and the relationships around them. In this context, it is hard to find a female character as a ‘thinking self’ or an individual that has distinctive characteristics, ambitions and the ability to make her own decisions. What makes it more intriguing is the acceptability of such representations as an attempt to emancipate women within the home, which can be translated into disciplining women in another way. A virtuous woman is the one who is powerless and does not raise her voice against the malpractices of the society; usually, silence and enduring pain are shown as her true strengths. The idea at play here is that women can be emancipated when they reclaim their positions in religiously mandated roles. Therefore, in this line of inquiry, I engaged in conversations with writers whose work is not only highly gendered, but also popular in terms of ratings, and complies with religiously mandated roles. Umera Ahmed is one of the female digest writers who has, in recent years, taken to the small screen with her ‘screen plays’, which have become highly popular/rated among viewers. In our telephone conversation on gender-based themes and changing realities for women on the ground, Ahmed opines: ‘I do not see “women’s emancipation” as a real issue, this idea is foreign to us . . . Typical liberal mindsets are imposing such ideas as “issues”.’ For Ahmed, the idea of emancipation has not originated locally. In fact, in response to my question about her motivation behind creating protagonists who suffer because of discriminatory practices at home, such as in Meri Zaat Zarra e Baynishan (Speckle) and Maat (Checkmate), she mentions: ‘Creating false hopes is dangerous, but I never intended to glorify misery. Rather, I was taking issue with wrongdoings of antagonists in the serials.’ Throughout the conversation, Ahmed reiterates that:

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Religion is a frame of reference for addressing any issue, and my idea of women’s rights has never stepped outside the boundaries laid by religion . . . I wonder why we raise this voice about women’s rights and not about women’s duties? She goes on to argue that Pakistan is facing many local challenges (referring to Talibanisation) and immense pressure from the outside world to address women’s issues. In this regard, she believes that Islam has already offered rights and protection to women through Shari’a, and refers to how her project Kankar (Pebble) is purely based on the rights of women for divorce.12 In a somewhat different approach to her writings, her serial Shehr-eZaat (on air at the time of the interview) focuses on how wives unconditionally seek the love of their husbands rather than seeking that of God. In an attempt to question women’s role as believing Muslims, she follows the path of Islamic feminism, whereby women are rescued from their roles as typical housewives and as subservient to sovereigns in the private sphere (home), to being committed and accountable to God first and then to their male custodians. Though religion and patriarchy complement each other, this ideological shift from culture to religion promises certain comfort zones for women as servants to God first and then to any male member of their family (mehram). Since religion does not offer a single interpretation in relation to ‘rights, do’s and don’ts for women’, it is certainly a better alternative for women who are eager to move on. Despite Ahmed’s modest admission that writers of female digests have limited exposure to worldly issues, she has been eloquent on the repercussions of political turmoil that Pakistan is currently facing and how it affects scripts. She argues that religion has become a commodity, violence has become the language of expression in Pakistan and gender offers that ground/plain where violence is easily expressed. However, when I ask her about whether drama serials can bring change or not, her statements were somewhat contradictory. On the one hand, Ahmed explains how women, in recent years, have stepped out of their homes in small cities to work, which speaks for change, and how they pick up latest trends in fashion through television; on the other hand, she insists that drama serials can only offer entertainment.

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Like many other writers, Kifayat Rudini claims to be showing the actual face of society in his scripts. In Kaash (on air at the time of fieldwork) Rudini highlights the issue of family members ‘selling daughters into contractual marriages’ as well as domestic abuse for women within households, irrespective of their class. Rudini discusses how important it is to raise themes based on reality, which can possibly motivate viewers to rethink practices within society. Rudini mentions that he has additionally written about the custom of giving brides kafn (cloth to wrap a dead body) in their dowry. The cloth symbolises that a woman should never think of divorce or leaving her husband unless on her final journey to the graveyard, wrapped in the same cloth. Rudini had seen this practice in his extended family. During the interview, he shares that he has seen these practices in his own culture.13 However, those who highlight the dark truths of society think that speaking to/ about realities on the ground can make viewers think about the practices around them. As Rudini argues: I strongly believe that we must show reality – it is our mirror. If you do not want to see your ugly face in the mirror, then break it or continue doing whatever you are doing, but it is the responsibility of the writer to show you your real face. This is my responsibility as well, for I am an insider to it too.14 In literature/short stories, we usually have a realistic wind-up, but we (writers) give reasons for happy/unhappy endings. We cannot create a utopia; we have to create hope. Even a tragic wind-up can give hope to viewers, and this hope lies in the lesson they learn from drama serials. This is not a medium for films, where you can create fantasy; we base our themes on realistic footings. I want my viewers to watch my drama serials/soap operas and later engage in a post-viewing discussion. I am happy to know that the viewers have motivated you to interview me, because it shows that my work disturbed them and they are thinking about it. Like Umera Ahmed, Rudini asserts the importance of realism. In fact, he links it to the ethical dimension in writing, which dictates that writers should mirror realities, which may lead to taking steps towards change. In addition, Rudini invites attention to the fact that cinema offers a

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different medium, whereas television is used as a medium based on realism.15 One can notice that, as a writer, Rudini wants to engage viewers and is passionate about what he writes. Although he works in a commercial industry and, at times, writes on the given one-liners,16 he has his own vision and agenda. Reflecting on my conversations with writers and producers, I argue that writers cannot be abstracted from their surroundings. Living in a patriarchal society and invested in their own subjective positions within it, writers come up with stories that reflect their own experiences. Except for Ghazal, it was usually male writers who could think out of the box and challenge the status quo through their writings. However, there is limited demand for emancipatory content, and it is mostly female digest writers who have now taken to the small screen to write stories that glorify women in religiously-mandated roles. These writers already had an existing market in reading publics, and broadcasters have only recently pulled these readers to smaller screens. Male writers (Ali Moin, Khalid Ahmed and Fasih Bari), on the other hand, are sceptical about conformist narratives on screen and argue that female digest writers have almost colonised television screens. This is believable to an extent, but also speaks to how the television industry has empowered women writers whose expression was restricted to digests. Nevertheless, there are occasional strikes by writers who want to give oppositional representations. For Enver Sajjad and Seema Ghazal, the core of the problem lies in compartmentalising individuals into ‘gender’. For them, narratives and society’s overall approach towards ‘gender’ is problematic, because it brackets an individual into a certain gender, which automatically assigns him/her to a form of behaviour. According to them, the project of empowerment is not helpful when we initiate our discussion with an emphasis on a certain gender. Instead, the discussion should rather be about all individuals deserving to have equal rights. Enver Sajjad emphasises this as follows: I completely disagree with the term ‘feminism’ and women’s rights. Why do you have to make this distinction? Creating hope can bring change and you should show the resolution in favour of humanity.

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Sajjad challenges the utility of the concept of gender and stresses the importance of a gender-neutral approach that addresses human issues (only). This surely turns out to be a unique approach towards societal issues, especially in a society where issues related to gender demand urgent attention. Approaching such issues in Pakistani society without bias and influence from religion and culture is still far from reality, and in Pakistani television culture, empowering women or discussing gender-based issues does not allow them many routes to choose from. Moreover, writers with secular leanings have to be cautious in introducing ideas, as the socio-political environment does not allow them to be fully vocal on gendered issues. Apparently, the trend of rising religiosity in Pakistan has played a role in the content’s obsession with the home and glorifying it as the ‘right’ sphere of woman’s activity. Since homes and relationships are the two main areas that define gendered roles within Pakistani society, marriages and divorces are the key themes in all such serials. Writers have been confident enough to reclaim the rights of women in the light of Shari’a and, at times, have taken issue with it too. The concept of halala remains controversial; writers have highlighted how this practice is misused in the name of religion (such as in Dil Hai Chota Sa and Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat). Under Shari’a, the husband has the right to divorce a wife, whereas the wife has to seek divorce through a court or madrassa, which is such a burdensome process that women prefer to remain in a wedlock rather than seek a divorce. In one of her recent scripts, a writer went as far as to challenge the law of divorce in Islam with a narrative where the protagonist divorces her husband in verbal and written form, which is not in line with Shari’a.17 In replying to the question about why she believes her content is emancipatory, she mentions how she treats the subject of ‘procedure of divorce’ in Islam in one of her recent scripts. In my recent serial, the protagonist divorced her husband in the last episode. Obviously, this does not conform to Islamic tradition, but I partially resisted the tradition and wanted to make the point that if a woman does not want to, she can walk out of the marriage with as much ease as a man can. Due to the patriarchal society we live in, I do not even mention my ‘intention/implied meaning’ to the production companies. (Anonymised)

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Another writer, who did not wish to reveal her identity, discussed how marriage is highlighted as the only honourable arrangement for women to live in society. To her understanding, this is now far from reality, because divorce rates are rising. In her scripts, she highlights the possibility of contractual marriage/temporary marriage or muta, which has become an easy route for men in Muslim societies. She mentions how careful one must be in approaching the subject of failures within traditional marriages, because pressure groups within society (dominant clergy) do not allow such possibilities for women in the name of religion. She even points out that production houses are owned by men who have no interest in themes that raise questions about divorce rights for women: Drama serials can change viewers’ attitude towards certain things in society, but that change is not something that you might know of. In my serial, I have shown ‘contractual marriage’ . . . Can you not see, this is already there in our society. Young people do not want to get married, they want an escape from traditional marriage. You can now see that even Saudi Arabia is opening up to contractual marriage [referring to misyar]. However, you cannot approach topics such as contractual marriage (muta) or halala in an open manner, because the mullah [Islamic clergy] will not let you do that. (Anonymised) From the account above, one can see how this writer has pushed her own agenda. Interestingly, she draws attention to how women writers, or writers who want to take issue with Shari’a, can utilise the space of drama serial in an indirect way. Such implicit agendas are crucial for this project. In this regard, I have several observations that link my analysis back to the theoretical framework of this debate. In an industry that is highly commercialised and where content is supposedly determined by ratings, writers (as creative workers) continue to push their own agendas. The genre of drama serial offers an unconstrained space that can go against even the most influential pressure groups (notably the clergy). In this way, popular culture becomes a site where the ‘political’ is revisited (Dahlgren, 2009). However, more significantly, it is in this genre that writers can take the liberty to question the misuse of Islamic rulings on matters of divorce and marriage. Issues such as muta and a woman divorcing her husband can simply not be reviewed in a current

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affairs-based programme. I argue that the actual emancipatory potential of the content lies in the fictitious nature of this genre (drama serial). The entertainment value of the drama serial masks the sensitive nature of this issue, but at the same time it allows room for an in-depth analysis of the problem. In fact, I would additionally argue that women are usually not very enthusiastic about current affairs-based talk shows and news. It is through entertainment-driven genres that broadcasters can engage women with gendered issues. In this chapter, I have examined the intentions and motivations of those on the creative side of production in offering gender-based narratives in drama serials. Several issues came to the fore. Firstly, the project of empowerment is, in most cases, unintended. Secondly, the obsession with ‘home-oriented themes’ has its roots in the dominant discourses of society, namely religion and patriarchy. Thirdly, the new breed of writers/directors highlighting such themes, do not see inspirational ‘characters’ in society and are committed towards reflecting ‘reality’. No matter what the agenda of the commercial industry is, these writers are committed to highlighting their version of reality or, in other words, how they see gender-based issues. Fourthly, almost all those involved in producing drama serials believe that this genre has a somewhat limited role to play in rapidly changing realities on ground. Fifthly, the projects that aimed to disturb viewers in an intended way (SP1 and Kashf Foundation Projects) were successful in doing so, but there is no single formula for addressing change. For several writers, it is about acknowledging reality first, whereas for others it is about creating inspirational roles that take issue with existing practices.

CHAPTER 5 INTERACTIVE TV:IS EMPOWERING WOMEN AND BRINGING CHANGE ON PRODUCERS' AGENDAS?

The previous chapter examined the role of drama serials in empowering women. This chapter extends the discussion to discovering the potential of interactive TV to bring change. In doing so, I argue that, unlike drama serials, where one finds a relatively unconstrained discourse on gender, the discourse in talk shows is largely colonised by religion. At the same time, it is unique in giving women access to the mediated public sphere. The format of the interactive genre is primarily based on an issue-based discussion (honour crimes, domestic violence and divorce) among the anchor, panellists and audiences. It varies a little in terms of its treatment of the issues. For example, social issues-based talk shows offer a serious format, where experts on religion, law, medicine and civil society representatives get together to discuss individual cases of gendered crime, followed by an input from in-studio audiences. In the case of religion-based talk shows, members of the public directly contact the anchor through email, letter or live phone call in shows, to seek fatwa (religious counselling) from the experts on religion. Breakfast shows, on the other hand, are essentially an entertainment-driven genre, but occasionally take up cases of gendered crimes with a similar panel for discussion.

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Finding a Feminist Public Sphere in Interactive TV Any sphere that allows citizens to come forward and act as publics is identified as a public sphere. As Habermas (2006: 73) puts it: ‘by “public sphere”, we mean . . . a realm of our social life in which something approaching public opinion can be formed. Access is guaranteed to all citizens. A portion of the public sphere comes into being in every conversation in which private individuals assemble to form a public body.’ Situated in the tradition of liberal political philosophy, this model focuses on the prerequisites and dynamics of a healthy democracy. Although Habermas acknowledged the importance of the media as a new form of public sphere, he insisted that ‘a healthy public sphere requires small-scale media not motivated by commercial interests’ (Habermas 1991: 181–8, quoted in Butsch, 2009). Departing from Habermas’ approach, Dahlgren (1995: 7 –9) notes: The scale of modern society does not allow more than a relatively small numbers of citizens to be physically co-present, the mass media have become the chief institutions of the public sphere. It points to those institutional constellations of the media and other for a for information and opinion – and the social practices around them – which are relevant for political life. That these institutional constellations and practices may be anemic does not per se mean they are irrelevant. The essence of Dahlgren’s argument lies in the fact that media institutions, despite their commercial angle, cannot be considered irrelevant for the exchange of ideas and opinion, though he acknowledges that media institutions may not be identical to Habermas’s original ideal of the public sphere. For this chapter, Dahlgren’s theory suggests that gender-based talk shows offer spaces where marginalised publics (housewives and victims of gender abuse) use the mediated public sphere to discuss issues of concern to them. It is in these spaces that women as members of the public, and as experts in the field, participate in discussions on gender-based issues. As a result, several opinions are formed, although it is not common to reach a consensus in the Habermasian sense. This platform-sharing creates a reflection of the public sphere (certainly not identical) on screen. Like Benhabib (1992), Fraser

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(1990), Felski (1986), Landes (1998) and Mc Laughlin (1993), I have approached this dimension of public sphering from a feminist perspective. The aforementioned feminist critics saw the potential in this notion and reclaimed the model to make it useful for other emancipatory projects. On the one hand, the debates focus on creating smaller counterpublic spheres, which inform the mainstream public sphere and eventually gain recognition in mainstream public discourses. On the other hand, feminism has offered a critique of Habermas’s narrow definition of the common good and, therefore, demand an inclusive approach for any issue that can sustain the rules of practical discourse. Appreciating the utility of this concept, feminists have tried to rearticulate this notion of common good and what was considered as private in the traditional model of the public sphere. Landes (1998: 144) observes: The goals of generalizability and appeals to the common good may conceal rather than expose forms of domination, suppress rather than release concrete differences among persons or groups. Moreover, by banishing the language of particularity, the liberal public sphere has jeopardized its own bases of legitimation in the principles of accessibility, participation, and equality. Translating Landes’s observation into the context of Pakistan, I trace certain issues that fall into the ‘language of particularity’. I argue that issues pertaining to the roles and rights of women under Shari’a fall into the definition of the common good. However, homosexuality or the rights of transgender people do not qualify as the common good.1 Ideally speaking, the idea of common good and matters of shared concern should be decided by ‘discursive contestation’ (Fraser 1990: 71). In relation to this study, this raises two relevant questions. Firstly, it asks whether the spaces in the mediated public sphere allow discursive contestation with regards to the common good or not. If not, then it opens up another question about who prioritises or defines the ‘common good’ for the publics. However, Benhabib (1992) argues that, despite its inadequacies, Habermas’s model of the public sphere is still compatible with modern times. Rather than formally opening the model of public sphere to issues of private nature, she builds on the essential trait of the public sphere, which thrives on the ‘norm of egalitarian reciprocity’. According to the

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theory’s own defining trait, issues of the public sphere cannot exclude issues related to the private sphere, which can be of concern to many participants in the public sphere. Moreover, she asserts that opening up the discourse model to such private issues will not undermine the essence of the Habermasian ideal; rather, it would enrich its potential (1992: 110–1). For Benhabib (1992), a revised version of the public discourse model that is not constrained by any norms under discussion is the only way forward in feminising the mainstream discourses on the good life and democratising the private sphere. Despite the potential that Benhabib (1992) sees in this model, she remains sceptical about how discourses operate in the media (112), which is also of concern to this project. Benhabib’s emphasis on unconstrained discourse is vital to her conceptualisation of a discursive model of public space. In relation to my study, I propose that it is the ‘unconstraining’ character of mediated space that can, at least, start a conversation on several issues in the public sphere. As promising as it is for a healthy public sphere to address the need of all citizens across the board, I argue that this cannot be fully achieved in an unequal society, where the mainstream public sphere is run either by the State or commercial broadcasters, both pursuing their own agendas. As seen in Chapter 4, drama serials occasionally allow ‘unconstrained’ space for revisiting gender issues. However, I argue that it is not just about ensuring an unconstrained space; it is worth exploring that even with such spaces, female citizens may not use the space to its full potential (for viewers’ response on this issue, see Chapter 6). A relevant question can be whether those who live in fear and awe of religion and patriarchal culture can engage as free citizens for discursive contestation on issues of personal nature or not. In order to achieve a presence in the mainstream public sphere (prime time), I follow Felski (1989) and Fraser (1990), who have identified certain paths for disadvantaged groups. Felski (1986), who engaged with Western (American and European) literary theory, suggested that: Insofar as (feminism) is a public sphere, its arguments are also directed outward, toward a dissemination of feminist ideas and values throughout society as a whole . . . The feminist public sphere also constitutes a discursive arena which disseminates its

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arguments outwards through such public channels of communication as books, journals, the mass media, and the education system. The gradual expansion of feminist values from their roots in the women’s movement throughout society as a whole is a necessary corollary of feminism’s claim to embody a catalyst of social and cultural change. (Felski 1986: 167) Here, the idea is that a feminist public sphere begins as an autonomous sphere where oppression and discrimination become the common ground for participation. The consciousness of membership in a community of oppressed groups is facilitated through literary texts and mass media. Here, oppression becomes the factor that keeps the discourses in circulation, and which is then gradually acknowledged by society. This idea of a feminist public sphere as an alternative, relatively small, yet parallel to the mainstream public sphere is important for this study. In the case of Pakistan, Jamal (2009) has evaluated how the women’s wing of Jamaat-e-Islami participates in the larger public sphere with its own agenda and on its own terms.2 In addition, Zia (2009) has analysed how private religious congregations, known as dars, have become popular among Pakistani women, where women learn about their rights in Islam. In this regard, Islamic feminism has recently made inroads into the public sphere in Pakistan. Zia suggests that ‘this form of feminism has captured the imagination of feminist possibilities in a more symbolic, confrontational and rewarding way than any vision that secular feminism can put forth’ (2009: 45). Amidst these developments in the larger public sphere, I examine how a feminist public sphere might have emerged through interactive TV, where victims of gender abuse denounce victimhood publicly, and whether it has established itself within the mainstream, mediated public sphere, as well as what is the nature of this feminist public sphere (liberal or conservative). In this regard, Fraser (1990) has taken this debate further by examining how counter public spheres can appear and sustain in the mainstream public sphere. I will adopt two arguments from Fraser’s critique that can relate to the understanding of the contemporary mediated public sphere in Pakistan. Fraser (1990: 66) argues that ‘it is not possible to insulate special discursive arenas from the effects of societal inequality, and that where societal inequality persists,

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deliberative processes in the public sphere will tend to operate to the advantage of the dominant groups and to the disadvantage of subordinates’. She further argues that this situation worsens with a single ‘comprehensive public sphere’, because marginalised groups are unable to seek recognition for their rights. However, Fraser (1990: 67) suggests that the subordinated members of society (which she calls ‘subaltern counter publics’) can ‘constitute alternative publics’. She believes that such a formation works to the advantage of the subaltern counter public, because ‘to interact discursively as a member of a public – subaltern or otherwise – is to disseminate one’s discourse into ever widening arenas’. She elaborates further by stressing that not all subaltern counter publics are democratic, and their discursive practices can only enrich the wider public sphere. I draw from these two arguments in relation to the emerging counter/ feminist public sphere in Pakistani television culture. For instance, I examine the survival strategies of the subaltern gender-based discourses, in order to reach a level where they join the mainstream public sphere. When the counter public establishes its discourse in the mediated public sphere, it creates an ‘other’ for itself, which is, at the time, another subaltern group. For instance, in the case of Pakistan, a public for gender-based discourse has emerged in the mediated public sphere as the counter public against the official patriarchal discourse. Relying heavily on the Shari’a-based discourse on gender, this counter public has established itself within the mainstream public sphere. In doing so, it is not democratic in its practices, and does not welcome plurality of opinion on gender-based issues. It sees all issues through the lens of religion, hence has pushed non-conforming thoughts to the fringes. Moreover, there is still no single ‘unifying discourse’ (to use McLaughlin’s term, 1993: 610), and any such attempt to unite women under a single feminist discourse is risky. It is worthwhile asking why certain (conservative) discourses on feminism have a better chance of occupying the Pakistani-mediated public sphere than liberal discourses. If this is true, then it opens up several lines of inquiry in this project: firstly, why religious discourses on feminism are preferred over the liberal and secular discourses of feminism, and who are the beneficiaries of this; secondly, whether there is a link between hegemonic discourses (in this case patriarchal) and Islamic discourses or not; thirdly, how and

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why conservative discourses are compatible with the interest of the producers, and whether or not opening up on one kind of discourse (in this case religious) can trigger another contesting discourse such as a liberal discourse. It is in the talk shows that one finds a model that is similar to the feminist ideal of the public sphere. In this model, emotions play a crucial role in engaging with issues of social relevance, especially in cases of gender-based issues. I argue that the separation between rationality and emotionality is not very helpful in understanding these issues. I concur with Dahlgren (1995), who suggests that ‘rational communication is necessary, but if our horizons do not penetrate beyond the conceptual framework of communicative rationality and the ideal speech situation, we will be operating with a crippled critical theory’ (1995: 109). If we were to create an ideal public sphere today with constructive input from diverse publics, we would need to broaden our vision about what rationality necessarily means. In other words, in modern times our understanding of the public sphere should be much more inclusive in terms of listening to what others (as members of society) have to say. It is in the talk shows that we may obtain the voice of those who are pushed to the fringes. Lunt and Stenner (2005: 63) extend the debate on the public sphere further by including the genre of talk shows, in which ‘emotional expression and conflict are central features of such programmes’. They argue that a show like The Jerry Springer Show is an emotional public sphere that parallels the rational critical public sphere in a way that encourages, manages and reflects upon emotional conflict in a public context. Sceptical of the controlled environment in which participants are allowed to publicly discuss their personal issues, Lunt and Stenner (2005) considered the emotional public sphere to be antithetical to the classical idea of the public sphere. Similarly, Lunt and Livingstone (1994) have referred to such popular talk shows as an ‘oppositional public sphere’. Instead of labelling such spheres as antithetical to the idea of the public sphere, or calling the issues ‘emotional conflicts’, I argue that the gender-based talk shows are another reflection of the public sphere with a different order of expression. In addition, our understanding of the rules of performance and engagement for the publics can be revisited. The idea of how to perform should also be revisited to embrace other rhetorical styles (emotional, in this case). Moreover, my position is that taking up issues of shame and honour, such as rape, domestic violence,

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sexual harassment and honour killings, will inevitably have an emotional dimension attached to the discussion. Following Lunt and Pantti (2009: 168), I argue that certain socio-political issues are only tractable in emotionally laden rhetoric. Instead of arguing that the discussions should be purely based on reasoned arguments, the emphasis should be on combining emotional expression with reasons. The issue may start with emotionally laden narratives in drama serials and talk shows, but can still develop into a full-scale debate based on thoughtful and reasoned arguments. Talk shows take up individual cases of violence against women that engage the public through an emotional story. In doing so, they facilitate a discussion on how to seek justice through the law and how to reassimilate the victims of gender-based violence. Such treatment of the subject can take the viewer beyond the story to reflect upon the cultural practices and inadequacies of the system, and reflect on ‘what should become political’. In practice, two kinds of public spheres can be associated with genderrelated content in Pakistani television: one that is directly presented in the discursive space provided by the programmes, and another that takes place within the home, among family members and friends (see Chapter 6).

Highlighting Gendered Crimes: The Case of Breakfast Shows To evaluate the potential of different genres to empower/change attitudes towards gender-based issues, I will begin this discussion with breakfast shows. Breakfast shows offer an important slot for generating revenue for channels. Only recently, breakfast shows started a trend whereby real-life victims of gender-based crimes are given space to highlight their ordeal. Usually, victims approach such formats to seek protection or get in touch with NGOs or law enforcement agencies. These shows highlight real-life cases in scripted form, where amateur performers act the role of the aggrieved parties to highlight their issues, and then the host, viewers and in-studio audiences comment. However, I am primarily interested in the real-life victims, not the scripted ones. In this regard, I will be looking at how the producers and hosts of the breakfast shows comment on the potential to facilitate gender-based empowerment and whether producers display the intention/motivation to change realities on the ground or not.

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In this genre, gender-based issues are highlighted once or twice a week. There is only one exception to these shows: in the case of Maya Khan’s morning show, these cases are highlighted daily, with specific campaigns run by the show to highlight issues of domestic violence. In other breakfast shows, I had to identify episodes where specific cases of abuse were brought onto the show. For this purpose, I analysed at least five episodes per show to understand their treatment of gender-based issues. The shows in this category were Subah Saveray Maya Kay Sath, Good Morning Pakistan and Utho Jago Pakistan. In the case of Subh Saveray Maya Kay Sath, the approach to genderbased issues appears to be emotional, and everyone in the studio, including the victim and the host, are seen in tears. This happens in the first 15 minutes of the show, where the victims or those accompanying them retell their ordeals. The discussion takes a serious turn in the second half, when law enforcement authorities, NGOs, legal advisors and politicians are taken on board. During these shows, live callers, mostly women, call in to express their concern over such issues or express solidarity with the women. The discussion around the plight of the women is wrapped up after assurances from the social activists, politicians and the host to follow up the case in the future. What is worth noting is that the host of Subh Suveray Maya Kay Sath and Good Morning Pakistan are conservative in their approach towards such issues. The discussion often focuses on how perpetrators commit heinous crimes against the weaker gender (sinf-e-nazuk), which otherwise needs protection, is naı¨ve and should be cared for. The hosts do not talk about equality between the sexes. In the case of Utho Jago Pakistan, the host (Shaista Lodhi) is somewhat liberal in her approach towards gender-based issues. She is much more authoritative in tone and gives confidence to the victims of domestic violence, urging them to divorce. In addition, she takes up the issue of ‘gender identity crisis’ and ‘sexual ambivalence’ on her show. Interestingly, in such episodes she avoids bringing in religious scholars as discussants. The panellists on her shows include social activists, doctors, politicians and even celebrities. The discussions in this show are less emotionally-laden and much more serious. There is clear evidence of making such issues socially and politically relevant.3 It is in this context that I interview five hosts.

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In conversations with hosts of five ‘highly rated’ breakfast shows, I realised that anchors were clear about the fact that television is a limited means for creating a cause for debate around specific cases of abuse. This section will discuss the reasons for making this genre a constraining space for such issues, and the ways in which they can offer limited support in relation to gendered issues. I will begin with the views of Nadeem, who opposes the way other morning shows treat the sensitive issue of gender-based crimes. In our conversation on the potential of breakfast shows for raising awareness on gender-based issues and facilitating gender-based policies, Nadeem defends her stance in this manner: Does it have any social value? Of course not. I do not see any point in showing specific cases of somebody eloping or someone being burnt. How would that affect anyone at all? If we were making a cause for debate, and we could even facilitate policies, then yes! But not simply with an hour-long verbal battle between the panellists on our show. If you have a big name, such as Fouzia Saeed [gender rights activist], telling the viewers about any such bill and letting them know their legal rights almost to the point of educating them . . . then yes! And you have to elaborate to the point of telling your viewers how it affects you and how to participate in such discussions or contribute to the cause in a certain way. Unfortunately, none of these shows do anything else other than highlighting the issues. They make us all feel miserable, it is too depressing and I, as a viewer, want to be motivated, inspired. Nadeem implies that such cases are sensationalised by bringing victims to the shows. Furthermore, she notes that giving out details on how the crime was carried out and how the victim and her family feel about it can only make viewers feel helpless. In other words, Nadeem draws attention to how it can lead to more stereotyping or collective lamenting on the fate of rape victims. However, she acknowledges that such spaces can be used for raising awareness about women’s rights, that is, ‘educating them’. Of course, educating viewers on their rights under a state law that protects them can further facilitate practices of cultural citizenship. This desire to know about their rights is explored in Chapters 6 and 7.

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While interviewing, I got the impression that hosts think that they are more knowledgeable and intellectually superior to their viewers. Implicitly, there is also an understanding that viewers cannot handle serious issues because such content is above them. (For a similar discussion, see, for example, Baker and Hesmondhalgh, 2011.) Below, Sawaira Nadeem replies to my question of ‘what do you think is the motivation behind trivialising the nature of such sensitive issues on these shows?’: We can engage the viewers in serious discussions and discourses to a certain extent, but not beyond. There is a reason why we have intellectual discourses among the learned and philosophers: because they are more intelligent and more sensitive, and it is their job, not that of our viewers. This raises a huge concern in relation to engaging viewers with a cause, and this is why hosts like Nadeem are not interested in using their fora for awareness programmes. It is a general assumption on the part of the producers that viewers of their content are not intelligent enough to engage in serious debates on gender-based issues. They must oversimplify the content to make it more palatable. If the producers’ concept about empowerment is different from that of the viewers, then the intention to empower fails. Since these formats claim to offer viewer-generated content (ratings-driven), the issue becomes even more complicated. An important concern in relation to this is ‘how well do these producers know their viewers?’ version of empowerment, and what do these viewers want to watch in terms of gender-based empowerment. When I probe further into the engagement patterns of viewers in relation to ‘debates and discussions over gender-based issues’, Nadeem mentions her reservation on viewers’ lack of interest in issues of ‘social’ relevance: Some of them want public debate, but unfortunately most of our viewership is middle-class. Not to sound condescending, but most of them are not ready to participate in the functioning of society, or they may not be confident in themselves. Their primary reason for participating is beauty problems, health problems or how to make their homes look better. (Nadeem)

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With regards to the day-to-day themes of breakfast shows, it is somehow evident that viewers are more interested in discussing issues that have to do with the home, personal grooming and relationships. Sawaira Nadeem mentions that their viewers are not socially motivated to engage with political and social issues. Shaista Lodhi, on the other hand, explains how their lack of interest in engaging with political and social issues is linked to the cultural and religious norms that glorify a woman’s role as a dependent on the male member (mehram) of the family: In this society, the day a girl child is born, mothers start talking about their dowry and marriage. With such an upbringing, these women have become stubborn, they do not want to take charge of their lives and they live off their father’s and later their husband’s pockets. Our society has made them stubborn and unwilling to change. (Lodhi) Lodhi draws attention to how gender roles are determined since the birth of a girl child. Parenting, in such cases, turns into grooming a girl child to perform fixed roles, firstly as a subservient daughter and sister, and then as a wife. Lodhi and Nadeem raise another concern that the women who are watching them are not willing to participate or change. This lack of interest in issues of social nature speaks volumes about the interests of these viewers and, in a way, suggests that their viewers are obsessed with their own lives and enjoy their dependency on men. This brings us back to the question about how we can define ‘empowerment’ in the Pakistani context. For many, it can be about full dependency on male members of their family or becoming the queen of the household, as enshrined in Islam (cf. Chapter 1). In any case, one can identify their frustration about producing viewers who do not engage with issues of social and political nature. Lodhi has used her platform to arrange weddings for the victims of gender-based crimes, such as the victims of burns, and for women seeking shelter in various shelter homes.4 When identifying gendered themes in morning shows, it became obvious that Lodhi’s show is more democratic in terms of gender-based issues; additionally, she has taken up the issue of sexual ambivalence and gender identity crisis on her show.5 In a particular episode of Utho Jago Pakistan (aired on 12 May 2012), she even shared how difficult it was for her to highlight this as a topic on her show. In her interview, she mentions that

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she wants to do something constructive on her shows, and makes it a point to address live callers with their first names, rather than as the ‘Mrs’ of someone. However, she believes that women are not ready to change. Interestingly, viewers of breakfast shows who do not seem to be participating in issues of social nature reacted to a recent incident on Lodhi’s show, where the production team and host were accused of blasphemy. As a result, her show was pulled from the screen and the entire team was suspended. This incident sparked protests in different talk shows and on the streets.6 Hence, I argue that viewers engage in instances that are important to them, especially in cases where the content challenges Shari’a explicitly. Furthermore, this endorses the idea that Lodhi viewers may be less of a public of gender-based content and more of religion, which makes them more responsive towards issues related to religion. Nida Pasha, another morning show host, usually creates discussions around the importance of personal grooming and how to strengthen relationships at home. As a host, her approach towards such issues conforms to the existing norms of society. Therefore, I raised a question about what her team’s motivation is in bringing real-life cases onto the screen, to which Sina Pasha, who is the director of her show, instantaneously replied: Is it not just popular demand. There are times when we want to do something serious as well . . . For example, we had a victim on our show who was raped by the son of Member of National Assembly. She was facing issues with registering first information report (FIR) in the local police station. We followed up the case on our show and it helped. However, at the moment, I hardly see any agenda for women’s empowerment or emancipation; it is more of a competition for better ratings. Nida [the host] gets emotionally involved with such issues and she often cries on set, but she believes that her emotional attachment to such issues has a stronger impact on the viewers. At times, we also work closely with the Ansar Burney Welfare Trust, which brings its cases to our shows, and we try to facilitate the legal process with media coverage. There was a threeyear-old girl who had been abandoned by her parents, and was brought onto our show by Sarim Burney. This girl was later adopted by someone on another breakfast show.7

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In this excerpt, there is a clear indication that, at times, producers want to help the victims of gender abuse. What comes across as an emotionally laden rhetoric has some socio-political value for the viewers. Broadcasters (in this case, ARY) render their platforms to NGOs for bringing certain cases to breakfast shows where in-studio audiences and TV viewers engage in collective deliberation, though informal, on gender issues. Apparently, such efforts are made purely to seek help for the victims, such as judiciary and law-enforcing agencies, and facilitate the system on the ground. In such instances, broadcasters, anchors and NGOs work in collaboration to highlight gender issues. I argue that these instances offer occasional spaces for reflection and deliberation on gender issues. Such trends offer new experiences for the viewing public. Traditionally, PTV’s public is not familiar with watching politicians, members of civil society, victims and viewers share the same platform on matters of mutual concern. State television remains elitist in many ways, partly because of the censorship on reporting gender issues on PTV. However, breakfast shows on private channels have become a melting pot where viewers across different classes share a platform. Viewers from higher socio-economic background get a glimpse of the ordeals of the victims. Although Nadeem, Lodhi and Pasha were sceptical about the role of this genre in furthering the cause of empowering women, Maya Khan, another morning show host, has an interesting take on her role: I am a feminist, and if the rights of any individual are violated on the basis of her gender, I raise my voice for them. I believe that woman is the weaker sex, legally, socially, religiously and economically. I admit that woman is weak, but I do not want any woman to be exploited on this premise . . . I think our society has started to open up, as we have started debates and discussions on issues that had never been brought up before.8 Perhaps the only host who is vocal about her position as a feminist, Khan settles for a problematic version of feminism that considers women as subservient to men. This form of feminism aligns with Islamic feminism, which is rooted in the concept of women

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as the weaker sex (sinf-e-nazuk). It endorses the idea that men are superior to women, an idea emerging directly out of the Holy Qur’an (see Qur’an, Surah 2: 228). While highlighting individual cases, Khan ends up glorifying the image of a woman who needs protection. This reaffirms the home as the actual sphere of all activities for women. Therefore, it becomes quite a task to offer guidance on any issue committed outside one’s own home, and it also creates a paranoia about the danger women face in the public sphere. Thus, such content reinforces the public/private distinction in Pakistani society. When describing the process of selecting individual cases for her show, Khan mentions how victims ‘bring their personal matters onto her show not only to seek justice, but that their plight can become eyeopening for others’. Her show is known for highlighting cases of gendered crimes. At the time of fieldwork, Khan highlighted how young girls were sexually abused by school van drivers. For her, the motivation in such cases is ‘have my viewers become cautious or not? If I have moved them, this is enough’. The format of her breakfast shows is not as serious as her previous show, entitled Aurat Kahani (Woman’s Story). In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that Aurat Kahani was perhaps the most serious talk show on gendered crimes. With a lawyer and a clergyman on the panel, individual cases were highlighted to educate the viewers and offer legal counsel to the victims who shared their stories. She explained to me why the broadcaster pulled it from screen: ‘See, channels cannot afford to run formats as serious as Aurat Kahani, because quite often influential names are behind such crimes.’9 This draws our attention to the limitations faced by interactive genres when bringing individual cases on screen. These restraints speak directly to the political culture in Pakistan, where reporting a crime is one thing, and bringing it to the interactive genre for discussion is another. In most cases, resourceful people (in politics) come to the rescue of the perpetrators, which makes the job of the broadcasters risky. In a related study, I explored the issues that anchors of current affairs-based talk shows face when inviting politicians to speak on crimes carried out in their constituencies. It emerged that even politicians held back from speaking on gender crimes in their own and their colleagues’ constituencies (Cheema, 2014).

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Producers of Crime Shows: Is Empowering/Bringing Change on Producers’ Agenda? Through interviews with crime show producers, it becomes evident that it is not on their agenda to make a difference through reporting and facilitating trials for gender-based crimes. In fact, what is most important for Asim Naseer, the producer of one of the top-rated crime shows (Shabbir Toh dekhay Ga), is to highlight the cases that are ‘unnoticed’, unusual and unheard of, primarily for ratings. In this process, if the programme is successful enough to make its viewers aware of strange happenings in society, or if it enables the law enforcement agencies to become aware of a crime, this is even better for the show. With such shows, reporting is the first step towards informing viewers about gender-based crimes, breaking the silence and starting a debate on other genres or even among the viewers. To these producers, reporting and accessing the media with an intention to report a case is a breakthrough. Crime shows tend to report cases and expose the details of stories that do not get appropriate coverage in news; however, this format does not address the question of how to solve the issues. Crime shows take one case per episode, which begins with the host introducing the case, and interviewing the victim, lawyer and perpetrator. This is followed by a re-enactment of the crime. Like any other interactive show, this genre fails to address state policy in relation to sexual abuse. When conducting focus groups, no discussion on gender-based content was complete without mentioning the cases highlighted in Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga and Jurm Bolta Hai. A trend of ‘watching crime shows’ emerged across socio-economic classes. This shows us how research findings can play a role in channelling further research work. Therefore, I decided to interview the producers of these two shows. Reluctantly, they agreed to give me access to the letters they receive from the female victims that seek protection through these shows. For Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga, I was given access to 110 letters, from which I selected about 25 that reported gender-based crimes. For ethical reasons, I will not use the findings of these letters in this study; however, the letters were useful in terms of giving an insight into the types of cases reported under gender-centric crimes. All victims were from rural areas and they chose to get in touch through letter-writing. Additionally, they clarified the questions regarding who can access the mediated public sphere, who

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represents it and for what purposes. In most cases, the gendered crime reported was a rape that eventually lead to murder or honour killing for women. The aim of my conversations with these two producers was to understand: (a) what the motivation is behind bringing gender-based violence on these shows; (b) in what ways can they benefit or help the victims as well as female viewers; (c) whether or not these shows have capacity for change/empowering women (d) whether or not these shows can facilitate the judiciary in any way. Asim Naseer (producer of Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga) is committed to giving exposure to those who have never had the chance to become visible on a public medium. He shares his rationale as follows: Our whole purpose is to make our viewers realise that it is the right of any woman to assist her ailing father with his work in rural areas, should she wish to. If she has been victimised (subjected to rape) for coming out of her home and into the fields, then this is a violation of her rights. In this hour-long space of our show, we want to speak for those whose voices are otherwise not heard on a public medium and for silenced people. (Asim Naseer) Naseer is sharing a crime story of girl who was raped in the fields. The girl’s father was ill and she used to help him. He points to the fact that in a hierarchical society such as Pakistan, speaking up for the voiceless is newsworthy. In addition, his show is criticising the feudal system, where stronger tribes make the lives of women farmers (working on tribal lands) miserable by harassing them sexually. Anees Mansoori, on the other hand, argues that crime shows cannot make a big difference in society, except for making viewers more aware and cautious about protecting themselves. Moreover, he mentions: I do not want to preach and empower through this platform, neither are we supposed to give any moral counselling, because the channel does not have an editorial policy to do so. In fact, there is no channel with any editorial policy. However, in the print media, there is. (Anees Mansoori) Once again, Mansoori, similar to the producers/content heads of drama serial and breakfast shows, clears the confusion about the agenda of

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empowering viewers by highlighting that his ‘channel does not have any editorial policy’ in relation to such issues. The issue of editorial policy is not restricted only to Mansoori’s channel, ARY; other channels are also criticised for weak editorial policies.10 This dimension brings us back to the question of the intention and motivations of the broadcasters, to whom all those involved in production are delivering their content. Furthermore, it draws attention to the fact that those at the producing end have no intention of preaching or educating; in fact, they separate their responsibilities from preaching and express aversion to creating a content that comes across as educational (see, for example, Klein 2011, on producers’ perspective on educating through entertainment-based genres in a Western context). Despite the lack of agenda, what makes this genre promising is how it creates social controversies around issues of ‘repressed sexuality’ (in cases of sexual assault) in Pakistan, which is then discussed on the news, drama serials and even among viewers. Again, I discover that, similar to the hosts of breakfast shows, Asim Naseer raises the lack of interest of the middle class in accessing such platforms: It is interesting that the crime rate in Karachi is high, but middleclass mentality is such that people do not want to speak about such issues in public. We mostly receive cases from Punjab and Sindh, but Punjab is quite open about reporting and covering such incidents. Only recently, we had the case of a woman who was raped in the fields and was then forcefully paraded naked through the streets of her village. She had requested us for complete coverage of her case; she went to the extent that she would unveil her face on television and tell her ordeal to the entire world. She was desperate to bring the perpetrators to justice, and if that would not be done for her, she threatened to commit suicide. She was daring! (Asim Naseer) For me, the important question for the middle-class sample was to ask if this is because there is hardly any crime within this class, or whether they do not want to share such issues on a public medium. The middle class, as seen in Chapter 2, comes across as engaged, yet distanced and indifferent. This aspect of the middle class’s engagement will be taken up again in the viewers’ section in Chapter 6. Clearly, Naseer is linking the aspect of limited participation of the middle class to the culture of silence in Pakistani society, which is facilitated and reinforced by the middle class.

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At the same time, it can be linked to the fact that crime shows are more popular among the lower middle class, who use it as a source of information (see Chapters 6 and 7).11 The above-mentioned case, raised by Naseer, is that of a woman who takes issue with her position within the rural set-up and is eager to politicise her case in the public domain. This is exactly why the element of reporting has become so important in redefining the public/private distinction. For producers and for many viewers, it will remain the story of one woman, but it shows the impulses of empowerment and its public value. As a feminist, my position is that when a woman (victim) reports, she discards her preoccupation with the concept of being inferior to men, defies tribal norms and steps forward to claim her rights under State law – she starts behaving as a citizen of the state. However, cases of such a sensitive nature, where one person’s ordeal points the finger at other person’s/tribe’s character, raise security concerns for the victims. Naseer admits that this is one of the reasons for not reporting in the Pakistani context, but goes on to argue: There is a possibility of more danger/threats for families that report their personal issues on a public medium, but we make sure that they consent to us revealing their identities. In addition, we let them know that we cannot be there for their protection all the time. Our job is to report, not to give them protection. (Asim Naseer) Of course, the media cannot provide protection to the victims, and this concern is raised in the viewers’ sample as well (see Chapters 6 and 7). An important question in this regard is whether ‘the trend of reporting gender-based crime has made women any safer, or whether such shows have changed anything in relation to gender-based crimes’, to which Anees and Mansoori replied as follows: Yes, I do see some change. Although it is case-specific, there is some change. Recently, we ran a story on a Deputy Superintendent of the Police raping a minor, and he was later suspended from the police. We would not have thought about it ten years ago, hence reporting makes some difference. In Pakistan, the power of the camera is such that we now create a spectacle out of small news reports, people call us, and we record the reality on the ground. People have become confident, and the attitude of law enforcement

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agencies towards the people is changing, because they are afraid of the power of camera. (Asim Naseer) I feel that women today are much safer today than they were ten years ago. Since people have access to the media to report a crime, people get the impression that crime is increasing by the day. Would we have really talked about, or even known about, the case of five women buried alive in Baluchistan, if there were restrictions on television? (Anees Mansoori) Mansoori draws our attention to the aspect of ‘access’. Access to the media has certainly changed the dynamics of the public/private distinction in the lives of those who report crime. The silent victims can draw confidence from such reporting. Of course, one cannot be sure of the size of the constrained public or the silent victims, but crime shows offer a space for coordination, protection-seeking and, more importantly, an occasion for stepping out of victimhood. I would argue that giving exposure ‘to the victims’ conveys an implied vibe in such shows that victims should not suffer in silence, but engage with the public sphere to claim justice as equal citizens. Even though Naseer and Mansoori consider ‘change’ to be limited, I assert that empowering has many dimensions to it; reporting itself has a liberating effect. Besides, such shows are not on screen to ‘solve the problem of crime’ (see, for example, Krajicek 1999: 9), but to identify crimes and facilitate the system on the ground for speedier trials. In a way, it is another ‘coordinating space’ from where victims can take their cases further.

Producers of Gender Issue-Based Talk Shows: Is Empowering/Bringing Change on Producers’ Agenda? So far, I have discussed the potential of the genres that have gendered content but no underlying agenda for feminism or empowering women. In this section, I will examine interactive programmes that explicitly support the cause of emancipation. The discussion will be based on three case studies, of which two shows are religion-based talk shows (Alim aur Alam and Hawa ki Baiti), whereas another is a gender issues-based talk show (Geo Hina kay Sath). Unlike breakfast shows, the content here is

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essentially motive-driven (informing, educating and empowering) and serious in its treatment of gender issues. The format of Alim aur Alam includes the host facilitating discussions between two (at times three) panellists from different sects of Islam. The clerics or religious scholars invited in this show are male. This is a 30-minute show that runs three times a week, and the host takes live calls from viewers who either want to seek Shari’a-based advice on issues of any nature, or give voice to their opinion on a given topic. Going through the archives of the religionbased shows determined the purposes for which women seek tele-fatwa or counselling. Here, it is worth mentioning that I was not interested in quantifying the number of calls made by women or men (although women made more calls), but the issues they brought to the mediated public sphere. I argue that the pattern of recurrence of the dominant gender-related issues is important and I analyse what was absent from the content. Most importantly, it was essential to notice any deliberate or intentional silence on particular gender-based issues such as transsexuality and homosexuality. This show offered spaces for producing/reinforcing socially constructed knowledge, and identifying such discourses laid the foundation for the semi-structured interviews with the focus groups and the producers. I followed closely all the episodes of Alim aur Alam from 2010 to 2012. For the sake of this project, I analysed 25 episodes of Alim Aur Alam (Scholar and Society) that strictly covered gender-based issues. From these episodes, I extracted four major themes. These four themes are identified according to their recurrence in each episode watched. They include: (a) women calling the show to learn about their rights in a nuclear home (a home separate from in-laws), (b) women calling to complain about their husband’s behaviour or that of their in-laws, (c) women complaining about domestic violence, in most cases involving sexual harassment by male members of the family, (d) families of victims of gender-based crimes, appearing on the show to give voice to their issue.12 The producers/hosts of these talk shows and gender-based shows acknowledge the urgency of engaging with gender-based empowerment. Compare, for example, how Amir Liaquat Hussain, (ex-host/senior producer/Managing Director at Ary Digital, ex-Minister of Religious Affairs) of Alim aur Alam, and Maria Khan, Production Head of Hawa Ki Baiti, assert that they are fighting for women who are exploited by men:

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We are not only empowering women, we are also informing them. Above all, we want our female viewers to know that just because they are women, they should not feel miserable about it. (Maria Khan) Gender discrimination is part of our society and must be addressed. It is true that I fight for the case of desperate women in our society and for those who need my support, but I do not fight for the women who run NGOs. I fight for those who live in remote areas of Pakistan or who are victims within their homes, who are not heard anywhere. I do not fight like the women who are funded by foreign NGOs and further Western agendas. I fight to the extent that at times I even get biased towards women. (Amir Liaquat) It is strange how Maria Khan argues that she does not want women to feel miserable about their identity; nevertheless, her programme is strictly based on religious and legal solutions to women’s problems, which refer to this gender as naqis ul aqal (deficient in intelligence or rationality in relation to men). When an issue where a woman has erred or is held responsible for some wrongdoing is brought before the panel of scholars, the case begins with the possibility of a woman being naı¨ve or naqis ul aqal, which may be offensive to some, but at times works in favour of women.13 With such an approach towards solving genderbased issues, the question of seeking equal rights becomes problematic. Such an understanding of ‘women’s intellect’ can, in turn, make the project of empowerment quite regressive, and may even encourage women to take an escapist approach by hiding behind their naivety (endorsed by religion). I see this form of empowering as disciplining women and regulating their rights under Shari’a. Liaquat, through his writings and speeches, has always been vocal in disassociating himself from liberal feminist expressions in society. He has asserted his position as a brother in Islam to all Muslim women fighting for their place within the home. Taking his lead from religion, the connotation he attaches to ‘gender issues’ is that of ‘women-only issues’. Nevertheless, this is not restricted to Liaquat’s show; other genres are careful in the usage of this term. I take it as a survival tactic for producers who are working in a Talibanised society that is harsh towards any variation in sexuality. In Cheema (2016), I note that the mainstream

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public sphere does not allow open debates on the status of homosexuals in Pakistani society, and the electronic media is even more careful in initiating any such debate. Society does not seem ready to accept sexual variants. Needless to say, Liaquat’s religion-based show glorifies the image of the ideal Muslimah who stays at home. He is explicit about how he feels about the injustices against women that stay at home. In this statement, he clearly separates women who face injustices outside the home. In doing so, he distances himself from a range of NGOs that are fighting for women’s rights. Feminism in Pakistan is led by liberal and conservative feminists (see, for example, Mumtaz: 2005, 65 –8). Conservative feminism that seeks to reclaim the rights of women through Shari’a is more popular on screen, and, of course, delivers ratings, whereas liberal feminism only finds space in the Western media (see, for example, Talib and Idrees, 2012). I argue that the interactive genre per se ‘has been colonized by religion, where gender and sexuality remain the two plains to fight the battle of emancipation’ (Cheema, 2016). At the same time, there is an empowering aspect to Liaquat’s shows that allows stay-at-home women to access the mediated public sphere to reorder their roles within their homes. His shows create spaces for ordinary people’s voices, who may otherwise not have a voice in public discourses nor any physical participation, which is liberating. In addition to Liaquat’s interview, I spent two working days observing how viewers get in touch with the producers. The production team of Alim aur Alam receives countless e-messages on Twitter, the show’s Facebook page, as well as emails, letters and phone calls. There are teams for each medium, and most callers are women seeking advice on issues such as marriage and divorce. In the face of demand, the production team decided to dedicate three consecutive episodes to the issues of divorce within Islam.14 In this way, viewers not only exert power in creating the content of their choice, but also identify issues that need attention in society. Consequently, ‘matters of common concern are decided by the viewers who engage with these shows’. However, this does not lead to full-scale deliberation among citizens. Rather, the utility of this show is restricted to identifying ‘any’ matter of common concern within Shari’a. Hence, the discursive space created on these shows remains partly limited to religious elites or Islamic scholars, who, of course, direct the discourse into a certain course. Still, the viewer-led

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content makes an interesting case about how female viewers, as ordinary citizens, are willing to participate in a public medium while struggling to find a voice for themselves within their homes. What is more encouraging is that, in doing so, they are letting go of their fears and are challenging their positions within the home. Amir Liaquat is among the 500 most influential Muslim personalities in the world.15 His claim to fame stretches beyond his show on religion. He is a reality TV host, public speaker, opinionated politician, host of current affairs-based talk show and a philanthropist. He was criticised for irresponsible host conduct in a case on his show where he was accused of inciting the murder of members of the Ahmadi community. Of course, it remains debatable whether he did it on purpose or not, but the killing of Ahmadis just after the show went on air raises concern about the role of the moderator in such formats.16 In addition, he has been very vocal about condemning the arrest of Aafia Siddiqui (a female convict in the ‘war on terror’), which facilitated the real-life movements that supported Aafia Siddiqui.17 In this way, Liaquat seems to have immense influence on his viewers. Liaquat comments on his own influence as follows: I am aware of my influence as well. I have a huge following, and I can say for sure that I can influence the way people think, so if I can change minds, I will be more than happy to do so, but the governments are not really interested in such things. They consider me as an extremist and so does the West. In fact, I would stress that I am the most liberal person trying to find solutions to our problems within Islam, and such solutions are more palatable for our society. I target women through my show and I try to empower them through religious and moral counselling. I believe that influencing the minds of mothers can bring change in many households. I see the power of my show in reaching directly into the homes of our viewers, where mostly women are watching and becoming aware of the happenings around them and their own rights, too. Throughout his interview, home and empowerment of women emerge as key terms. In this regard, he makes it clear that he is conscious of his power over the viewers and of how he can alter the power struggle between male and female members within the home. However, he acknowledges that any such government effort would make a huge

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difference in society. There have been instances where the media has facilitated policies and parliamentary bills, but empowering women through religion is still absent from secular governments’ agendas. Pakistan is an interesting case where governments are secular, whereas religion is on the rise in society. As a result, tension between citizens and the state can be easily spotted, not only in society, but also in the mediated public sphere. Due to this tension, religiously-inclined public personalities, who are part of certain pressure groups, call themselves ‘liberal’, and Liaquat is no exception to this rule. In this struggle to create a pressure group against the government and engage with policies, Liaquat’s programme has been significant in pushing policies and, in some cases, facilitating the judiciary through moral policing. A counter-argument questions the role of the media as a system parallel to the legal system in Pakistan. Still, such trials, in the garb of reporting, have been instrumental in challenging ‘discriminatory practice in the name of culture’. Liaquat identifies them as follows: There have been instances where our programme has facilitated the judicial process. One such case was when a man admitted on our show that he had murdered his wife, and later denied any such doing in court. Hence, law enforcement agencies requested the footage from us to present in court. Similarly, we identified eight graveyards of Karo Kari victims [so-called honour killing victims], which were then taken under government custody. People can now go and recite fatiha [prayer] for the deceased, and it is no longer treated as a graveyard for the outcasts. In such cases, I get involved personally and follow it up with the government and on my shows to facilitate the process.18 Unlike other hosts, Liaquat has been a government minister, as well as managing director of one of the leading channels (now President of Geo TV). This enables him to work hand-in-hand with governmental bodies. Honour killings are common in rural areas, especially among people who follow tribal code and customs. Since such practices are protected by influential feudal lords who are also politicians, it is difficult to report these crimes. During Musharraf’s tenure, Liaquat used his platform (Alim aur Alam) to report and identify eight graveyards of victims of honour killings. I would argue that this was

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only possible under Musharraf’s rule, who came from an urban middle class without the baggage of tribal customs. For him, nothing personal was at stake, and it was surely a breakthrough in reporting crimes against women. Liaquat has played an instrumental role in highlighting women’s issues. He clarifies: It is true that I am raising my voice for women’s emancipation, but I do it through Islam. I fully believe women should be given rights in the light of Islamic scriptures, so I try my best not to go beyond Shari’a. I am cautious in my speech and try to not to violate the limitations laid by Shari’a. Even if the solutions to women’s issues lie in Shari’a, one cannot be certain that these talk shows offer spaces where women feel comfortable in voicing their fears. Panels on these shows hardly include female participants. Besides, there is a dearth of female Islamic scholars who enjoy a similar reputation to that of male scholars. Therefore, Hawa ki Baiti (no longer on air under this title), was conceived as a show that was one step ahead of Alim aur Alam in its commitment to providing confidence to female viewers. As part of the vision for the show, there are only female panellists, who build up a discussion around the questions/issues raised by their female viewers. The advice provided on this show focuses on how to solve the issues raised, with the intention of helping all women with similar issues who are out there watching, but who are not able to contact such a forum. Therefore, Maria Khan claims: I feel that the female panel on such a show is very important, because it gives them (callers) a certain level of comfort that they may not find with male panellists. This show is the first one of its kind, where legal counseling as well as guidance under Islamic jurisprudence are offered on the same show. Such a panel constitution can give confidence to female callers, but I find that Hawa ki beti is equally popular among male callers. This, in turn, empowers women in the capacity of preachers and clergy. In our conversation, Khan raises an important issue on the matter of ‘obtaining

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fatwa’ through such programmes. She mentions that if any female viewers need a fatwa or religious edict regarding a matter, we do not have an option of female mufti in Pakistan.19 Therefore, panellists on her show are mostly female Islamic scholars, and if they need a fatwa on any issue, the show approaches a mufti by telephone. The producers of these shows are not interested in revealing the identities of the victims and are committed to ‘bringing some sort of relief’ to the viewers’ lives. Therefore, when I asked Maria and Liaquat about the social value of their programmes have, they replied: We understand that whoever calls, calls for their personal problem, but unconsciously they are pointing towards a problem/issue that runs in the society. For us, it is the issue of social value, but for the caller, it could be just his/her personal problem. Maria Khan’s argument can be directly related to the question of the utility of the public sphere. Viewers engage with this show for personal reasons, but that makes them part of the public discourse. The question for this study is, of course, whether viewers engage as citizens or as individuals trying to seek answers to their personal problems. As Philips (1991, quoted in Miller 1993: 4) puts it: We would be acting as citizens if we publicly campaigned for men to take a full share in the household tasks; we would not, however, be acting as citizens when we sort out the division of labour inside our own home. In the older language of democratizing everyday life, each of these was equally political. In the new language of citizenship, only the one that takes place in a public arena can seriously contend for the name. For instance, when a female viewer seeks fatwa (religious ruling) on an issue of private nature, she is engaging in a public discourse on gender issues. In such cases, the personal, which is political eventually, becomes part of the mediated public sphere. In the mediated public sphere, if one is looking for a programme that is strikingly similar with the public sphere, where serious discussions take place in a de-personalised way, then Hina Bayat’s show (not on air) on Pakistani television was somewhat closer to this in the initial years of

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its production. Initially it was called Uljhan Suljhan (Problem and Solution), and later its title changed to Geo Hina Kay Sath (Live with Hina). This show featured discussions with elements of rational critical debate between the panellists and in-studio audiences, but when stretched as far as to deliberate policies, it was yet another disappointment. The format was based on the concept of picking up a case that had been received from a victim either by email or letter, and explained in a serious manner on the show, representing both sides. Then, the panellists and the in-studio audiences discussed it. These panellists ranged from psychologists and lawyers to Islamic scholars. The show was carefully conceived in a way that the in-studio audiences were not just ordinary citizens, but university students, and the vision was to create a discursive space. However, when the concept of paid audience came to the industry, ‘their motive for coming changed, and soon we realised that they were not interested in the debates’, explains Bayat. Here, one may notice how the commercial industry has influenced the quality of in-studio audiences. In addition, Bayat intended to start a discourse not only in a public medium, but beyond reception as well. Bayat described her motivation for this show as follows: ‘My motivation was two-fold: firstly, starting a discourse, not just giving information, and secondly, starting a discourse at home.’ Needless to say, this show featured cases on gender-based discrimination, but for this host, gender did not simply mean women. For her, the term ‘gender’ is helpful in treating women’s issues because it does not abstract men from the issues. Bayat argues: ‘Calling for women’s issues isolates women in a way, because you tell half of the population that you are not concerned even though they are the ones who need to be addressed.’ When discussing the issues of raising gender-based content, Bayat mentioned how tactfully she had to address these issues in the name of gender. She referred to gender-based issues as social issues. Looking at the conservative environment in Pakistan, she handled them differently. Homosexuality, which is hardly raised as an issue in Pakistani society, was approached as a disease or a mental condition. For her, it was important to raise homosexuality, which she thought would have been impossible without ‘taking it as a mental condition’, which was already looked at with contempt by the critics. What is worth noting here is that the mediated public sphere may appear to have liberalised over the years,

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but there are areas that society has not opened up to. This show ran for six years, but was pulled off the screen because the management of the channel thought that such shows become monotonous and depressing after a time, instead of offering something new and more engaging. Furthermore, the role of the anchor was of concern to the management. The channel was critical of how this show had changed over the years into a programme where the element of a public sphere was replaced by a more host-oriented show, where the consensus and conclusion represented the host’s opinion. This show had never drawn extraordinary ratings, but the channel continued to air it for years, because it had social value.20 The host of this show mentioned how, at times, she started to bring in emotions to make the content sound more serious and engaging. Such tastes in viewership raise questions about whether emotion-laden spaces can engage viewers with serious issues or even inform them about their rights, if not deliberate policies. Shows similar to that of Bayat offer serious discussion around gender-based issues in society, and such fora offer a favourable format for deliberation. However, interestingly, marginalised groups, whose issues are under discussion, often refrain from participating in serious formats. However, breakfast shows and crime shows that may not run on a motivation to push for legislation show clear signs of ‘visibility of marginalised groups’. Bayat weighed each case in relation to its social value, and her approach towards a single woman’s ordeal is that it is not about a single individual, but also about those related to her or are in similar situations. Such an approach adds weight to the gender-related cause, and invites viewers to behave in terms of citizens rather than as individuals that may only be interested in ‘one person’s story’ (for a similar discussion on representation/discourses of prostitutes on TV, see Mc Laughlin, 1991). Such shows are aimed at viewers/consumers and not at policy makers, unless the channel decides so or the government shows confidence in the media for any pre-political campaign.21 Channels that may not be interested in airing anything that empowers women may show extraordinary interest in airing campaigns on a certain issue, if it is funded by the government. It was not only the Women’s Empowerment Bill that was pushed for debate in the parliament, but also a ‘bill’ on recognising a ‘third gender’.22 After a series of interviews with the anchors and producers across the interactive genre, I can safely argue that religion is simply not

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questionable. Despite their willingness, broadcasters cannot challenge how Shari’a interprets gender roles and sexuality for Muslims. Any debate on women’s issues has to go through the filter of Shari’a. Imran Aslam, President of Geo TV, explains how his channel ran a campaign on the Women’s Empowerment Bill: We ran a campaign for more than one year, where the entire spectrum of the clergy were taken on board before taking the Women’s Empowerment Bill to Parliament. This way, the media are facilitating consensus policies. I would not say that there is any such thing as Talibani environment in Pakistan, as long as you do not step in their area (blasphemy).23 (See, for example, Cheema 2016). Badar Ikram, Business Unit Head of Geo TV, describes the immutability of religion in this manner: ‘We can contribute to changing society, but society is driven by many other external factors. We are living in a very extraordinary situation. The state of fear is heightened . . . cannot discuss on religion, these interest groups are strongest!’ In a similar vein, Jerjees Seja, CEO of the ARY Network, shares the fear: There is a lot of pressure from the clergy, but we hardly go against any aspect of religion. We do not want to hurt anyone’s feelings. In fact, we get several themes approved by the religious scholars who work for QTV, our channel for religion-based programming. This invites our attention to the contradictory waves in gendered content. On the one hand, it is about highlighting controversial issues on gender and, on the other hand, it only allows the viewing public to seek resolution in a Shari’a-compliant project of empowerment. I look at this as a transition from culturally mandated roles to religiously regimented ones. Relating it to Miller (1993), the cultural capitalist state produces and tempers the ‘civic cultural subject’ through the use of technologies of power. I argue that tempered cultural subjects are created through gendered discourse. Miller’s discussion on how technologies of power create ‘ethical incompleteness’ (1993: xii) is crucial in this regard.

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This ‘ethical incompleteness’, Miller stresses, is a kind of invitation extended towards the cultural subjects to recognise their obligations towards a higher authority, government or the State. I argue that it is not just the State and government that fall into the category of higher authority to whom fealty is needed; religion-based pressure groups also fall into this category. The interactive genre enables ethical incompleteness vis-a`-vis religion, but what cultural subjects may, in fact, adopt could be a project of self-reflexivity, a battle inside one’s own conscience between what is right and what is being ordered/ indoctrinated from above. Therefore, any project for creating cultural citizens may end up producing incomplete clones of ‘civic cultural subjects’, a phenomenon which he refers to as ‘incivility’ (taken up in the next chapter). In Chapters 6 and 7, I will look at how viewing publics carry on-screen debate further into their homes, and what kind of challenges they face in initiating such conversations at home. I call on-screen and post-viewing discussions ‘public sphering’, a term used by Dahlgren (1995: 148).

CHATPER 6 WOMEN EMPOWERED OR DISCIPLINED THROUGH GENDERED CONTENT:THE CASE OF DRAMA SERIALS

Chapters 4 and 5 have reviewed how the creative side of production addresses the potential of gender-based content to bring change. Chapters 6 and 7 should be read as evaluating public sphering across genres from viewers’ perspectives. Both chapters will look at how viewers understand the potential of gendered content in empowering women and bringing change. I examine how viewers engage with different genres and how they look at gendered content’s potential in bringing change. In their engagement, one can see that viewers perform as members of a viewing public, and as cultural citizens. The definition of citizenship lays the foundation of the concept of cultural citizenship. In any discussion of citizenship, social scientists go back to T. H. Marshall (1959), who defines citizenship as: [Citizenship is] a status bestowed on those who are full members of a community. All those who possess the status are equal with respect to the rights and duties with which the status is endowed. There is no universal principle that determines what those rights and duties shall be, but societies in which citizenship is a developing institution create an image of ideal citizenship against

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which achievement can be measured and towards which aspiration can be directed. (1959: 18) If citizenship can be read in terms of a developing institution, the media can be viewed as an area where the struggle for attaining ideal citizenship plays out. That struggle can be read in terms of practices of cultural citizenship. Therefore, to talk about citizenship means to discuss the sets of duties and obligations that states owe to the public and vice versa, but to talk about cultural citizenship means opening the discourse on traditional citizenship to a discourse on identities, otherness and tolerance (Hermes, 2005, 2010; Pakulski, 1997; Steveson, 2001; Turner, 1994). It is through unhindered and symbolic representation of identities in public fora that the right to be culturally different is registered (Pakulski, 1997: 80). Hermes (2005: 10), for example, defines cultural citizenship as ‘the process of bonding and community-building, and reflection on that bonding, that is implied in partaking of the text-related practices of reading, consuming, celebrating, and criticizing offered in the realm of (popular) culture’. According to this definition, Hermes suggests an imaginary community (to use Anderson’s term) of people who share a sense of belonging based on their interests. In this regard, popular culture is not considered to have lesser value, and the casual bonding built around it is regarded to be meaningful. Extending this, I argue that it is in the casual use and arrangement of the citizens that counterpublics evolve and negotiate dominant ideologies. In their recent intervention in this debate, Hermes and Muller (2010: 193) have defined cultural citizenship in terms of performance, which can also be viewed ‘as an ‘‘insurgent’’ practice which requires further mediation into other spheres of private and public life by policies or civic action to produce critical societal impact’. In this way, cultural citizenship can be identified as the first step toward a civic or pre-political move. However, I argue that when making this move, the intention of the cultural citizen may only be to get registered on a public medium. Additionally, it can be an attempt to denounce one’s own victimhood (in the case of rape victims appearing on television). Stressing the importance of the practice of cultural citizenship, Stevenson (2001:3) draws our attention to a crucial aspect of inclusion and exclusion from this kind of citizenship. People who do not engage with

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such avenues (media) cannot participate as citizens, and their nonengagement can be read in two ways: either they do not want to engage with such sites of participation, or they do not have the means to do so. I will question whether exclusion from the practices of cultural citizenship solely depends on one’s will for engagement, or whether it is because one has been denied access. In the context of Pakistan, denying access can operate from two sides, either from home (mehram) or from the industry. Additionally, it can depend on the policies of the commercial broadcasters and the role of the gate-keepers. Giving unconstrained space to cultural citizens can, at times, go against the editorial policy of the commercial broadcaster. Without ruling out the possibility that cultural citizenship is ‘about becoming active producers of meaning and representation and knowledgeable consumers under advanced capitalism’ (Isin and Wood 1999: 152), one still has to acknowledge the constraints they can face in a capitalistic system. These producers of meaning have specific knowledge on issues of concern to them, but in the mediated public sphere this meaning-making can be channelled in certain directions. Instead of arguing that cultural citizens have complete freedom to express themselves on any gender-related issues, I will argue that certain issues are still struggling to find their space in the mainstream-mediated public sphere. Nevertheless, popular culture offers a resource for reflection on many other gender-related issues and invites cultural citizens to reflect upon their collective identity in the society. These debates on cultural citizenship will inform this chapter and the next, which deals with viewers’ engagement with popular culture. This chapter looks at the engagement patterns of female viewers with drama serials that motivate viewers to rethink their positions within the home, and how they sensitise viewers about issues such as child rape. It focuses on how their understanding of society informs their act of reception, which, in a way, reinforces the politics of representation on screen. Moreover, it looks at whether they think that drama serial as a genre can ‘change’ their perception/approach towards gender-based issues or not.

Home and Relationships at the Heart of Drama Serials All housewives seem interested in discussing themes centring on ‘relationships within marriage’ and hierarchies within the home.

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Invariably, the themes that matter most to them are ‘how to save marriages’ or ‘how to discipline the behaviour of women within a relationship and in relation to society, so that their dignity is protected’. Consider, for example, how ‘four housewives aged between 30 and 35, of middle class background’, engage in this discussion about Qaid-e-Tanhai (Imprisoned in Loneliness), a serial in which the protagonist is made to live with her in-laws when her husband migrates to the United Kingdom to financially support his family. For years, the protagonist lives without her husband and is forced to do all the housework (very typical of South Asian households). Thus, she decides to leave the marriage and marry someone else. Her right to assert herself is looked upon with contempt by her in-laws, and she is called ‘transgressor’ (see Appendix 3). The women who are commenting on this drama serial and its potential to engage with home-based issues live in joint family systems. They engage in the discussion as follows: Farah: Drama serial are the most engaging genre for women at the moment. They can really change the way women think. I think the biggest issue in our lives is living with in-laws. I watched Qaid-e-Tanhai, which is worth mentioning in this discussion because it raised the issue of the importance of a woman in her capacity as mother-in-law, and how she can make or break a home. Alia: To be honest, as viewers we could feel the pain of a married woman who was separated from her husband for so long and was almost abandoned in her in-laws’ home. We can even relate to her protest against her situation. Her attempt to marry someone else was justified in the circumstances she was living in. However, if you ask us whether we would sympathise with someone who is in a similar situation in real life, I would say, never. In fact, our society would criticise a woman in such a situation to such an extent that she would commit suicide. It is true that, for ‘now’, we are unable to sympathise with such women in real life, but this drama serial has shaken us up, so if we are shown such themes repeatedly, we may as well stand up to such a cause. (Sohni Chalet)

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Farah and Alia live in the residential compound of Sohni Chalet. They are friends and neighbours. Alia lives in a joint family system while her husband works in Saudi Arabia and sends money back home. She is on relatively good terms with her mother-in-law. Farah, on the other hand, lives in a joint family system, in which her mother-in-law is sovereign in decision-making. The domestic issues in her family are so grave that she is almost confined to her room. Relating the ‘plot’ directly to their situations, Farah speaks on how abusive her own mother-in-law is, and how drama serials, as the only avenue of entertainment for women in Pakistan, should raise such issues. The issues raised above can be further unfolded into two dimensions. Firstly, there is the hierarchical order within the home, which supports either the supremacy of male members, or that of elderly women who acquire a position of power with time, through which they can manipulate decisions at home. Secondly, it raises another important factor in relation to the biases of society against women who want to reclaim their rights in marriage (such as nuclear set-up or sexual relations). Here, emphasis is on how dominant discourses of culture breed submission to those in power, and how the home is a place where this power struggle can take several forms. Linking it to their own subjectivities (cf. Chapter 2), these respondents do not have issues with their husbands. Rather, their concern is regarding the politics of the joint family system. Moreover, at another point in the discussion they assert that such a system has no room in Shari’a, a point picked up later in this chapter. Another disturbing concern is raised when Alia says that any woman in a situation like that of the protagonist would face such fierce criticism that she may even kill herself. Farah and Alia take content very seriously and think that if cultural issues are repeatedly taken issue with, a change is likely to follow in society. In this sense, this content has certainly stimulated a discussion about change among these viewers. The discussions among the viewers certainly represent the case of assessing TV content in the perspective of their understanding of the real world and, more importantly, their immediate context, rather than engaging with this serial as ‘one person’s story’. In the same residential compound of 100 homes where I conducted these focus groups, a group of middle-aged women (aged fifty and above) commented on the narratives of the ‘power struggle between mothersin-law and daughters-in-law’ in this manner:

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Shaheen: All of us have watched Meri Zaat Zarra e Benishan [My Self – A Speckle Unfound]. It was a terrific series and must have conveyed the message to many. It was about a woman who does not want a particular girl as her daughter-in-law and ruins her life by tarnishing her reputation. It is true that hypocrisy is common in our society with the selective use of the Holy Book. We should also learn from Meri Zaat Zarra e Benishan and Qaid e Tanhai that daughters-in-law are not supposed to be arrogant, and have to compromise on many levels. I do not think God has created woman to nurture the trait of ego in her. Tahira: I agree that drama serial might not have played a central role in changing perceptions in relation to the treatment of daughters-in-law in society, but mothers-in-law are not all that bad these days. In fact, we can see change in our residential colony (a compound of 100 duplexes, where this sample was based). It is no more than it was two decades ago, and it is due to the fact that my friends and I are educated women, and we treat our daughtersin-law properly. We have realised that if we object to every single thing, it would mean that our sons would leave us for a nuclear arrangement, so now we keep to ourselves within our homes. (Sohni Chalet) Some interesting findings resurface through this conversation, where women who are at an age when they have either become mothers-in-law or have attained a position of authority within their homes challenge the narratives that represent mothers-in-law as controversial or notorious figures within the home. The issues raised here offer a different reading from that of younger housewives that are living in a joint family system. For Shaheen and Tahira, the dominant message in the drama serials has to do with the fact that ‘daughters-in-law must learn to obey’, and be compromising. In these serials, both protagonists are wrongly labelled as ‘transgressors’, but they refuse to give any explanations to their families. It is shown as their ‘way of protest’ against, or ‘loss of confidence’ in, the family members. For younger housewives, such an act of ‘silent protest’ and ‘calling them transgressors’ symbolises the unjust practices in the

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hands of mothers-in-law, but middle-aged women appropriate it as an act of ‘arrogance by the protagonists’, and therefore worth disciplining. The discussants do not speak at length on the narratives and characters’ ordeal. Rather, they relate the narratives instantly to their realities, and how people in similar situations in real life react to such issues. Therefore, the issue of the ‘role of mothers-in-law’ in the viewers’ neighbourhood is discussed at length, and, except for one respondent in the group, all agree that mothers-in-law are more careful in their interaction with their daughters-in-law. Furthermore, once again, the issue of ‘protecting the joint family system is raised’. For aged women, living in a joint family system with sons is a suitable option, hence it is never brought up as an arrangement that does not comply with Shari’a, under which a woman can exercise her right to have her own separate home. While attending to such themes, the genre of drama serial democratises both the public and the private sphere by including issues that break the silence on the exploitative nature of the family system, thereby initiating a discourse within ‘viewing publics’ on redefining, or at least reflecting, on the nature of the domestic sphere. Moreover, it is also worth noting how reading of the same media-text changes with the viewers’ own life experiences, which, in turn, raises internal differences within the viewing public of gendered content. However, such issues related to ‘home’ also raise concerns about society’s obsession with relationships and issues of a personal nature, rather than issues such as poverty and equal opportunities for women in the public sphere. Such sentiments are seen among the middle-aged women in the lower middle class: Baji:

What is needed more is to show the joint family set-up in homes on screen. We miss those drama serials on PTV, where the joint family system was glorified, and we still believe that this set-up nurtures love in relationships. Such themes would benefit female viewers of marriageable age, because they would come to know how to behave in front of their fathers-in-law and brothers-in-law and the elders in the family. Shehnaz: These days, all these drama serials are promoting the nuclear family system, which is not good for the unity of the family. (New Karachi)

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Baji (word used for an elder sister) lives in a household with her husband and five children. Two of her sons are married and live in the same household. Baji, as the mother-in-law, is very much in charge of the decisions regarding domestic issues. The joint family system is an affordable arrangement for her family; therefore, the discussion here is neither about the narratives that highlight the ordeal of women in marriage, nor about the question of a ‘separate home’. Rather, they focus on ‘what should be raised in drama serials’. To them, it is important to have ‘stories based upon extended family structures’, and they emphasise how drama serials can play a crucial role in engaging unmarried girls. In focus groups among the lower middle class, issues within the joint family are simply not raised. In fact, there is a recurrence of the sentiment to ‘see more stories based on such systems’. Hence, discussion in these groups stresses the importance of ‘regulating the interaction of women with brothers-in-law and fathers-in-law’. Concerns raised by middle-class university students are expressed as follows: Hinozia: I liked Humsafar [Companion], because it highlighted how relationships can be destroyed as a result of misunderstandings created by mothers-in-law. This is a common occurrence in our society, because we live in joint family systems where mothers can influence the relationships of their sons to the extent that there is no looking back. Another somewhat similar representation was shown in Meri Zaat Zara e Baynishan, where a mother-in-law, who is apparently religious, ends up ruining her son’s home. Believe me, we have such hypocrites in real life too, and these are the issues that occupy the lives of most married women living in joint households. Zenobia: I think this is sheer exaggeration on the part of the producers. In real life, you cannot have women that would just let go of their homes and their marriages, but would not challenge their in-laws. Why do these writers have to come up with stories where protagonists are often shown as weak beings that cannot assert themselves? Why should we have representations that

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do not do justice to the actual strengths of a woman? If reality is so bleak, then the characters should be inspiring enough to change this reality. In Humsafar, there was hardly any story at all. (Karachi University) Hinozia is the only married girl in this sample. She lives with her inlaws, and her response described how she feels about the joint family system. On the other hand, Zenobia, a psychology student, is the one of the two girls that does not cover her head. She appears somewhat liberal in her approach towards gender-based issues. However, even in this generation, the ‘discussion’ revolves around the curses of the joint family system that make ‘home’ a field of power struggles, and around the idea that change is a long process. The case in point here is Humsafar, a serial that has had record-breaking ratings in the last ten years. The story is fairly simple: yet another protagonist’s morality is brought under question by her mother-in-law, and she is subsequently thrown out of her husband’s house. In this discussion among the viewers, there is consensus on the fact that the role of mothers-in-law is controversial in Pakistani society. However, what is worth noting here is that young viewers take issue with the ‘politics of representation’ of women on screen. The issue lies with ‘the fact that women in Pakistani society do not stand against exploitative practices’. Therefore, female viewers want to see the representation of what ‘should be’, rather than what ‘it is like’. This is similar to how writers such as Bari, Ahmed and Moin stress the importance of inspirational characters (see Chapter 4). Additionally, it draws attention to the fact that these respondents assume that TV can directly influence its viewers. For these viewers, who are attending university, such representations, where girls are criticised for stepping out of the home, are usually looked upon with contempt. When comparing themselves to protagonists that simply have no voice, they feel offended, which speaks of the fact that their reality ‘at this moment’ is different from that of married women. Almost all housewives within the middle class, aged 40 and above, have been to university and had some exposure to the outside world before marriage. One cannot be certain of how these respondents would react in a situation similar to that of the other married women. In this regard, Samra raises an important issue when she relates the subject directly to the root cause of the problem, namely the overwhelming strength of

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religious and cultural norms that make women vulnerable in marriage. Her interpretation leads us to appreciate the reality of society created on screen, which glorifies ‘woman’s silence and her obedience to norms’. In his discussion on the how hierarchy and segregation are deeply rooted in the upbringing of a girl child, Dahl (1997) refers to the work of El Saadawi (1991, cited in Dahl 1997: 107), who argues that discriminatory practices against a girl child is a ‘process that leaves deep traces in her ability to express herself and assume responsibility for herself in life’. Additionally, this viewer raises the question of a woman’s limitations in freeing herself from the tradition of exploitation, which has its roots in culture. Younger married women, on the other hand, are caught in the struggles of a nuclear home. For them, empowerment and change start at home, with a space of their own; a separate kitchen in a separate home. For them, religion comes to their rescue. However, for older women, religion does not seem to be as relevant to their immediate needs (that is, their age-related dependence on their sons). Such selective interpretation of content draws our attention to the hypocrisies and contradictions that run in society. The question of rights in Islam only becomes relevant when it suits one’s subjectivities.

A Woman’s Vulnerability in Marriage: Highlighting Halala in Drama Series Developing the discussion further, in this section I examine another angle that highlights the vulnerability of a woman’s position within marriage and, eventually, in the home. I will look at how middle-class women living in Ancholi discuss the vulnerability of married women. Consider, for example, how housewives discuss the drama serial entitled Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat [Woman Expelled from Heaven], in which a woman, who has been married for 35 years, is given ‘verbal divorce’ by her husband in a state of anger. Consequently, her marriage becomes null and void. This is a specific condition under the Hanafi school of thought among Sunni Muslims, according to which divorce can become irrevocable if the intention to divorce is pronounced (verbally) thrice in a singular incident.1 The title of this serial signifies the importance of home, by calling it a ‘heaven’ for married women. Consider, for example, how ‘housewives’ that are not following the Hanafi school appropriate the text:

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These days we are watching Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat. In this serial, there is a message to all married couples that they should be patient with each other. It contains a lesson for those who do not compromise on issues within marriage and end up in divorce, which has a disastrous effect on women in particular, as well as children. Ammi (Mother): I tell my daughter not to argue unnecessarily with her husband, because it may have bad consequences for her marriage. She just did not listen to me, until she watched Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat, where a woman had to walk out of her 35-year-old marriage. Haya: I even made my husband watch Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat, and I asked my father to watch it too. It is a story that reveals how fragile the institution of marriage is. For us, drama serial offer family viewing time, and our post-viewing discussion ends up in an argument where the men of the household blame the female character for initiating any gender-based conflict. (Ancholi) Zaheena:

It is evident how effective the narrative and its execution are: viewers directly engage with the issue, rather than the story, because the latter strikes a personal chord. Zaheena, Ammi and Haya raise three issues in relation to marriage. Firstly, it is an arrangement that demands several adjustments on the part of both parties involved. However, I would stress that there is a possibility of insecurity in the women who engage with this drama serial or any other in relation to divorce, halala or second marriage, because men have the right to keep four wives at a time within Islam. Although it is not encouraged as a practice, and a singular arrangement is more approved of, Muslim women live with this insecurity. The second issue raised here is the urgency of encouraging men at home to watch drama serials that highlight ‘issues in relation to marriage’, which, in the case of this family, ends up in a conflict of ideas. It shows that drama serials are effective in triggering discussions at home, namely a kind of post-viewing discussion. (See Dahlgren, 1995 for

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public sphering in viewing context.) Furthermore, it is obvious that the law of divorce favours men over women. Men can give verbal divorce at any point should they wish to, whereas women need to seek it through the courts. This reinforces the position of the man as superior to the woman in the marital arrangement, and brings the woman to a position of compromise and submission to the will of her husband, which is obviously a point raised by Zaheena and Ammi. Interestingly, these women take direct lessons from such narratives about their marriages. However, it is worth noting here that these women have not raised any concern about the law that provides male characters in such serials, or men in society, with a position in which to exercise it wrongfully. In fact, all respondents are preoccupied with the Islamic value system when approaching the issue, and there is no apparent concern about ‘why a woman is so vulnerable within marriage’. Why does divorce occur within three sentences? Or, for that matter, why is ‘home’ signified as ‘heaven’ or the ‘ideal/only sphere of activity’ for women? It is worth mentioning here that Zaheena belongs to the Ahle Tashi community that follows Shi’a Islam, according to which divorce does not occur in three sentences: Zaheena: I fail to understand why they have not approached a religious scholar for some counselling on this issue. It should have been part of the story. Marriage and divorce fall under Shari’a and the writer should have encouraged finding a solution in religion. The writers must show religious practices and find solutions of gender-based problems in religion. Zaheena points to a crucial factor in the treatment of serials that highlight the issues of divorce and halala, but fail to initiate a discourse that gives viewers a fuller understanding of such laws. Even then, it is not about questioning the law itself or seeking any other arrangement, but about finding a solution within Shari’a. Here, it is encouraging to see that, as cultural citizens, these viewers are at least revisiting their positions within their marriages. They are asking questions about the vulnerability of their position in marriage. In this regard, middle-aged women of the affluent middle class in the residential compound of Sohni Chalet also stress that drama serials can raise Shari’a-based issues in a way that invites the viewers to develop a

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complete understanding of the subject. For instance, 55-year-old Tasneem argues that a recurrent theme on halala is not helpful in engaging with the issue itself:2 Tasneem: There is no harm in showing halala, but what is more important to show on television is the procedure of divorce in Shari’a. If they made that clear, halala would not even be questioned here. Yes, drama serials can take the message home. Teri Aik Nazr [One Glance from You] was very effective in highlighting that a widow should have equal rights to any other citizen in society. (Sohni Chalet) Interestingly, Tasneem wants to watch an elaborate description of ‘matters of divorce’ in accordance with Shari’a, which obviously involves halala. Nevertheless, neither she nor any other viewers raise the issue of seeking divorce under State law or, for that matter, ‘how can women seek divorce under Shari’a’. Furthermore, it is apparent that Tasneem and other viewers watch drama serials to reflect on women-oriented issues. For instance, Bushra Ansari (a writer), who had based one of her scripts on halala, mentions in our conversation on drama serials that she only used halala as a dramatic tool, rather than an issue to be raised through her drama serial. She thinks viewers engage with stories for the sole purpose of entertainment. Yet, the viewers appear more interested in the issues than the stories of the characters. There is another limitation in addressing the issue of halala. This practice is particularly endorsed by the Hanafi school of thought in Pakistan, whereas others, such as Ahle Hadith and Ahle Tashee, do not follow it. Taking issue with halala in a manner that comes across as a practice against Shari’a can bring forth protests at many levels. However, it is in drama serials that many controversial issues are raised that engage women to a level that they question rulings in other schools of thought. I see this as a breakthrough and the beginning of a conversation about the weaker agency of women in Islamic thought.

Consuming Drama Series and Changing Reality This discussion is further explored through another question on whether drama serials can change the reality on ground and, if not, what are the

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constraining factors. Firstly, let us have a look at how middle-class women, aged fifty and above, express the limitations: Tahira: I do not think watching these narratives would make any difference to the state we are in at the moment, because even if we want to raise our voice for some cause, we will not be allowed by the men in our homes. We are still dependent on them and do not move freely on our own. Shaheen: There could be exceptions to this rule, but the majority of homes in Pakistan have this hierarchical order within the home, where men have supremacy over the women as represented on screen. If a woman reports domestic abuse to the law enforcement agencies in Pakistan, she is harassed further, and is often told that her husband/ brother or father was right to subject her to such treatment. Therefore, awareness through drama cannot take us anywhere, unless we have a corruption-free system running on the ground. (Sohni Chalet) Shaheen’s father works in the Police Department in the province of Punjab, hence she is more vocal on the consequences of reporting in Pakistan. However, it is still disturbing to see how these women in their fifties have accepted the hierarchical structure of the home. The existing norms that reinforce the hierarchical structure of the home and the culture of corruption in society have made these women lose confidence in the system. With an experience of living in a society where culture is superior to the law, they argue that such narratives or any other content is not helpful unless it informs them about their rights. Even if they are informed about their rights, there is simply no way that those can be exercised within the Pakistani legal system for two main reasons. Firstly, State law is still far from governing the ‘private sphere’; since Islam is the dominant religion, state law is moulded in accordance with Shari’a (see, for example, Chapter 1). This complicates the situation for women who are treated as lesser than men, and obedience to a male member is mandatory. Secondly, even if women want to take a case to a court of law, the procedure is so lengthy and the environment of courts so hostile to women that they prefer a solution within religion. Therefore, any attempt to challenge the present status of women in Pakistan has to be

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very strong, and preferably a collective action against customs and the system. Yet, one can still notice a degree of interest in knowing about State law, and there are certain expectations from the resources offered by popular culture. I see this as an implicit intention to empower themselves or reclaim their agency. They demonstrate eagerness to learn about their citizenship rights through drama serials. At the same time, these viewers, as insiders to society, are aware of the weaknesses of the legal system, and this distrust in the system affects their engagement with the content. In the lower middle class, even among women aged fifty and above, there is an understanding among the viewers that narratives are the actual reflection of society. Additionally, there is frustration towards the representation of women as unequal partners in marriage and society. The question of hierarchy within the home, and the position of women as docile and inferior to men, have become sources of frustration for viewers in this group. Let us look at how women aged fifty and above within the lower middle class challenge such representations: Baji:

The representation of women on television should be as equal to men in society. We do not like the stories of miserable women and do not want to see women as powerless creatures. However, do not think that producers are exaggerating the facts on ground; in fact, whatever is being shown is about our own reality. Shehnaz: Watching such content in women-oriented shows has not changed us in any way. In fact, we continue to live the way we used to, but we are better informed about what is happening around us. However, this does not imply that we change our ways about anything within the home. (New Karachi)

What is worth noting here is how Shehnaz argues that television may reflect the actual status of women in society, which they may not even approve of, yet it does not suggest that they would take issue with such matters in real life. For middle-class women (aged fifty and above), who are more familiar with the normative system of society, defying norms is a challenge not only inside the home, but also in society.

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Therefore, it is not worth taking risks at present. As for women in the lower middle class (aged fifty and above), the politics of representation is disturbing but not motivating enough to take issue with. These reactions reflect different levels of engagement, such as ambivalence and distrust, both rooted in the knowledge of the political and legal system (cf. Bennulf and Hedberg, 1999, quoted in Dahlgren 2009: 80–1 for a discussion on disengaging an informed choice). Below, young students explain this phenomenon on screen that translates morality in a religious sense: Nadira: Just by watching these drama serials, you can get to know how women are treated in Pakistan. In our society, when girls step out of their homes, their characters become doubtful for others, and this is exactly what is shown on television. And if a girl comes from a lower class background, her life is even more miserable. If a girl goes to a university or college, her character becomes vulnerable, but a man in the capacity of a husband can never be wrong in our society. Safina: In Mera Naseeb [My Fate], Meri Zaat Zarra e Beynishan [My Self, A Speckle Unfound] and Bol Meri Machli [Speak Out My Fish], the story revolves around women whose morality is under question because they have stepped out of their homes. What we can learn from these narratives is that if such a situation arises in our real life, we should not hide ourselves back in our homes, but we should assert ourselves to claim our place as honourable citizens in society. (Karachi University) Even as students of English literature, Nadira and Safina take issue with ‘the representation of women on screen’ in a way that they question the dilemmas they face as they enter public life. In this regard, the issue directly relates to ‘how the private sphere is supposed to be the ideal sphere of activity for women’ and how morality is brought under scrutiny if a woman seeks to step out of her home. Although these respondents seem to be resisting the representations of women on television, there is still an acknowledgement that such representations are real. This can be problematic when viewers believe that the screen is

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just an extension of society, instead of questioning its fictitious nature. Rather, they consider the screen to be an ‘accurate reflection’ of society, which suggests that the world ‘outside the home’ is not women-friendly. This is obviously not true for everybody in Pakistan where society is not culturally homogeneous. The perception of realism in this genre can create an illusion of truth/facts for viewers who are separated from the public sphere. Arguably, the images that are produced in the name of realism can alter the perception of reality and raise concerns about the ‘emancipatory ideal’ for Pakistani women. This does not have to do with asserting their rights as equal citizens or being financially independent without being amoral. Rather, it encourages them to assert their rights within the home. For these girls, the reality is obviously different, for they have already stepped out of their homes and are seeking their goals in their education, but they may as well be from families that have not opposed their participation in the public sphere. So far, this discussion of drama serials has examined how viewers appropriate the gender-based content in these serials. The issues raised in this regard pursued three lines of inquiry: firstly, viewers of all classes raised the issue of the joint family system and linked it to their own subjectivities. Secondly, these viewers deemed worth discussing halala/divorce in Islam, and thirdly, they addressed the question of whether a realistic representation in drama serials can bring any change or not. The viewers’ discussion in the last category reviewed how the findings oscillated between how drama serials should have inspirational representations to whether content can influence viewers or not. Finally, it discussed how viewers engage with such representations in order to rethink ‘the image of an ideal woman’ in Pakistani society.

Engaging with Roag: An Emancipatory Project As already discussed in Chapter 4, Roag is a serial that has influenced not only viewers but also talk shows and their debates on child rape. Roag is important for this discussion, mainly because in almost every focus group, it is mentioned as a reference for an ‘emancipatory project on screen’. The content was emancipatory because it was the first time that drama content explicitly dealt with the issue of child rape. The story revolves around a girl who was raped at the age of 9, when her mother

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sent her to buy something from the corner shop. The rest of the serial revolves around the stigma of rape and the issues of rehabilitation faced by the victim and her family. The producers (Jerjees Seja, Babar Javed, Ali Imran) of Roag argue that the impact of this serial can be attributed to the fact that the scene of the crime falls into the category of ‘public space’. In other words, it is a public issue. It should also be noted that there is nothing extraordinary about the cast and the styling of this project. As already discussed in Chapter 4, the producer of Roag did not intend to initiate a cause for debate nor shake mothers up to the reality of child rape; however, it is worth noting that it moved women in their capacity as ‘mothers’ into taking certain actions. Let us have a look at how young, middle class mothers have appropriated this content: Mehwish: For instance, we watched Roag recently . . . We know of mothers who are now on guard when sending their daughters off to the local shop, and do not let their children play unattended in the street. These days, realistically, at least two out of ten news stories a day are about sexual abuse. Nazia: Even I always watch my children while playing outside, though our neighbourhood is safe. (Sohni Chalet) Even though these respondents live in a closed compound of duplexes with no shops inside, the narrative shakes them up. The execution of this drama serial is somewhat different from others. While viewers criticise other serials for not engaging with the actual issue and not unpacking it to the point of telling viewers the rights/laws that govern the subject raised, this serial touches upon all of this. The story does not end with the serial; in fact, it initiates an awareness campaign among viewers that includes several other genres. As anticipated, the middle class housewives based in Ancholi, a densely populated area in the heart of Karachi with many local shops within residential streets, voiced their concern as follows: Shumaila: Yes, we remember watching Roag. It was an eye-opener for mothers who are careless about their daughters. After watching this drama serial, we would not let our daughters step out of the house without an elder of the

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family, and we would not let them go to the shop down the street. We have even asked our daughters to watch Roag so that they protect themselves better. Such drama serials are surely offering a service to society. Obviously, we are at home and we do not know what is happening outside. Most women were living in a joint family system; therefore, ‘we’ in their speech, refers to all women in the household, unless any one of them disagrees within the discussion: Hina: We are typical housewives who are no longer attending university. We mostly accompany our husbands when we go out, so, for us, television is the only window to the world and we really want it that way. We want programmes to show us the real picture of society. It is important for us to know about the world outside this home, because we want to guide our children better in the world. (Ancholi) Shumaila and Urooj live in a joint family system and are married to two brothers. Both are university graduates. Marriage has changed their lives to the point that they rely on television to bring home ‘outside realities’. Roag stirred a maternal instinct of protecting children. I stress that all respondents took the serial far too seriously because they were separated from the public sphere, and that is why viewers in the lower middle class raised the issue of paranoia that such content creates: Hira: I think television can play a crucial role in changing the attitudes of people towards women. With Roag, we have become paranoid and are scared of the people around us; I could not have come to this session leaving my daughters behind at home, so I brought them along. I do not let my children go to school on their own or to after-school club; I stay with them all the time. Maria: I had to leave my children with a friend of mine to attend this discussion. There is no way that we can leave our children unattended anymore. These fears are looming on our minds because we have watched Roag. (New Karachi)

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This drama serial, as well as other women-related content, disturbed the viewers to the extent that they took steps to protect their children. The paranoia it carries for the viewers has its roots in weak law enforcement mechanisms. This serial becomes a window to the outside world for women staying at home, and connects them to the realities of the public space; however, it is disturbing to see how it reinforces the segregation between the public and private spheres. Gender-based crimes raised in the news are not very different from the gender-based issues in the drama serial. The element of realism is so profound that viewers take it as the closest representation of reality, especially viewers with low social power3 (see Glynn, 2000). The ‘reality of society created on screen’ is, in some ways, a controlling, public – private divide by creating ‘a world of potential dangers’ in the public domain. The closure of almost all programmes ends up offering a behavioural code for women, yet nothing for disciplining men. Such a code of conduct does not focus on rebuilding the moral code in a way that women could be individuals with equal rights to protection as men, in the public as well as the private sphere. The discussion instigated by the question ‘can drama serial bring some sort of change in our attitudes in relation to gender?’, is further built up by these respondents by asserting that they have mended their ways as mothers, and are now protective of their children. Nonetheless, throughout the discussion, there was criticism of the government, law enforcement agencies and judiciary for not delivering their due on gender-based issues. No matter how frustrating it is to watch such content, all respondents appreciate the ‘democratisation’ of this space in addressing such issues. In addition, the discussion reveals an element of unpredictability and selectivity in viewers’ choice of content. In the case of Roag, they do not seem to take issue with the non-inspirational character of the protagonist or whether the content is suitable for the lounge or not. Although the joint family system and halala are also raised as issues of concern, the private nature of these issues (within the home) do not seem to give a unanimous call for a cultural talking point. Roag, on the other hand, gives an account of the outside world that is not directly related to viewers’ subjectivities. Therefore, for them, Roag not only becomes a resource of knowledge about the outside world, but also invites them to reflect on this issue as cultural citizens. In fact, I argue that these viewers want something more in terms of the knowledge they obtain from

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television. Their reliance on popular culture is for more than instant gratification or pleasure. They seem ready to engage with issues of a political nature and they want more information on their legal rights. Hence, I argue that the drama serial, in this sense, offers a domain for ‘political engagement’ and stimulates certain pro-civic actions. Additionally, it can be seen that some texts offer more opportunity for performance of cultural citizenship (cf. Chapter 7). Furthermore, this performance allows women to think about the existing binary between the public and the private in Pakistani society. Nevertheless, it is not just in the narratives that engage women with such issues that interactive genres are more popular in bridging the gap between the public and the private.

CHAPTER 7 INTERACTIVE TV:VIEWERS EMPOWERED OR DISCIPLINED

To gain a holistic picture of how viewers engage with gendered content, this chapter will evaluate viewers’ engagement with interactive genres. In this discussion, I will use the works of Dayan (2001, 2005) and Warner (2002), who argue that members of a public need to perform in certain ways. Dayan argues that ‘performance links the notion of public to that of a public sphere. A public not only offers attention, it calls for attention. Any public requires another public watching it perform. The performance may be polemic or consensual . . . A public must “go public” or it is not a public’ (2005: 52). The aspect of an obligation to perform is useful for this study, because it allows an examination of whether or not the nature of gendered content is inviting and engaging enough to motivate viewers to commit to/perform a civic duty. However, suggesting that ‘a public must go public’ is a little problematic, because it assumes that a public is a homogenous group with the same level of engagement with a discourse. Likewise, it assumes that all members of a public will have both the means and the opportunity to perform. Performing, in this regard, has two dimensions: one that involves direct participation in the public sphere, and one that occurs through distanced or remote engagement. This sort of engagement can be characterised by associating with a certain issue voluntarily, either by giving attention to the issue or silently following it. I argue that engagement can consist of giving attention to certain content and then

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taking a position in relation to it. Following Bennulf and Hedberg (1999), Dahlgren (2009) and Coleman (2006), I additionally argue that engagement can be divided into several positions taken by citizens while watching. These are participation, ambivalence, distrust, indifference and disengagement. All these positions are political acts to some extent. I acknowledge that all are crucial in understanding viewers’ patterns of engagement, but it is necessary to add that these ‘positions’ cannot be defined as fixed states and cannot be read in isolation. For instance, distrust can lead to ambivalence and disengagement. Citizens tend to travel through these states depending on several factors. For example, Bennulf and Hedberg suggest that ‘ambivalence involves certain degree of involvement, but that the motivation for participation is simply not strong enough to overcome inertia of non-involvement or, alternatively, that motivation exists, yet is mitigated by a sense that the efforts required for engagement are simply too great’ (1999, quoted in Dahlgren 2009: 82). In the case of ambivalence, I argue that viewers can get involved in gender-based issues to the point of seeking information and knowledge about them, yet they do not participate directly due to distrust in the system or their own subjectivities. In the case of distrust, I argue that viewers can distance themselves from the issues on the basis of two factors. They can distance themselves because they do not have any trust in the political system and in the utility of the mediated public sphere for direct participation. Moreover, disengagement can be reflective of distrust in the system (Bennulf and Hedberg, 1999, quoted in Dahlgren 2009: 80– 1). The sheer absence of engagement can also be translated into a political act (Coleman, 2006). Distancing from certain content can be an informed decision that has resulted from critical thinking. Although distrust in the system may be one of the factors in disengagement, class is equally important in this regard. Whereas some viewers may choose to disengage, others can be denied access. I refer to those who have been denied access as constrained public, whereas they who choose to remain silent form the dormant public. In the case of the constrained public, members who are willing to participate are denied access either from home (for religious and cultural reasons), or through gate-keeping. This is somewhat similar to how Livingstone (2005: 11) argues that gate-keeping can deny the possibility of becoming publics.

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Viewers’ Patterns of Engagement with Breakfast Shows Not many viewers in my sample followed breakfast shows, especially in the affluent middle class. Therefore, the discussion will be limited to two aspects in programming. Firstly, it will touch upon how viewers in Ancholi appreciate the efforts undertaken by breakfast shows in coordinating with NGOs. Secondly, it will analyse how viewers read a ‘popular spying campaign’, launched by one of the breakfast shows. Let us assess how women are eager to appreciate hosts in their efforts to bring victims closer to justice: Shumaila: We do not watch morning shows very seriously, but women-oriented issues affect us, especially when they invite victims of gender-based crimes. The other day, two sisters were on a morning show to discuss their ordeal. They were victims of domestic violence in the hands of their in-laws, and sought protection through this show. I wanted to call the live show to show appreciation of their efforts to give protection to women. Hina: At times, we want to call. I can recall a show where the case of a kidnapped girl, whom the Burney Trust recovered from a mafia that ran brothels, was highlighted. I really wanted to call and appreciate the effort of the Trust and the broadcaster that worked hand-in-hand in this case. (Ancholi) Crime-reporting in the Pakistani context is important in giving protection to victims. In crime-reporting, almost all interactive genres work hand-in-hand with NGOs and law enforcement agencies. The format of all morning shows is somewhat similar, with victims getting an opportunity to gain support for financial and legal matters (see Chapter 6 for format). Therefore, from the above response, we can see how women are moved into calling such shows to become part of the collective act of appreciation. By doing this, or by simply intending to, not only do these viewers think about the victims as part of their gendered community, but they also engage with a cause of public nature that seeks to protect women.

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The patterns of engagement with this genre are somewhat limited in the affluent middle class of Sohni Chalet. Only one woman, a retired teacher, mentions that she follows Faisal Qureishi’s morning show, because it gives ‘civic sense’ and that makes it different from other shows. I see this as ‘deliberate distancing’ from these shows, mainly because the content of this genre speaks directly to the realities of the lower middle class. The viewers in Sohni Chalet make it a point to register their ‘aversion’ to these shows. Moreover, there is an element of distancing themselves from the pleasure (if they seek any) of watching celebrity guests on these shows. For women in the lower middle class, these shows have a greater appeal, mainly for two reasons. Firstly, such shows sponsor the weddings of women who cannot afford them and, secondly, they shows offer ‘moral policing as well as counselling for women’. The morning show that had maximum viewership was that of Maya Khan. At the time of fieldwork, this show launched ‘spying campaigns on husbands and daughters’, and the host, Maya, was later sacked for this initiative.1 Since ‘disciplining women’ is almost mandatory for the protection of honour, this campaign was widely appreciated by typical housewives: Hina: We condemn the sacking of Maya Khan, because the cause that she raised on her show was genuine. Do we not have couples dating in different parks of Karachi or, for that matter, in different restaurants? Usually, parents assume that their daughters are attending classes, whereas they are taking advantage of such liberty. If Maya brought this issue up on her show, her efforts should have been appreciated. Urooj: However, I do not think these hosts are sincerely concerned about such issues; they bring them up to raise the ratings of their shows. Only recently, it was revealed on another show that Maya had paid actors. The channel fired her for this. Maybe there were other reasons too. Such shows build their campaigns around the idea that ‘the media is your saviour and will bring the public life of your loved ones into your home’. Women who have restricted movement in the public sphere buy into such notions. Let us see how another respondent wants to know about the activities of husbands:

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Zaheena: I once again say that Maya’s show was much better; it was offering awareness to women. She brought husbands’ betrayals to light, and this is an important issue. I think that the men who watched it must have thought about the importance of home and family. (Ancholi) Here, it is obvious that viewers are familiar with the agendas of producers. Yet, at the same time, they are eager to have the media’s say in defining a moral code for them. Viewers in the middle class (Ancholi) are more aware of the dynamics of production and the fictitious nature of such campaigns. We cannot say whether these viewers would allow such an invasion into their own private lives or not. These shows however, do not aim to develop a new moral order. In fact, in a country where the majority defines the ‘code of life’ in the idiom of religion, this does not seem to be an upcoming possibility. Rather, it seeks to rebuild the notion of ‘what is moral’ in the Islamic sense, albeit through a platform that appears to be liberal. Consequently, these spaces do not offer a range of possible solutions to choose from; nevertheless, democratisation of the mediated public sphere has helped to open the regime of religion to a range of possibilities within Islam. In particular, debates on morality with moral policing or other acts of spying and surveillance initiate a discourse on morality between liberal and conservative Muslims. In addition, they generate post-viewing discussions in other media, where such acts of moral policing are condemned as parallel pseudo-legal systems. Furthermore, I argue that these shows can sometimes work in favour of women. For instance, if the crew of this show stalked girls, husbands were also followed. In this way, a statement was delivered on television that the question of morality is also relevant to men. Consider, for example, how Baji, who is in her fifties, sought pleasure from viewing the act of spying on others’ husbands. In this group, Baji, who suspects her husband of activities that she may not know of, expresses herself as follows: Baji:

I really liked Maya’s show, because she was so right to highlight that typical housewives do not know what their husbands are up to. I do not know what my husband is up to or where he is now. I have a right to know about his

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after-office activities. Just because we stay indoors, we should not be taken for granted. Shehnaz: I strongly believe that taking our personal issues on television can work in our interest too. I draw strength from women who are reporting their issues on Maya’s show. By that, I do not mean that every husband needs to be checked on a public medium. (Ancholi) Baji enjoys a position of power at home and she has acquired this position over a period of time. Under Shari’a, mothers hold a status three times greater (in terms of being worthy of respect) than a father. Baji’s sons are quite religious and she is very well respected in her house, perhaps more than her husband. However, she is not happy with the way her husband spends his money, therefore suspecting him of a hidden marriage. Both women are eager to bring their personal issues into the public domain with a view to addressing their own problems. In addition, Baji raises another important issue: that the existing public/ private divide has made men unaccountable to women at home. Throughout the discussions, Baji made a point of sharing her thoughts not only with me, but also with her daughters-in-law, who were asked to sit quietly and listen to her responses. It is important to note that these two women, who want their husbands to be spied upon, are both middle-aged. In their fifties, they have reached an age where they are much stronger in their status as women in the home (as mothers, mothers-in-law and grandmothers), both in Shari’a and in society. For viewers in the lower middle class (Young), this campaign was a wake-up call for women who are completely closed off from the public sphere. There were a limited number of university students in the sample, who only followed the specific episode which ran ‘spying campaigns’ on dating couples. The discussion on these particular episodes focused on three features: Hala:

We must all condemn what Maya did on her show. It is just not appropriate to give the media the right to disgrace anyone on screen. Ehsana: Regardless, I would say that they who work in the media and in positions to point the finger at each other should first look at their own lives. Are they living a perfect

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life? Besides, who has given them the right to define what is moral? Rumaisa: What about the families she has exposed on television? To be honest, as far as we see it, it is highly unethical to cash in on anyone’s privacy for ratings. These channels seem committed to the commercial angle attached to such programming. These elements are obviously in contrast with how viewers in the lower middle class perceive acts of policing. Hala, Ehsana and Rumaisa are aware of the dynamics of production, hence they question the right of the media to question one’s privacy. This is a crucial argument for this discussion, because it revisits the notion of personal autonomy and limits to one’s privacy. In addition, it reveals how the concept of ‘privacy’ and the ‘private’ changes with socio-economic class and marital status. Those who fare better in terms of cultural capital consider themselves in charge of their privacy, whereas those who lack social and cultural power are willing to grant the media the right to scrutinise their privacy. In this sense, the content offers spaces for critical reflection on the limits of the public/ private distinction within different classes. I argue that for women in the middle class, protecting the family’s honour comes much before reporting crime or raising their voice on issues that relate to the personal sphere.

Viewers’ Engagement Patterns with Religion-Based Talk Shows This section addresses the utility of religion-based talk shows as a resource for religion-based knowledge, as opposed to the madrassa (religious seminary), which can be difficult to access. The second issue addressed relates to the question of whether personal issues should be raised in religion-based talk shows or not. Lastly, it examines whether viewers can access these shows without the permission of their mehram (male guardians) or not. Therefore, let us begin with the viewers’ responses from the lower middle class (New Karachi) that appreciate the role of such spaces in ‘connecting’ them to the public sphere. Ruqaiya: Through Alim aur Alam, victims seek protection as well. This show is a way of letting other men who are

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watching know that not all women will suffer in silence, and that they can take their ordeal to these shows too. I think I can call on Alim aur Alam, because approaching a maulvi2 [cleric] in real life is rather difficult. In our society, men know more on religion than women, so we would first ask the male members [mehram] in our home. If they do not assist us, then I would certainly call any religion-based show. My sons want me to veil my face. My husband is against it, but I do what my sons tell me, because they know more on religion and I cannot go against religious teachings. (New Karachi)

For these women, shows such as Alim Aur Alam have become a resource for their knowledge on Islam. If ‘religion’ is what gives women the confidence to assert their positions within the home, such platforms are not a bad choice for them at all. Here, it is worth noting that Ruqaiya takes this show as a resource to ‘let other men know that women will not suffer in silence’. Unpacked further, Alim aur Alam can be the voice of women who suffer in silence and who share concerns similar to those voiced on this show. What is disturbing to notice is how women are still dependent on male family members’ version of religion, whether it is in their homes or on the panels of such shows. In this respect, it becomes challenging to separate patriarchal interpretations from women-oriented issues. Several women even mentioned that they would rather get in touch with female scholars of Islam for any ruling on ‘intimate matters’. For example, another middleaged woman in the lower middle class of New Karachi asks: Ehsana: Do we need to call on such shows when we have the Qur’an in our hands? Besides, it is usually a male panel, so if women want to discuss something, they should contact Alima [female religious scholar] instead. We have so many women who have graduated from the madrassa [religious school]. These days no one trusts these maulvis, and it is not even safe for women to contact them. (New Karachi) This statement raises the issue of segregation between the sexes, which is so profound among practising Muslims. Women are reluctant to call on

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such shows where there are male panellists, and if they cannot call on such platforms, they obviously cannot think about going to the madrassa in person. Their reluctance to approach male scholars in the mediated public sphere does not have to do with a difference in interpretation, but rather with their adherence to religious teachings that bar them from interacting unnecessarily with men (see Chapter 1). There are two significant issues raised by Ehsana. Firstly, the restricted/controlled movement of women in society makes it almost impossible for them to reach the madrassa; secondly, there are hardly any avenues on television to approach female scholars where issues of personal nature can be discussed openly. There is another concern regarding the safety of women. In recent years, maulvis or bearded men are looked at with suspicion. Several cases of crimes have been attributed to bearded men (see section on crime shows). Among many reasons, women even reported that they were more concerned about their security inside the madrassa, because they had built an image of the clergy through representations on screen. In several crime stories, imam, who lead the prayers of the mosque, have been accused of gender-based crimes.3 Women and children have become cautious of interacting with the local clergy.4 What is evident throughout the interviews is the unwillingness to get in touch with a madrassa; for instance, Ruqaiya raises the issues of going to a madrassa as follows: Yes, we will call on Alim aur Alam if we want to clarify issues whose nature is not very sensitive, but I would not bother going to a local madrassa for this, because going to a local madrassa in person would mean letting the neighbours know about my issue and informing my husband, whereas I would not seek his permission for calling. Viewers who engage with such platforms to seek guidance about homebased issues will, nonetheless, protect the honour of their family. The idea has roots within the teachings of Islam that urge husbands and wives to conceal each other’s faults. On the one hand, women can participate in public life as live callers in talk shows yet, on the other hand, the physical segregation has become even stronger. One can notice how the ‘private’ is understood in several ways and how women revisit the issue of segregation when engaging with such shows. The first

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concern is that personal issues should not be taken to the mediated public sphere, and the second is that if women were to access a madrassa, then their neighbours would spot them near it. In Pakistan, women do not go to a madrassa or a mosque. Seeing them near one can be directly taken as a step to seek fatwa on a personal matter, which, in turn, relates to family’s honour. A middle-aged, middle-class woman stresses that she would hesitate to going to a local madrassa for another set of reasons: Tasneem: I think that if we have any issues related to Shari’a, we should resort to the internet; we should not bother to go to any madrassa. It is also important to know the reputation, standing and command of an Alim on the subject. I cannot be bothered to ask this Alim – who is so conservative that he declares those who wear Western wear as kafir (non-believer) – anything in relation to women’s issues. (Sohni Chalet) Liberal Muslims, as well as those who have access to other resources, do not find ulema who interpret Islam in its literal sense helpful, as this is at odds with their version of Islam. The version of Islam held by these scholars is too debatable for liberals, who prefer to select from a range of opinions available online. Furthermore, the clergy that appear on TV follow an official/popular understanding of religion, where Islamic discourse on TV is colonised by the Hanafi school of thought. Broadcasters are compelled to give more exposure to Hanafi ulema on television and do not seem to have a choice in this regard. In this way, screen-based discourse on Islam is led by Brailvis and Deobandis (religious thoughts/ movements within Hanafi School), whereas others (such as Wahabis and Shi’a) get limited airtime. Alim aur Alam seems to be easily accessible to the viewers yet, in the discussion that follows, one finds that accessing the mediated public sphere is not just a call away. The space offered by Alim Aur Alam lies at the intersection of the public/private divide in society. Taking a step towards participating in live shows can be read directly in terms of negotiating the boundary laid down by Shari’a and custom. Consider, for example, Farah’s response in a discussion about the issues she may face when participating in such programmes:

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The dynamics at home are different for me. I would have to obtain my mother-in-law’s permission to call on such shows. If my mother-in-law happens to come across any content that discusses how notorious mothers-in-law are, she would simply change the channel and not let us watch. However, as I see it, religious formats have more potential to change us. There is no such thing as a joint family system in Islamic tradition. The ruling only extends to covering one’s self properly, even in the presence of a young father-in-law. In our religion, a man who cannot afford his wife and family is barred from marriage, but in our society nothing complies with Shari’a. Hindu culture has become superior to us than religion. If a man cannot afford a separate house for his wife, is he not supposed to separate the kitchen within the home and create a partition, where two or more families share the same house? (Sohni Chalet) Yet again, we find this interest in religion to rebuild the prevalent concept of the fabric of home and marriage, which is why Farah finds such shows ‘empowering’. Women like Farah, who have problems in establishing good relations with in-laws, are likely to engage with religion-based solutions for marriage and the home. Religion offers a comprehensive regime that has a wider acceptance in society and is an easier route for seeking solutions to home-based problems. Moreover, religion qualifies for a discourse that is much more engaging and comprehensible for women than any other liberal discourse on womenrelated issues. Yet accessing shows that facilitate such an opportunity is rather difficult for many women. While understanding the nature of the difficulties these women face in interacting with scholars on Alim Aur Alam or any other religion-based talk show, I discovered that even ‘an act of calling on live shows’ needs permission from someone who is sovereign in the house. I argue that such viewers fall into the category of a constrained or dormant public; constrained because of the hurdles, and dormant because taking the step to call is not worth it or there are not enough stimuli for it. In the context of engaging with such fora, with or without consent, even middle-aged viewers in the lower middle class who follow such shows have similar reasons for not participating in the show:

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Mehnaz: If I were to answer this question, I would never call such a show without my husband’s permission, because I have never even called my sister-in-law without his permission, so how can I call a show? My husband does not want me to do anything without his permission. (New Karachi) Viewers in this sample are mothers-in-law and over the age of fifty, yet they insist on the importance of the permission of their mehram before calling shows. Then, an anticipated question is: if they cannot call on their own, would they be able to act upon the ‘solution’ offered through such programmes? Although most viewers seem eager to watch this show, they do not imagine participating without the consent of the male heads of the household, which raises another question: how limited is the autonomy of these female viewers? It invites our attention to how relations within the home impact upon women’s agency. However, these female viewers acknowledge that such shows have facilitated women’s access to the mediated public sphere. A genre that has engaged both socio-economic classes is that of ‘crime shows’, with highly gendered content that highlights the crimes committed against women, mostly including rape.

A Window to the Real World: Viewers’ Engagement Patterns with Crime Shows Throughout the fieldwork, viewers continue to highlight how private channels have started a new genre of crime shows and how they have become avid viewers of this genre. A considerable number of viewers point out that they watch crime shows because they want to know about the dangers for women outside the home. This is interesting, because the gendered crimes raised in this genre can take place within homes as well. Others argue that reporting ‘rape’ on TV can be helpful if victim’s identity is well protected, but cannot help in the eradication of crime. Still, most viewers argue that crime shows are not helpful in ‘making them any safer’. Rather, it adds another source to ‘informing’ them about gender-based crimes, which mostly refer to ‘rape’.

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In the discussion, the middle-class housewives living in Ancholi called such spaces a window to the world, and even raised certain issues about the reporting of crimes, as seen below: Shumaila: It is our window to the world, and it warns us about the risks that can potentially affect anyone, so we become alert to it. Television is our guide to live in this dangerous world. Hina: Reporting crime is essential, but you should not show victims’ faces, nor reveal the identity of the victim and that of family members. We think that we are stronger than our mothers because we are better informed, if not safer. In another group in Ancholi: Zaheena: Such discussions have limited value because they never discuss the issue. Rather, they focus on a specific case and end up making it sensational. Another reason for not calling is that there is no follow-up to any case, nor are the culprits ever brought to justice. In fact, we have terrorist organisations operating openly, despite being banned by the government. Have we ever brought them before the court of law? The cases around gender issues are just individual cases with no solid backing; who would give them justice? With all these programmes on women, we are still not sure about our rights. We do not know a single right of ours. (Ancholi) Although reporting on ‘rape’ has made them feel more ‘informed’ about gender-based realities in society, respondents have raised crucial concerns here. They state that such issues should be treated at a depersonalised level so that viewers can become informed about their rights. In addition, when female viewers mention that they are better informed, they do not mean in terms of their rights. Rather, it concerns specific cases that feature on such crime stories and a realisation that ‘rape is a reality’ in society. It shows that these female viewers know how the legal system works in Pakistan. Even if they are not

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participating directly in the mediated public sphere, they are wellinformed about the socio-political realities of society. Moreover, viewers mention that crime shows warn them of the risks that can potentially affect anyone. In particular, they state that ‘television is our guide to live in this dangerous world’. The genre’s factual nature makes it more powerful than the genres based on fiction. I argue that the reenactment in these shows make the crime look more real than reality itself (to use Baudrillard’s idea). It gives the viewers a sense of paranoia, as seen in the case of Roag, and they share the feeling of being potential victims. Scholars such as Osborne (1995) and Jewkes (2011), who have studied mediated crime in the Western context, argue that ‘media discourses about crime now constitute all viewers as equally subject to the fragmented and random danger of criminality’ (Osborne 1995: 27, quoted in Jewkes 2011: 31). Moreover, Jewkes (2011) notes: The audience is bombarded in both factual media and in fictional representations, by crimes that are very rare, such as serial killings and abductions of children by strangers. The presentation of the atypical as typical serves to exacerbate public anxiety and deflect attention from much more commonplace offences such as street crime, corporate crime and abuse of children within the family. (2011: 32) Jewkes raises an interesting dimension about the popularity of specific news items over others in mediated crimes. In the case of Pakistan, gender-based crimes are rising, hence they demand urgent attention. At the same time, there is an audience for such content. I argue that women who are separated from the public sphere constitute a large group of consumers for such news. Female viewers (like Hina) do not express any inclination to see the ‘unveiled’ face of rape victims. As insiders to society, they are well aware of the social stigma that rape carries and the problems it can create for rape victims and their families vis-a`-vis reassimilation into society. Apart from trauma management, there are issues of animosities that ‘unveiling faces’ can create (cf. Cheema, 2016). Perpetrators can further harass the victims, and this is explained by two middle-class women in their forties:

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Mehwish: How does this help the unveiled victim, or anyone, really? The other day, my 12-year-old daughter asked me what ziadti [abuse] is. I did not know how to answer that, so I just told her to be a little cautious with strangers, they can beat you, and never sit in your school bus when there are no other children in it. I had to be open about it, because society has these elements, yet not too open, for we are a conservative set up as well. Maybe, in a way, these programmes are useful for breaking the silence on such issues. Nazia: I think our television only raises issues of rape, as if this is the only issue left for women. There are many other concerns for women; we need universities for women, proper means of transportation and a lot of other issues as well. Women are harassed in the workplace, and my husband does not let me work because the environment is not that healthy for women. Teasing women is also common and it should be raised on television. (Sohni Chalet) In households where women cannot think of participating in the mediated public sphere without the consent of the husband, there is an initiation of a conversation on gender-based crime and sexual education. This suggests the beginning of a discourse among viewers. So, if Hina Bayat aimed to trigger a post-viewing discourse, it can be noticed that some households are opening up on gender-based issues (see Chapter 5). The discussion with this group of middle-class housewives builds up further when this respondent starts to identify a range of areas that need attention in relation to women. Society has long been silent on the issue of ‘teasing’ and ogling women. In fact, this practice is one of the main reasons why women are asked to cover their bodies or are completely closed off from the public sphere. It seems that female viewers are thinking about the plight of women in Pakistani society. However, the idea Mehwish coins here about separate universities and transport for women would further reinforce segregation. In the case of crime shows, middle-class viewers certainly doubt the intentions of the producers of crime-based shows in genuinely seeking for some feminist agenda or pursuing a emancipatory cause, or even helping ‘victims’ in any way:

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Tasneem: I do not think that these programmes have contributed to change in relation to women. I am certain that the practice of Karo Kari and Watta Satta remain intact. Do you think that reporting is enough for the eradication of crime? There is no follow-up on the cases. It is very difficult to do away with your traditions; you do what you have seen since childhood. In addition, we cannot ignore that our own politicians are helpless when such cases arise in their constituency. The maid who works in my home has a 13-year-old daughter who is married. They are living with us in cities now, but there is simply no difference in their lifestyles. We warn them of the consequences of early marriages. According to State law, Pakistani women under the age of 16 are not allowed to marry, but it seems that they have no clue about these laws. They watch TV, but what can they do when the men in their families are not watching such content, or are not interested in changing their habits? Tasneem is an educated woman, who clearly has knowledge about how the judicial system works. However, I can identify a level of indifference towards the problems of the rural class, and it seems that she does not see any potential for change in that class. Perhaps what Tasneem and many others in this sample (middle class) remind us of is the strength of ‘cultural and religious norms’ in our society. The local jirga systems (tribal courts) run parallel to the State’s legal system in Pakistan, and there has been no attempt by the government to abolish such systems, which is why we get to see ‘verdicts’ that have absolutely no basis in religion or state law. In a country where gender and sexuality are governed by religion, customs, as well as the State, conceiving a single project for empowering women can be very difficult. According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, in 2011 only, around 1,000 women were killed in the name of the honour of the family and, yet, the secular government and the rightist parties cannot see eye to eye on the issue of domestic violence.5 For more than three years, the Domestic Violence Bill remains pending before the Senate. For women in urban areas, religious movements and other liberal secular movements that struggle for ‘women rights’ are active in public life. However, for women

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in rural areas, only television (if they are granted access to it) can bring home an alternative paradigm that governs gender and sexuality, either driven by state law or by Shari’a. However, there is still no mechanism that can enforce either Shari’a or State law to govern women rights. In this group, all viewers come across as knowledgeable women with a deeper understanding of the issues that women face in Pakistani society. More importantly, they raise the question of focusing on the ‘right’ addressee, that is, men. Of course, gender-based content that highlights women’s issues has women as its major audiences/consumers. Those who are custodians of women under Shari’a are men, and those who have power over women under customs are men. To aim for change would mean including men. What seems to be a long exchange of thoughts on ‘television’s role in empowering women’ is just a snippet from a conversation that lasted for at least an hour. The response to what can be done to address genderbased issues in Pakistani society is a single call from this group. Viewers suggest that ‘tailor-made programmes for empowering women’ can be helpful, and the problem can be treated at the macro level by educating them, rather than focusing on what appear to be trivia/ personal stories. Whether it is helpful for empowering women or not remains debatable, mainly because ‘empowering or emancipation’ is by nature so indefinite – a collective ideal, yet an individual project – that one can still not figure out what these women think about these concepts. Despite the fact that they are all educated, they still want to be dependent on male members of the family. Similarly, another important factor in this regard is whether ‘empowering women’ can be conceived as a collective ideal or whether it is a personal project. Yet again, what is far more complicated to ask is: ‘what is our reference point for emancipation?’ Is it the local culture, the West or the ‘comprehensive regime of Islam’? Perhaps it is more appropriate to think in terms of ‘change’, no matter how insignificant it may appear, for these viewers seem to be ready for some sort of change. Whether these women recognise ‘change’ as something positive in society or not becomes debatable when they go on to recall the time when they were young: Nasreen: When we were young in the 1970s, we could walk back home from work in clothes that did not conform to the Islamic standards of modest dressing (no cloak or hijab),

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but we were a lot safer than our daughters. Now, the next generation has more resources and education, but society has become so sexually repressed that women have become vulnerable to such threats. (Sohni Chalet) Nasreen is a retired head-teacher of a public school. She used public transport to go to work for over 40 years. In a candid discussion over tea, she further elaborates how the male gaze has changed in public spaces. The argument she presents here raises a concern about how society has changed over the years with regards to its orientation towards sexuality. Is there a link between the rise in gender-based crimes and the rise in tendencies that fight to ‘repress/tame/regulate sexuality? These viewers are highly educated and move in the public domain, yet they feel that their daughters are vulnerable in public. However, when I asked Farah and Alia if they would ever report such a crime on television or not, they replied: Alia: If any such thing (like rape or sexual abuse) happens in our neighbourhood, neither the victim’s family nor any of us would report it. There is a lot at stake for middle-class families, and I think that the lower class usually reports a crime, because they are not really afraid of their identity being disclosed. We think about our family’s name, honour and the consequences our children can face as a result. Farah: There is a reason to it as well. If you talk to our domestic maids, who belong to the class where crimes are common, you would be shocked to find out that their value system is different than ours. You know, my maid’s husband has left her to live with his aunt, and they are moving freely in their family and social circle. As for the middle class, everything is so complicated. Even to this day, marrying a divorcee or a widow is not taken with an open heart. (Sohni Chalet) For the majority of viewers in this sample, such crimes do not belong to their class and, if anything does happen, they would not report it. The lack of reporting in the middle class is also raised by Asim Naseer, the producer of Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga (see Chapter 5), and Sawera Nadeem, who refers to the fact that her middle-class viewers do not seem

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ready to participate (see Chapter 4). When Alia argues that ‘there is a lot at stake for the middle class’, she is referring to the culture of silence and honour, often termed as safaid poshi in Urdu.6 Although viewers in the affluent middle class acknowledge the importance of reporting crime, they still view crime stories as a window to the ‘lives of the lower class’. I notice that these viewers watch it ‘as someone else’s reality’. Class intervenes in their reading of this content. Furthermore, they relate ‘not reporting’ and ‘the absence of gender-based crime’ as specific to their class. In a sense, they even seek pride in saying it. In such cases, women’s issues take a backseat, whereas ‘personal ordeals’ are watched as the reality of one segment of society. This is directly linked to the culture of stratification in society, which is structured on the basis of the issues that belong to a particular class. The culture of shame in society is reinforced in/by the middle class, more than it is practised in the lower middle class. It is no wonder that Alia mentions that ‘such gender-based issues are common in the lower class, whereas for the middle class, power struggles within the home are of prime importance’. To relate this back to what it holds for the public of gender-based content, I argue that the variable of class weakens public engagement. In order to conform to the ethos of the middle class, these viewers appear to sympathise with the victims more than they can empathise. This is another factor that gives rise to the internal diversity within the public vis-a`-vis gendered content. Nevertheless, crime shows engage viewers to the level that they revisit their status as ‘women’ in society and reflect upon the political– legal culture that is so hostile towards women. Even in the sample of young university students, there is limited eagerness to watch crime shows. In fact, a few students suggested a more helpful format in this regard, described as follows: Zenobia: Instead of crime watch, we need shows like Geo Hina Kay Sath and Aurat Kahani [Stories of Women]. These programmes were crucial in facilitating cases enough to draw the government’s attention or the legal process’s itself, but what happened afterwards is altogether another matter. (Karachi University) Samra: I used to watch Geo Hina Kay Sath. We badly need programmes of that sort. It was a real initiative to make

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us more aware as female citizens. There was a situation of bailout in the end, where we were informed about whom to contact and where to go to if any situation of crisis arises. For Zenobia and Samra, the issue has to do with knowing about rights. Once again, Zenobia challenges the representation of gendered issues on interactive shows and stresses the importance of knowing about rights. The question of rights is related to the issue of cultural capital. Viewers in the middle class are much more aware of the system and more coherent about the areas in which they need more information. In the case of gender-based content on television, they feel that they need to be provided with more information regarding their rights. Interestingly, they want to have knowledge about their rights under State law through interactive genres as well as drama serials. At the same time, these viewers want the media to facilitate the system on the ground. Although viewers in the middle class expressed distrust in the system, which may be one of the reasons for not participating in the shows, their expectations from the interactive shows are higher. This kind of engagement is between civic and political, where the desire is to know about laws and ‘influence governmental action’ (Dahlgren 2009: 58). Unlike middle-class housewives in Sohni Chalet, who disown genderbased crimes as practices exclusive to a certain class, several students of Karachi University express concern over the consequences this content can have for the nation. These crime stories seem to be integrated into their lives and their content has sparked ‘a sense of concern’ towards such issues, which is rather evident. Several other students speak about such crimes as ‘their own problems’, which must be addressed as a domestic matter rather than a global issue, as treated by Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy in her documentary on acid cases. Concern about the global image of the country is evident here. It is something that disengages them from a cause and sparks more stress, because it defames the nation. Despite their criticism of the treatment of such issues, all viewers seem to engage with the urgency of the cause itself, and identify the areas in which a mechanism for more accountability is needed. Something that consistently reappears is the ‘reputation of the judiciary’ in Pakistan. There are many cases that are still pending in court, including high profile ‘rape’ cases that are unresolved to date. The

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factor of ‘distrust’ in the system emerges again and again throughout this discussion. Although a lot of these issues are deeply entrenched in the culture of honour and dignity of a family, the silence around them is deeply rooted in the lack of confidence or distrust in the system. As social and cultural citizens, the lack of trust in the judiciary translates into either indifference, ambivalence or complete distrust (to use Bennulf and Hedberg’ terms (1999)). This chapter examined the viewers’ perspective on the genre’s potential to bring change. In terms of engagement with different genres, one cannot say that a particular genre is more engaging than another. Although religion-based talk shows are used as a resource for knowledge on the rights of women in Islam, women still consider them to be a huge step to using spaces that are inherently public. Their public nature has a certain impact on these viewers and has barred them from accessing them. Furthermore, any space that can fall into the category of ‘public’ is approached through the lens of religion and culture. The question becomes whether it is acceptable within Pakistani culture and Shari’a to approach a public medium or not. Interestingly, the engagement pattern with crime shows demonstrated that viewers not only follow these shows, but also critically reflect upon the issues raised by gender-based crimes. All genres offer spaces and occasions for political possibilities. In their engagement, viewers question their position within home and marriage. Their understanding of the term ‘empowerment’ appears to vary according to age and religiosity, but seeking change tends to translate into a transition from living in a joint family system to a nuclear family system. In post-viewing discussions, women’s reflections on their roles and position within the home and society demonstrates the start of a conversation on the status of women.

CONCLUSION

This book began with an argument that changes in gender-based television content have the potential to redefine the public/private distinction in Pakistani society. The importance of mapping this change in Pakistani television culture relates to the socio-political dynamics of the society. In a society where religious conservatism is on the rise, such change is a crucial step in reshaping the traditional binary of public and private, as defined within religious discourse. Whereas the latter undermines the capacity of women to have agency in the public sphere, television culture offers a space of possibility for political agency and access to public life. It potentially makes a counter-discourse possible, inviting women to rethink their collective status in society and their position in the private sphere. Moreover, it opens up a discussion on the state of (repressed) sexuality in society and how women (only) are highlighted as the repositories of honour for family, nation and Ummah. The study focused on two distinct spheres of inquiry. The first explored the motivations and agenda of the producers, including creative workers and those on the business and selling side; the second sought to understand how urban women viewers – across age and class – made sense of change in gendered content. Adopting the method of interviews for producers and focus groups for viewers, this research offers some significant findings. The most striking is the manifestation of a contradiction or, rather, a series of contradictions, broadly around the liberalisation of the media on the one hand and rising conservatism in Pakistani society on the other.

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One of the contradictions looks at how religion became a commodity in Pakistani television culture. There is no concept of interest-driven economy in Islam, but it is interesting to see how capitalism and Islam work hand-in-hand to run the commercial media industry in Pakistan. As long as religious conservatism delivers ratings and generates revenue for all stakeholders in the market, radicalising the society does not seem to be an issue (Chapter 3). In addition, there is a degree of contradiction within the policy of liberalisation. It appears as referring to a policy of openness or doing away with censorship and constraints in expression. However, it plays out in another form of censorship or even disciplining. Several watchdogs emerge to channel the discourse and temper citizens in their own ways. Religion-based pressure groups are strongest of all the watch dogs, which include PEMRA and political parties. It seems that the liberal media in Pakistan are deliberately creating clones of religiously inclined cultural subjects. It is not just in terms of Shari’acompliant ideology that is being promoted through television in Pakistan, but the clergy has also mellowed its stance to stay away from television. Nowadays, we can see clerics who believe in strict segregation of the sexes and spaces (public and private) in society sitting opposite female anchors and audiences and answering questions of a private nature. In this way, the clergy is effectively using the media to discipline women overtly and covertly (Chapter 5). Contradictions manifest when, conveniently, viewers pick and choose between culture and religion and, more specifically, seek to position themselves in relation to discussions about the joint family system versus the nuclear family system. Since Islam protects married women’s right to have a separate home, younger women are able to criticise the cultural tradition of joint family system with the backing of religion. However, this is a proto-feminist demand for ‘autonomy’ from their husband’s family (like Farah and Hinozia in Chapter 7). Older women, who cannot afford to live on their own for financial and security reasons, do not acknowledge daughters-in-laws’ right for a separate home (see Chapter 7). Another contradiction emerged in the form of double standards in terms of the appearance of women on screen. Even those who happen to be religiously inclined do not want to see women in Islamic attire on screen; rather, they prefer to see them dress in cultural attire. Their identities as Muslims take a backseat when reading the appearance of

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women; instead, they stress the importance of the dupatta, which is essentially a cultural piece of attire. In this discussion, the dupatta, emerges as a signifier of modesty, shame and cultural pride (Chapter 2). In a similar vein, reporting crimes against women may be a good move, as long as it does not tarnish the image of the nation or Muslims (Chapters 2 and 7). Moreover, none of the participants accepted to have watched gendered content for the sake of pleasure. Women in my sample were avid viewers of drama serials and other interactive genres; however, the culture of silence on what is pleasurable is so deep that no one accepted watching for pleasure or escape. Watching television for the sake of pleasure has no place in Islam, but it can be viewed as the source of knowledge on serious issues. Therefore, it is no coincidence that the study finds that a majority of the viewers use the medium as a resource of knowledge on the state of affairs for women in society.

Revisiting the Attributes (Subjectivity and Performance) of the Public When evaluating the attributes of the publics, this study has challenged the parameters of certain attributes. Following Warner (2002) and Dayan (2005), the concept of ‘publics’ is understood in terms of its attributes, namely subjectivity and performance. The attribute taken from Dayan (2005) is that of performance, and I argue that performance can have two dimensions: one that involves direct participation, and another through distanced or remote participation. The idea that ‘a public must go public or it is not a public’ (Dayan 2005: 52) did not play out in the same manner as in the case of Pakistan. I found out that intra-public divisions can lead to different levels of engagement with gendered content (Chapter 7). On the basis of this engagement, the study contributes to the theoretical debate on what constitutes a public with two additional concepts, namely dormant publics and constrained publics, where dormant are those that do not have enough stimuli/ motivation to perform as a public, whereas constrained are those who are denied this access by family members or social pressures. Yet, the attribute of ‘subjectivity’ played out differently in the Pakistani context. Instead of an affordability (as understood in Western concept), subjectivity in the Pakistani context can translate into a limitation, a constraint that keeps women from participating in the mediated public

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sphere. However, that limitation or constraint can become a stimulus or motivation for very few viewers to interact with the mediated public sphere.

Revisiting the Concept of Popular Culture and Cultural Citizenship I began with the argument that popular culture allows us to revisit gender-based issues in an emotion-laden discourse. Following Lunt and Pantti (2009) and Klein (2013), this study finds that emotion-laden rhetoric can engage a segment of society that is separated from public life. Popular culture induces opportunities for cultural citizenship. The argument that popular culture offers spaces for the performance of cultural citizenship has been explored in this book. It is found that popular culture offers a sense of being a member of a wider community to women who are oppressed in society. The content gives the motivation to include them in the discourse on women-related issues and offers them spaces for reflecting on issues of a socio-political nature. Furthermore, it allows them to perform directly in the mediated public sphere without displacing women from home; this is a limited kind of access that does not openly challenge the binary laid under Shari’a. Many viewers, who do not want to seek advice on issues of a personal nature by telephone, appear reluctant to approach the experts in the interactive genres. These viewers, especially those who are religiously inclined, do not want to open their homes to scrutiny. Other people’s personal life is political for them, but not their own, although it provides some resource for reflection over their own lives. Within these practices, viewers encounter several questions related to culture and identity. In this regard, practices of cultural citizenship constantly push and pull the public/private distinction in Pakistani society. For example, popular culture has certainly had an impact on how this binary operates within the joint family system. The lounge has become a space where silence on gender-sensitive issues has ended. As cultural citizens, viewers have started thinking about their position in the home or the limits to their personal autonomy. Knowing that home is the pivot of woman’s life, popular culture has invited women to think about power relations within the home, hierarchical structure of the home in Pakistan and

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their vulnerability in marriage. However, this can help open society on the basic rights of women, a right to have one’s own space or a right to seek a divorce. I would argue that it is not the feminist movement in Pakistan that raised the question of a woman’s right to a nuclear home, nor current affairs-based talk shows (Cheema, 2014), but popular culture broke the silence on this issue. At the stage of cultural citizenship, such questions may remain at a personal level, with a contestation of thoughts within their minds or their immediate context, but their importance cannot be undermined. This is why I refer to it as ‘at a pre-political’ stage (Hermes 2005: 77), where concerns about identity, society and culture emerge, but at a personalised level. Referring back to Miller (1993), I additionally argue that viewers are tempered as ‘civic cultural subjects’ to conform to Shari’a, the higher discourse or authority in Pakistan. Their pre-political practices translate into finding solutions to their problem in Islam. To alter the dynamics of the binary, the step has to come from within the dormant public of the gender-based-content. When their commitment to a feminist cause overcomes their loyalty to family structure and religion, they will come forward to engage in pro-civic ways. At present, they appear to be reflecting in pro-civic ways, but are not ready to take action. In addition, the dormant public needs a push not only from the media, but also from feminist movements. Popular culture, at this level, can at least help create a silent consensus on the necessity of questioning the status of women in Pakistan. Despite the factors that seem to constrain the practices of cultural citizenship, it can still be argued that the transition in viewing experiences can only be witnessed in the last ten years. Over a period, viewers may climb the stages of engagement with the issues under consideration. The engagement patterns may not lead to immediate public action, but they have the potential to make gender issues political. Attention is additionally drawn to the fact that television is hugely relevant in developing states. As Coleman (2013) reminds us, ‘it would be a great mistake to imagine either that television is an obsolete medium or that its best features can be replicated online. In most countries television remains the main source of political information’ (2013: 25).

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Revisiting the Concept of the Public Sphere Feminists such as Benhabib (1992), Fraser (1990) and Landes (1998) argue that, ideally, publics should arrive at a common good through discursive contestation and unconstrained discourse. The mediated public sphere in Pakistan allows limited spaces within the genre of drama serial for unconstrained discourse. In addition, interactive genres allow occasional space for unconstrained discourse on gender-based issues. In stratified societies, the idea of the common good is also achieved through different routes. For example, it is not only about discursive contestation, but also about the issues that are reported in the mainstream news and the frequency of their reporting. For instance, gender-based crimes, such as rape and honour killings, have become matters of common concern through their excessive coverage across different media and different genres, yet homosexuality or whether hijab is mandatory for women has not. When these discursive spaces are offered for deliberation on such matters, members of the public may choose not to participate in the mediated public sphere. This can even be a conscious decision. The mediated public sphere in the Pakistani mainstream media can be viewed as Fraser’s comprehensive public sphere. It is a kind of national canvas, on which this study has identified the emergence of the feminist public sphere. Based on the analysis of the content and findings of this research, I argue that this feminist public sphere should be read in terms of a conservative feminist public sphere that is not democratic in its laws. Not all matters related to morality and sexuality can be debated freely in this public sphere, as it operates through the logic of exclusion. That is, ‘they can accommodate some expressive modes and not others’ (Fraser 1990: 69). In this way, the mainstream public has created an ‘Other’ for itself, or another liberal, subaltern public for a contesting discourse. This liberal subaltern public is struggling through different strategies to obtain space in the feminist public sphere. In other words, my position is that the project of liberalisation of the media has been colonised not only by commercial motives, but also by religion-based pressure groups. All these stakeholders are using the television industry for their own interest. If the interest of the religion-based pressure groups does not clash with the commercial interest of the media industry, they do not intervene into freedom of expression. In this sense,

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freedom of expression has a defined scope or limitation; any expression or issue that either falls into ‘blasphemy’ or contests mainstream Islamic thought struggles to feature on television.

Revisiting Methodology: Lessons Learnt Methodologically, the study allowed me to gain proper insight into the production and reception of gender-based content. I conducted this study in my hometown, Karachi. I used interviews and focus groups as main methods. Reflecting back, I think the ‘interview’ method was appropriate for getting an insight into producers’ perspectives on the production of gendered content. It enabled me to find an answer to the ‘commodity question’ in the Pakistani context. Moreover, the interviews were useful in understanding the strategies of gatekeeping, editorial practices and agendas and motivations of producers within the mainstream public sphere. Focus groups, on the other hand, were more effective in exploring viewing practices in relation to the attributes of the public of gendered content. It facilitated discussions in a way that female viewers reflected on gendered issues in relation to their intersecting identities. The homogeneity of the focus groups (such as class, locality and age) enabled viewers to share their pre-civic and pro-civic concerns on gender-based issues. However, a factor that could be rectified during the focus groups was that of ‘removing an unwanted and dominant member from the focus group’. For instance, due to the presence of mothers-in-law, two focus groups suffered in terms of the quality of discussion, and this could be directly related to how power dynamics operate at home. However, I learnt several lessons in the process. The finding that audiences are neither passive nor can be reduced into a single category is confirmed throughout this study. The sample of viewers chosen in this study reflects many similarities; the viewers are residents of the same city, share the same ethnic origin, language, culture and religion. Despite these similarities, they engage with the content at different levels and in different ways. In engaging with the content, their age, class, family structure (joint or nuclear), religious inclination, education, their identity as Muslims and Pakistanis and their gender play a significant role.

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Moreover, the place of viewing intervenes with their viewing patterns. I conducted focus groups in five different neighbourhoods, two of which turned out to be difficult in terms of security. Reflecting back, I would say that a researcher should be careful about the risks involved in conducting fieldwork in crime-prone areas. It was not simply about the high crime rate in Korangi, but also that the interviewees were not comfortable with my identity as a researcher from the West. I faced similar issues at Karachi University, an institution where I had previously studied. As soon as students realised that I study in the UK, they became sceptical of my intentions and treated me as an outsider. This factor may have tempered some of the responses (to a certain extent), whereby these students were a bit defensive when speaking on social issues. In terms of interviewing, I realised that, at times, sitting with an interviewee is not enough. In many cases, follow-up interviews on the phone or another meeting turned out to be more productive. Furthermore, it came to the fore that interviewees tend to be more open about sensitive issues in the absence of a recorder. In many conversations, a digital recorder became obtrusive, but taking notes (using a diary) was not. Moreover, I learnt that a researcher has to be flexible in his/her approach towards obtaining data. To begin with, my approach was a bit conservative in targeting those at the production end. Most people in my list were those working in higher posts such as CEOs, senior producers and senior writers. In the process, I realised that data could be obtained from writers, directors and producers working at all levels. In fact, it works better in terms of finding the hidden agendas or motivations of producers. At the conclusion of the project, I am certain that the methods I chose were appropriate for this study. If this study was based in a rural area of Pakistan, I would have worked with interviews only. Focus groups would not have been effective in an area where the culture of shame is deeply entrenched. I think women would have preferred one-toone conversations over discussing gender-based issues among four – six people.

The Project of Emancipation for Pakistani Women At the conclusion of this project, a relevant question is whether or not the appropriation of gender-based content can facilitate meaningful

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change in real life. My position, in this regard, is that it depends on multiple factors such as deliberate intention on the part of the producers (as seen in the cases of Tum Ho Kay Chup and Bol Meri Machli); gravity of an issue, such as child rape, which perhaps disturbs the maternal instinct (case of Roag); personal investment of the viewers; whether or not the content speaks directly to their subjectivities; and a unanimous call for a cause across the genres. The issue of rape in a single genre may not be more effective in engaging with a single cause than a cause taken up in all genres, such as the Women’s Protection Bill and child rape. The issue needs to be presented as a reminder by other genres as well, perhaps other media too. These days it is hard to overlook a news story on honour killing (such as the case of Qandeel Baloch), because it survives across media platforms. It begins its life in print and electronic news media, features on breakfast shows, is discussed on social media and finds new life in drama serials, which, in turn, become a point of discussion on social media for their narration, execution and impact. I argue that, in such an environment, it is hard for the public to forget gender issues and move on. This works in favour of any project on gender rights. With reference to change and emancipation, this study draws our attention to internal diversities within the public, where diversity is deeply rooted in subjectivities. Being a member of the same gender is not enough to further the agenda of emancipation. I argue that the project of emancipation cannot be a project with a single vision and with similar end goals for all. The viewers in this project share the same ethnic background, city and language, but vary in terms of class, family structures and religious inclinations. For women living in the joint family system, the emancipatory ideal is a home based on a nuclear family structure. For the middle-aged women, emancipatory goals and gender equality are struggles for others in the society. For the religiously inclined women, the emancipatory ideal is deeply rooted in the rights and duties of women in Islam. However, no one in the sample sees it as being about financial independence for women. In other words, no one demands an end to dependency on the mehram. Furthermore, the emancipatory ideal lies in the fact that any project on change or emancipation begins with a realisation of a ‘need for change’. That realisation comes with acknowledging one’s own (individual or group) subjugated position within a society, ethnic group, class, religious community and, more importantly, in national discourses on female

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citizenship and religious and cultural discourses. In the case of this project, religiously inclined women do not feel any urge for emancipation, because their emancipation lies in their dependency on their mehram. In any case, their sense of their ‘own agency’ is so heavily influenced by their own subjectivities that it seems they have settled for a compromise with their immediate contexts, particularly in cases of seeking permission to participate in live shows. Moreover, these diverging interests/goals warn us about essentialising the category of ‘woman’. Following Fraser (1992), Moghissi (2000), Mohanty (1991), Mouffe (1995) and Shaheed (2010), who came to a similar understanding in their own contexts, I argue that there is no monolith category for ‘Pakistani women’. As Shaheed rightly notes, ‘they are divided by class and privilege and distinguished by culture, upbringing, personal experiences and life choices, to name but a few differences. They do not think alike. And, while the majority may feel unable to participate in resistance, a significant number of women actually subscribe to the views of religiously defined groups and are active proponents of these views’ (2010: 865). Therefore, to conceive a single political project for ‘women’ is a difficult task. It seems that emancipation can be a collective concern, but it is realised individually through experiential standpoint. Nevertheless, there are areas of shared common interest, where citizenship can ‘be rethought not merely in terms of equal rights, but in terms of human rights’ (as noted by Rouse 2004: 71). These issues of common concern can be crimes against children and women, or, perhaps, a call for revisiting the discourse on honour that narrowly links it to women only. Although commercially driven, the mediated public sphere in Pakistan allows occasional spaces (customs such as karo kari or rape of children), where liberals and religiously inclined people can deliberate upon issues of common concern. Issues such as stoning will remain debatable for years to come in a society where religious extremism (Talibanisation) is increasing by the day. The way forward would be to find an area of common concern among broadcasters, feminists and the public. Very recently, we have seen steps taken in the right direction by broadcasters and NGOs (collaborative projects) as well as the public (through online content-sharing). In the last two years, several drama serials that address issues of sexual abuse against girl children have been on air.1 So far, PEMRA has been supportive of projects that do not

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explicitly challenge Shari’a. I believe that work in collaboration with different stakeholders (NGOs, broadcasters, PEMRA) can bring a meaningful change in attitudes towards gender issues. Pakistan already has a long history of feminist struggle, but that was restricted to the liberal class and was unable, in many ways, to engage the larger public. I believe that private media has now opened opportunities in popular culture to bridge gaps between feminists and the public. In fact, the emancipatory projects, once conceived and debated by the feminists in isolated spaces (theatres, pamphlets, protests), have now found a voice in the media. Although not on all issues, television with its reach will play a crucial role in taking the feminist struggle forward.

APPENDIX 1 FOCUS GROUPS

Please note that these questions were only used as topic guides.

Introductory questions (female viewers) 1. What does your daily media consumption consist of? 2. What media you use at different times of the day? (radio, newspapers, TV) 3. What kind of media would you make appointments for? 4. What do you watch with other family members? 5. What kind of television programmes do you watch? 6. Which programme would you never miss, which would you never watch, and why? 7. Which genre do you enjoy the most?

Questions about transitions in the media 1. Have you noticed any changes in television programming in the last decade? Do you think television programming has evolved in the last ten years? If yes, how? 2. What differences can you see between state television of the 1990s and today’s private television productions? 3. What was your take on the dupatta policy in the 1990s, and what is your response to the liberal appearance of women on Pakistani television?

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4. Can you comment on the ways in which gender-related content has evolved? How have themes, appearance and diction changed over the years?

Drama series 1. Why do you watch drama series? 2. What do you think about the themes highlighted in drama series? 3. Do you think that these narratives are telling us something about our society, or are they entirely fictional? 4. Can you relate to these narratives and, if yes, in what ways? 5. What do you think about the liberal and conservative representations of women in these series? 6. Do you think issues such as halala, incest, child marriage and rape should be raised in drama series? 7. Do you have any reservations about these themes or the representation of women in the series? 8. Is there anything that you can take away from these drama series? 9. Have drama series influenced your lives in any way? If yes, how? If not, why not?

Questions related to Begum Nawazish Ali 1. What is your opinion of the portrayal of Begum Nawazish Ali (cross-dressing man) and other queer representations in drama series and talk shows? 2. How would you respond to the attitude of Begum towards her guests? 3. Would you allow equal freedom of expression to any female anchor on a celebrity talk show?

Gender-based talk shows 1. What do you think about interactive programmes? 2. Are you a regular viewer of Alim aur Aalam/Aurat Kahani? 3. If yes, why do you watch these shows? If not, why not?

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4. Do you think these gender-based or religion-based talk shows have benefitted women in any way? If yes, how? If not, why not? 5. What do you think about the issues raised in these shows? 6. What do you think about the callers who take part in the discussions on these shows? 7. Have you ever called on these shows? If you have, what was it for, and if you consider calling in future, what would it be for? Would you ever call on such platforms to seek live counselling? If yes, what sort of counselling would you seek (i.e. Islamic, legal or emotional)? 8. Would you contact with permission from a male member of your household, or would he contact on your behalf? Do you face resistance from the family to interacting with such talk shows or even watching them? 9. If yes, would you prefer television over a local madrassa (for an Islamic scholar) or an NGO (legal advisors)? If not, why? 10. What do you think about the cases (gender victims) that are presented on these shows? 11. Do you think the victims have made the right decision to approach the media about their personal issues? 12. What do think about the role/interests of the producers in representing the victims? 13. Would you ever take a private matter to the interactive programmes and, if yes, for what purpose? 14. In what ways do you think interactive television has influenced our daily lives? 15. Do you think you are a better informed person and more socially aware by watching these shows?

Breakfast shows (Case study: Morning with Maya) 1. 2. 3. 4.

Do you watch breakfast shows? Why do you watch them? What do you like most about breakfast shows? Do you think you can relate to the topics taken up on breakfast shows? 5. What is it about Morning with Maya (case study) that you like the most?

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6. What do you think about the issues raised on Maya’s shows? 7. As opposed to other breakfast shows, this show brings in victims of domestic violence. What is your opinion on the intentions of the producers in bringing such issues to the fore? 8. What do you think about the women (victims of domestic violence) who come on her show? Do you think it is a wise decision to approach the platform offered by breakfast shows to seek protection? 9. Has this show affected you in any way? What have you taken away from this show?

Ending questions 1. If you were to change something/anything about the gendered content, what would that be? 2. What do you think about the overall representation of women? 3. What is your take on the role of television in influencing women’s lives? 4. Do you think any of the programmes discussed have an agenda to empower women? 5. Do you think television can play a role in changing women’s lives? 6. Is there any topic that you think we should have touched upon?

APPENDIX 2 INTERVIEWS

All interviews started with general questions about the field and how interviewees entered the profession. Below is a broad guide to the questions. For each interviewee, I prepared in advance by watching their work, and then asked specific questions about their projects.

General questions to all the producers 1. Could you please describe how television in Pakistan has evolved over the last ten years? 2. Knowing that you have worked for the Pakistan Television Corporation, what, in your opinion, are the major differences in production between now and then? 3. What factors have caused this liberalisation (privatisation) of the media? 4. What has caused the change in gendered content? 5. How do you identify this change? 6. Are your productions cause-driven? 7. As explicit as it is in your productions, are you genuinely committed to women’s emancipation? If yes, why? 8. What do you want to change in society in relation to gender? 9. Who is watching your programmes? Whom are you producing for? 10. Do you think people appreciate the changed version of the gendered content? If yes, why? If no, why not? How do you know about their likes and dislikes?

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11. What other factors drive your content, e.g., audience ratings, market needs? (I did not mention explicitly that I want to know about ratings.) 12. Are you faring well in terms of ratings?

Specific questions to the producers of drama series 1. Drama series have evolved significantly over the last ten years. How would you differentiate the narratives between now and then (in the times of PTV)? 2. What factors have contributed to this change? 3. What kind of ideological narratives do your drama series offer? 4. What motivations drive you to produce storylines that are in tension with cultural and religious practices? 5. Why do you want to raise issues such as halala, child rape, incest and marriage to Qur’an in your series? 6. Why do you ask the public to poll for the ‘ending’ of each series? Do audiences actively take part? 7. What factors determine storylines and themes in drama series? To what extent are these storylines based on popular demand? 8. What sort of responses you do get from the audience through emails, phone calls and text messaging? 9. Can I access the electronic feedback that you have received from the audiences on certain drama series? Only if you allow – I will not use them in my thesis/book (When I raised this question, there was no issue and I was given all the documentary evidence). 10. Are you satisfied with the media policy of the government, especially in relation to gendered content? 11. In a climate of increasing religious extremism, have you faced any threats/resistance from extremist (read: Talibani) organisations for the production of emancipatory (‘open’) content?

Questions for the producers of interactive formats Please note that the interactive programmes are divided into three categories: breakfast shows, gender-based talk shows and religionbased talk shows. Therefore, the following seven questions are general

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questions for the producers of all interactive formats and are followed by specific questions for the case studies. 1. Live and interactive formats are relatively new to Pakistani television. Why have you introduced this format? 2. Why do you think it is important to raise gender-based issues through these talk shows? 3. Do you think you are offering a service to society? 4. In your opinion, how well are such programmes received among the audiences? 5. How do you trace the victims that appear on your shows, or do they approach you? 6. Do you coordinate with non-governmental organisations (NGOs)? 7. Do you think the new television culture in Pakistan is doing enough for the awareness of women’s rights?

Questions for producers of gender-based talk shows Case studies: Subh Saveray Maya Kay Sath/ Hawa ki Beiti/ Geo Hina Kay Sath 1. Unlike other shows, your show is committed to highlighting the domestic issues faced by Pakistani women. Why do you highlight such themes? 2. How do victims of domestic violence approach you? 3. Are you working in collaboration with any NGOs? 4. What sort of protection do you provide to the victims? 5. Are you faring well in terms of ratings? 6. Do you think you are offering a service to society? 7. Have you faced any resistance from the victims’ families or any other pressure groups? Alim aur Alam (religion-based talk shows) 1. Interactive programmes for religion are a new trend for Pakistani viewers. How do you think they have benefited society as a whole and women in particular?

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2. Knowing that the orthodox interpretation of Islam does not allow women to access the public domain without a male intermediary (mehram), do you think your format is in tension with traditional Islam? Have you faced resistance from radical Islamic groups? 3. The issues raised in your programme are mainly female-oriented. Why do you not invite female panellists to your show?

APPENDIX 3 CASE STUDIES

Drama series .

.

.

.

The issue raised in Anokha Bandhan was that of incest and how women in rural areas can be tricked into marrying an under-aged boy. My prime reason for choosing this drama series was that it was the first time in the history of Pakistani television that the issue of incest was raised in the genre of drama series. In the case of Bol Meri Machli, the story revolved around three sisters from a conservative background, who had fallen prey to a notorious world the moment they stepped into the public sphere. This series was chosen for two reason: firstly, it reinforced the idea that the outside world is a dangerous place for women and that they have to compromise their moral values the moment they step out of the home; secondly, it highlighted the issue of adultery. The eldest of the three sisters committed adultery with a poet she was in love with. As one of the first series to show adultery, it led to street protests by viewers because of its objectionable content. Dil Hae Chota Sa was a series that raised the practice of halala and its misuse. In recent years, halala has become a popular theme for drama series. For example, during the fieldwork, viewers mentioned the series Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat as another popular series with the same theme. Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat was based on the life of a woman whose husband divorced her after 30 years of marriage. The divorce took place after a heated conversation between the husband and wife over

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the children. The husband divorced the wife, uttering the words ‘I give you a divorce’ three times. According to the Hanafi School of Islam, divorce becomes effective if a husband pronounces the word ‘divorce’ three times (for more information on divorce in the Hanafi School, please see sunniforum.com), whether under the influence of stimulants, anger or even as a joke. This drama series raised the issue of the ‘fragility of marriage’ and how it can affect people’s lives, especially that of the divorced woman. The issue of the joint family system, and how women as daughters-inlaw struggle to find their place within such a family structure, is one of the most popular themes in Pakistani drama culture. In Qaid-e-Tanhai, the story revolved around a woman whose husband had migrated to the West for work. The protagonist was left behind to look after her inlaws. She faced multiple discrimination at home and her morality was questioned. After years of separation, this woman was even denied all her sexual rights, and her husband married another woman. The issue of burying women alive was depicted in Tum Ho Kay Chup. This drama series was based on an actual case in the province of Baluchistan, where a sitting minister ordered five women to be buried alive. This decision was made by a tribal jury called Jirga. The series led to threats against the producer and online protests on Facebook and other fora. The Baluchi people protested against essentialising an entire community of people living in Baluchistan. In this drama series, a woman raised in the West was married into a Baluchi tribe, where she was completely barred from accessing the public sphere. Her motherin-law, who is also an outsider to this culture, helps her daughter-inlaw to escape. As a result, the mother-in-law, who stood against the system, is buried alive; however, her daughter-in-law manages to escape and returns to London. Roag was the first drama series that highlighted the issue of child rape of a girl in a middle-class household in Hyderabad (a city in Sindh). What made it different from other rape issues is that it raised the possibility of such a crime happening in an urban middle-class household.

These case studies give the closest representation of gender-based issues in Pakistani society. The issues in the five case studies include incest,

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halala, adultery, domestic politics/living in the joint family system and honour killings. The viewers spoke on these issues and referred to other series that were running at the time of the fieldwork (though the genderbased issues did not seem to have changed). These included Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat, Behkawa, Meri Zaat Zarra-e-Baynishan and Roag. The analyses of the above-mentioned case studies revealed the following trends/patterns in the drama series: . . .

. . . . . . .

The stories highlighted in the drama series are, in most cases, inspired by real-life cases. The fictitious nature of the drama series allow producers to deal with sensitive issues or taboos in Pakistani society. These case studies offer the space to challenge discriminatory cultural practices against women, yet in most cases allow resolution of the issues in the name of religion. Women of righteous character are subjected to honour killings and sexual violence. Women who challenge the system are rarely glorified; instead, patience and tolerance are virtues. These case studies glorify the role of women as home-makers. The nuclear family system is preferred over the joint family system. The joint family system is shown as a system that is oppressive towards daughters-in-law. Women who stand against the system are shown to have less character. Heterosexuality is the norm and homosexuality is highlighted as a condition or an ailment. Women’s empowerment is directly related to reclaiming rights in the name of Shari’a.

APPENDIX 4 LIST OF INTERVIEWEES

Writers 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

Haseena Moin Seema Ghazal Bushra Ansari Fasih Bari Khan Khalid Ahmed Umera Ahmed Kifayat Rudini

Producers/Directors 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

Ali Rizvi Kazim Pasha Ayub Khawar Syed Ali Raza Baber Javed Sina Pasha Saifi Hasan Rashid Sami Nabeel

Production CEOs 1. Sajjad Gul (Evernew Productions) 2. Baber Javed (A & B Productions) 3. Hasan Soomro (Media City Productions)

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Content Heads 1. 2. 3. 4.

Ali Moin (Express Ent) Ali Imran (ARY) Enver Sajjad (Geo) Maimoona Siddiqui (Hum)

Heads/CEO/President of television channels 1. 2. 3. 4.

Sultana Siddiqui (Hum) Imran Aslam (Geo) Badar Ikram (Geo) Jerjees Seja (ARY)

Sales/Marketing Heads 1. 2. 3. 4.

Arif Hussain (Head of Sales and Finance, Hum) Faisal Tammana (Sales Head, ARY) Fawwad Azeem (Senior Marketing Manager, Geo) Agha Fasiullah (Senior Marketing Manager, Hum)

Producers’ three top-rated gender-based talk shows in Pakistan 1. Amir Liaquat 2. Maria Khan 3. Hina Khwaja Bayaat

Producers of crime shows 1. Asim Naseer (Express Ent) 2. Anees Mansoori (ARY)

Five hosts of breakfast shows of different channels 1. Shaista Lodhi (Geo) 2. Nida Yasir (ARY) 3. Maya Khan (Samaa)

APPENDIX 4

4. Faisal Qureishi (TV One) 5. Sawaira Nadeem (Aaj TV)

CEO of Media Logic 1. Nauman Fazal

Research Manager 1. Hammad Khan (Geo)

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APPENDIX 5 BRIEF SURVEY

Name: Age: Marital status: Family structure: Location: Group number: Respondent (e.g., A–F): 1. What kind of communications media do you have? (Print, TV, radio and digest) 2. Do you set aside housework or any other responsibility (e.g., studying for students) to watch a show? If yes, which? 3. Where do you watch TV (lounge or bedroom)? 4. Do you watch TV with other members of the family? 5. If watching with other members of the family, who has control over the remote during prime time? Please note: Brief questionnaire for all members of the focus groups. This questionnaire helped me to better understand their responses, and was used to keep a record of all the audio files.

APPENDIX 6 FOCUS GROUPS

Overview of the lower middle class groups Lower Middle Class (New Karachi) To conduct focus groups among the lower middle class, I approached the Urdu-speaking community living in New Karachi, a Muhajir/Urduspeaking majority locality in northern Karachi. Monthly income for almost all groups was around 15,000– 25,000 PKR. It should be noted that the women were not eager to reveal the monthly income of their households; however, I discovered it from my driver, who not only helped in gaining access to this community, but also provided his house as a place to conduct these groups. All groups were conducted in the ‘drawing room/visitors’ room’. In total, 14 focus groups were conducted in this locality, eight among the lower middle class (middle-aged) and six among the lower middle class (young). In the groups of the lower middle class young (LM Young), there were 27 participants in six groups, and average education for this category was intermediate (Grade 12/high school). The age group ranged between 18 and 26 years, when most women were living with their in-laws; however, there were five women who were unmarried. In this category, 15 respondents (55.5 per cent) claimed that male members of the family had control over the remote during prime time, whereas 18 respondents (66.6 per cent) stated that they avoided watching television with male members, and the same percentage said to have their TV in the lounge. Among the lower middle class middle-aged (LM Middle-Aged) groups, there were 32 respondents spread over eight groups, and the average

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education for this category was under matriculation (Grade Ten). The age range was between 35 and 55 years, as told by the respondents; however, most participants were not entirely certain about their accurate age. All were married and many were mothers-in-law living in joint family structures. In this sample, male members had control over the remote during prime time in 12 households (37.2 per cent), whereas 16 respondents (50 per cent) mentioned that anyone in the family could have the remote. It was additionally observed that 78.1 per cent of this sample (25 participants) enjoyed watching television with their families during prime time, and almost 53 per cent had their television in the lounge, whereas others had it in their bedrooms.1

Lower Middle Class (Korangi) For crime shows in particular, I approached the Urdu-speaking community living in Korangi, where a total of five focus groups were conducted among a total of 18 respondents. The monthly income for this set of viewers ranged from 15,000 to 20,000 PKR and the average education was under matriculation (Grade 10). Again, the age range for this sample is not fully accurate, because the women were either not comfortable sharing their real age or they did not know their age; however, all were above 35 years and were mostly keen on crime shows. In these groups, most participants lived in shared accommodation with extended families, and each family had a single bedroom. Therefore, they did not have any lounge/communal area as their place of viewing, and 72.2 per cent (13 respondents) had the television in their bedrooms. Nine participants (50 per cent) mentioned that their husbands kept control over the remote, whereas 16 participants (88.8 per cent) watched television (specifically, crime shows) together, as a family.

Overview of the middle class groups Middle class middle-aged (Sohni) Initially, for the groups in middle class middle-aged, I had selected Sohni Chalet, a housing compound, with a sample size of 20 women in five groups, the majority of whom (15) were above fifty years of age. This suited my plan of seeking responses from women that had witnessed the development of the television industry in Pakistan. Except for two, all respondents had a post-graduate qualification. The monthly income of

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these respondents ranged from 80,000 to 150,000 PKR. Most women belonged to the Urdu-speaking community; however, three respondents were non-Urdu-speaking. The residential compound where they lived cannot be considered as an overwhelmingly Urdu-speaking/Muhajir community area. Ten participants (50 per cent) had control over the remote/ viewing during prime time, and nine respondents (45 per cent) revealed that they preferred not to watch TV with other family members. In this sample, almost all members had more than one television set. In some cases, they had a separate television for each bedroom and one in the lounge.

Middle class elderly (Ancholi) While conducting focus groups among the middle class middle-aged respondents of Sohni Chalet, I realised that this locality did not represent a typical Urdu-speaking community. Therefore, I approached a coordinator in Ancholi, an ethnically homogeneous area where almost all respondents were conservative housewives following Shi’a Islam. The monthly income of these groups ranged from 50,000 to 100,000 PKR. The set of seven groups had 28 participants, all of whom were at least college graduates, and most were living in a joint family system. Fifteen participants (53.5 per cent) mentioned that the male members determined viewing practices during prime time, whereas 16 (57.1 per cent) said they watched television together with other family members during prime time. All had one television set in the lounge, and 18 respondents (64 per cent) also had television sets in their bedrooms. Middle class young (University of Karachi) In this category, there were 42 participants in ten groups of four– six members each. All groups were conducted in the Arts Lobby and the Mehmud Hussain Library, University of Karachi. Being a former student of this university, it was easier to get in touch with the students of Social Sciences and other disciplines. Most members in this category were enthusiastic about becoming part of a discussion on gendered content; therefore, finding participants for this category was relatively easy. Almost half (50 per cent) of the students in this sample mentioned that male members of the family keep the remote control close to them during prime time, and the same percentage reported that the television set is in the lounge. Twenty-seven respondents (64 per cent) watch television with other family members.

APPENDIX 7 TRANSCRIBING DATA

Following Barbour (2007), I agree that there is no single, widely approved formula for transcribing and coding data. Interestingly, there were several surprising elements in the findings of this research that made the coding frame more flexible. In the first stage of transcribing, most data were transcribed in the form of notes, taken while recording and conducting the interviews and focus groups. These data were later formally transcribed through listening to the audios, and a fieldwork report of approximately 80,000 words was developed. The second stage of transcribing was the stage of ‘data reduction’ (McLellan, MacQueen, Neidig: 2003). The data reduced were those that did not fall into the scope of this study or where participants had completely diverted from the topic, but I did not discard the written notes about visual cues, body language and gestures, which were equally important to reinforce ideas about identity construction and social meanings. In the third stage of transcribing the data, a thorough examination of the fieldwork was undertaken to identify ‘patterns of association and variation’ (to use Tonkins’ term). On the basis of these patterns, I developed a summary report that highlighted the key findings of the fieldwork. These patterns were developed out of the semi-structured questions of the interviews and focus groups. For the producers’ side, the findings were divided according to genre. Based on each genre, the responses were classified under the following headings: ethical questions in bringing gender-based issues; engagement patterns and social change; breaking stereotypes; perception of producers

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about their audiences; recalling PTV; dupatta policy; issue of ratings; reality in gender-based content; initiating debate/openness in the content; empowering women or bringing change through content. Under similar headings, the responses of the viewers were divided according to their groups.

NOTES

Chapter 1

Amidst Culture, Islamisation and Politics: The Rise of New TV Culture

1. In the pre-liberalisation era, Pakistani television raised issues of family planning, substance abuse and AIDS, but would not go as far as highlighting the controversial issues related to gender. Similarly, the genres on PTV that highlighted these issues were either drama serials or tele-awareness campaigns on family planning, which would run for five minutes before the news. 2. ‘Marriage to Qur’an’ is also known as Haq Bakhshish. Women in rural Sindh can be married to the Qur’an, that is, they spend their life reading and memorising the Qur’an, rather than being married off to a prospective groom of another tribe. It is common practice in rural Sindh to deny women the right of marriage outside their tribe. Usually, male members of the family, especially brothers, force their sisters into such arrangements to retain their share in the family property, which they acquire through law of inheritance. 3. Karo kari, an expression that means ‘black man, black woman’, is used to describe couples engaged in illicit relations (22). Cited in Pope (2012). 4. ‘The Joint Family System (JFS) comprises two or more nuclear families that form a corporate economic unit’ (Levinson, Malone and Brown ((1980)), quoted in Taqui, Itrat and Quadri, 2007). Additionally, in the case of Pakistan, the joint family system refers to an arrangement of living where elderly parents live with their children and their families. 5. Shari’a is the term for Islamic Law. 6. Dupatta is a stole of two and a half metres in length, worn with the national dress. 7. A policy under which women were supposed to cover their heads on screen. Although people in the industry referred to this policy, no one at PTV could provide me with an official document of it. 8. The Kargil War (May 1999) was an armed conflict between India and Pakistan along the line of control in the Kargil district of Kashmir.

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9. See, for example, Code of Conduct for Media Broadcasters or Cable TV Operators. Available at http://www.pemra.gov.pk/pemra/images/docs/legislation/Code_ of_Conduct.pdf (accessed 3 June 2014). 10. See, for example, PEMRA Report (2010– 2014). Available at http://115.186. 57.67/images/docs/pub-rep/PEMRA_REPORT_2014/index.html (accessed 19 April 2015). 11. Boone, Jon, ‘Geo TV owners print front-page apology to Pakistan’s ISI spy chief’ (26 May 2014), [The Guardian]. Available at http://www.theguardian. com/world/2014/may/26/geo-tv-front-page-apology-pakistan-isi-spy-chiefzaheer-ul-islam (accessed 3 June 2014) 12. ‘Karachi: MQM makes cable TV to go off air’ (19 August 2005), [Dawn]. Available at http://www.dawn.com/news/152787/karachi-mqm-makes-cabletv-to-go-off-air (accessed 26 April 2015). 13. ‘Sunni Ittehad Council issues fatwa against Geo’ (14 May 2014), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/story/709110/sunni-ittehadcouncil-issues-fatwa-against-geo/ (accessed 3 August 2014). 14. ‘Pemra set to define obscenity’ (24 August 2012), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/story/425719/pemra-set-to-define-obscenity/ (accessed 9 October 2013). 15. ‘Council of Islamic Ideology, Parliament to define “obscenity” for media?’ (27 August 2012), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/ story/426935/council-of-islamic-ideology-parliament-to-define-obscenity-formedia/ (accessed 5 July 2013). 16. Mahmood, Rafay, ‘Are Turkish soaps really a challenge for Pakistani industry?’ (21 December 2012), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/ story/482374/turkish-dream-local-nightmare/ (accessed 20 April 2014). 17. Hanif, Mohammed, ‘How to commit blasphemy in Pakistan’ (5 September 2012), [The Guardian]. Available at http://www.theguardian.com/world/ 2012/sep/05/pakistans-blasphemy-laws-colossal-absurdity (accessed 2 August 2014). 18. Khan, Raza, ‘“Lightly beating wife permissible”: CII proposes women protection bill’ (26 May 2016), [Dawn]. Available at http://www.dawn.com/news/1260803 (accessed 2 August 2016). 19. Walsh, Declan, ‘Islamic scholar attacks Pakistan’s blasphemy laws’ (20 January 2011), [The Guardian]. Available at http://www.theguardian.com/world/2011/ jan/20/islam-ghamidi-pakistan-blasphemy-laws (accessed 8 May 2014). 20. Ghamidi has rearticulated the verses on the hijab. 21. Zina is Arabic for ‘illegitimate sex’. 22. ‘Women Protection Act 2006: CII’ (23 September 2013), [Dunya News TV]. Available at http://dunyanews.tv/index.php/en/Pakistan/193476-WomenProtection-Act-2006-unacceptable-CII- (accessed 10 May 2014). The Council of Islamic Ideology is a constitutional body that advises the legislature on whether or not a certain law is repugnant to Islam. For more details, see http://cii.gov.pk/aboutcii/Introduction.aspx.

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23. Shows such as Alim Online and Uljhan Suljhan were crucial in offering discursive spaces for debate. 24. ‘Pakistan ranks third on the list of most dangerous countries for women’ (15 June 2011), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/ story/189294/pakistan-ranks-3rd-on-list-of-most-dangerous-countries-forwomen/ (accessed 3 August 2014). 25. ‘Karachi world’s “most dangerous megacity”’ (9 September 2013), [The Times of India]. Available at http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/world/pakistan/ Karachi-worlds-most-dangerous-megacity-Report/articleshow/22437484.cms (accessed 4 May 2015). 26. ‘Karachi Population 2015’ (19 October 2014), [World Population Review]. Available at http://worldpopulationreview.com/world-cities/karachi-population/ (accessed 3 May 2015). 27. Burki, Shahid J., ‘Karachi: a unique mega city’ (5 October 2015), [Dawn]. Available at http://www.dawn.com/news/1066535/dawn-opinion-05-october2004#1 (accessed 4 May 2015). 28. Ur-Rehman, Zia and Walsh, Declan, ‘Killings rise in Karachi as Taliban target police’ (11 August 2014), [New York Times]. Available at http://www.nytimes. com/2014/08/12/world/asia/killings-rise-in-karachi-as-taliban-target-police. html?_r ¼0 (accessed 16 March 2015). 29. ‘How the Taliban gripped Karachi’ (21 March 2013), [BBC News]. Available at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-21343397 (accessed 16 March 2014). 30. ‘US Magazine terms Karachi “most dangerous megacity” in the world’ (8 September 2013) [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/ story/601668/us-magazine-terms-karachi-most-dangerous-megacity-in-theworld/ (accessed 16 March 2014); ‘“Extreme World”: Karachi one of the most violent cities in world (10 September 2012), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/story/434413/extreme-world-karachi-one-of-the-mostviolent-cities-in-the-world/, (accessed 16 March 2014). 31. Accessed through Proquest. No permission to directly quote from this thesis; however, paraphrasing is allowed. 32. A criticism raised by Murdock (1978) that the attention paid to superstructure by critical scholars working within the Marxist tradition must not be underestimated. 33. Please note that the drama series were first watched on television and later accessed on Friendskorner.com, dramasonline.com and youtube.com. 34. The category of crime shows is somewhat complicated. In the first half of these shows, the crime cases are executed in narrative form for the viewers, whereas in the latter half, the shows turn into an investigative report. Initially, I did not choose crime shows, because this genre is available for viewing on the news channels, whereas I had selected the genres on the entertainment channels. However, during fieldwork in Karachi, my findings revealed that there is a growing female viewership for these shows. Moreover, after the textual analysis of a few episodes of Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga and Jurm Bolta hae, it became obvious

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that in most cases, gender-based crimes (especially rape, incest and honour killings) are first reported on these shows and later taken up by other interactive formats for discussion. I remind the readers that since my interest is in a particular kind of content, rather than a particular genre, I selected the two aforementioned case studies for analysis. 35. For example, I quote the terms naqis-ul-aqal (‘intellectually deficient’, used for women), sinf-e-nazuk (weaker gender) and ziaadti (rape). 36. In November 2016, while updating the data, I interviewed Jerjees Seja, CEO of the ARY Channel. 37. The term halala is used when a man has irrevocably divorced his wife, and they (or other people) intentionally arrange for another person to temporarily marry the (divorced) wife, so that she can again become legal for the first husband. This intentional plotting and planning to arrange a temporary marriage for the divorced wife, in order to intentionally circumvent the laws of Allah and make her legal for her first husband, is known as halala. This definition is cited on Islamhelpline.net. Available at http://www.islamhelpline.net/node/4722 (accessed 20 September 2014).

Chapter 2 Breach in the Culture of Shame: Openness in Gender-Based Content 1. Note that the term ‘bold’ is used in a positive sense when attributed to women. 2. Lounge is the word commonly used for reception room or family room. 3. Women usually drape their head and body with a palla, also called chunni or dupatta, a cotton shawl, one metre wide and two metres long. Without these they feel naked, despite their long shirt and baggy trousers (shalwar-qameez). ‘A palla covers a woman’s sharm [nakedness]’ (Alvi, 2013). 4. Nida Pasha and Jerjees Seja are the only producers quoted in the chapter on viewers. No other producer commented on its importance, hence I could not leave it for the chapters on producers. 5. According to the Pakistani education system, intermediate is equivalent to Grade 12 (A levels). Fourteen years of education are equivalent to a college graduate and 16 years are equivalent to a university graduate. 6. An extended family system where parents live with their children and their children’s families. 7. These are purely matters of haya, which can translated into modesty and shame. 8. For a similar study, see Riggs and Seiter (1999). 9. A drama series about the socio-economic problems faced by the lower middle class. 10. See, for example, Hermes and Muller (2012: 199) for a similar discussion on the critical and distanced observer. 11. ‘Pakistan transgenders pin new hopes on human rights’ (27 April 2011), [BBC News]. Available at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-13186958, (accessed 5 July 2013). 12. No longer on air.

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13. ‘Gosh Shuili interviews Ali Saleem on Every Woman’ (2012), [YouTube]. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼3hABWGSuK8A (accessed 24 August 2014) (link no longer working).

Chapter 3 Understanding the Dynamics of the Production of Gendered Content 1. In pre-liberalisation era, Pakistani television raised issues of family planning, narcotics and AIDS, but would not go as far as to highlight the controversial issues in relation to gender. Similarly, the genres in PTV that highlighted these issues were either the drama serials or the tele-awareness campaigns on family planning which would run for five minutes before the news. 2. Before the liberalisation of the media, there was no distinction between a producer and director – these words were used interchangeably. However, in the post-liberalisation period, there is a huge distinction. Producers that own production companies hire directors to work for them and then sell drama series to broadcasters. 3. Ayub Khawar, Ali Rizvi and Kazim Pasha mentioned that orders were usually passed on to their departments through telephone instruction from the Capital. 4. Moin and Siddiqui agreed to go on record. 5. Bourdieu, Distinction, 1984; Bourdieu, On Television, 1996. 6. Nasir, Agha, This is PTV (Islamabad, 2012), p. 38. 7. ‘Purchase of software from private sector’ Available at http://www.ptv.com.pk/ pdf/GuidingPrinciplesProcedures.pdf (accessed 21 April 2015) (link no longer working). 8. Outer cloak worn by Muslim women in Pakistan, similar to abaya. 9. Bhushan, Ratna and Pande, Bhanu, ‘Making ads in Pakistan: Tough with many formal and informal censors’ (6 November 2011), [The Economic Times]. Available at http://articles.economictimes.indiatimes.com/2011-11-06/news/30364129_ 1_advertising-industry-top-ad-international-advertising-association (accessed 22 April 2015). 10. Qamar, Saadia, ‘There is nothing surprising about me launching lawn: Aamir Liaquat’ (11 April 2015), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com. pk/story/868145/there-is-nothing-surprising-about-me-launching-lawnaamir-liaquat/ (accessed 21 April 2015). 11. ‘Pak Media analysis on Indian advertisements in Pakistani channels’ (16 September 2014), [YouTube] Available at https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v¼XPCU3E99gvE (accessed 21 April 2015). 12. Predictable, because their viewing patterns can be measured through people meters installed by Media Logic. 13. Sectional Grid Obtained from Media Logic: Panel Homes in different cities: Karachi, 225; Lahore, 175; Islamabad, 100; Faisalabad, 50; Hyderabad, 25; Sukkur, 25; Gujranwala, 25; Multan, 25; Peshawar, 25. Total: 675.

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18. 19.

20. 21.

22.

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Socio-economic class representation: SEC A, 10 per cent; SEC B, 14 per cent; SEC C, 21 per cent; SEC D, 25 per cent; SEC E, 30 per cent, where A represents the highest income group and E represent the lowest (obtained from the Media Logic Company). Op. cit. 34. See, for example, Napoli (2012). Host requested anonymity. Crilly, Rob, ‘Pakistan’s rape victim who dared to fight back’ (26 December 2010), [The Telegraph]. Available at http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/pakistan/8224111/Pakistans-rape-victim-who-dared-to-fight-back. html (accessed 21 September 2016). Op. cit. 67. Mera Saein is a series that is popular for showing the tribal culture that violates the rights of women. The story revolves around a feudal lord who marries multiple times for a male heir. Polite way of addressing a woman. Muhammad, Peer, ‘“Foreign funding”: Geo/Jang Group defaulter of billions of rupees’ (18 May 2014), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com. pk/story/709896/foreign-funding-geojang-group-defaulter-of-billions-ofrupees-claims-imran/ (accessed 26 August 2014). ‘Attack on media freedom: Civil society, journalists protest against disruption of Geo News’ (30 July 2016), [Geo News]. Available at https://www.geo.tv/ latest/110419-Civil-society-journalists-call-disruption-of-Geo-attack-onpress-freedom (accessed 26 September 2016); Nizamani, Shakoor, ‘Pemra ban on ARY News widely condemned’ (21 October 2014), [ARY]. Available at http://arynews.tv/en/pemra-ban-on-ary-news-widely-condemnded/ (accessed 26 September 2016).

Chapter 4 Empowering Women or Bringing Change through Drama Serials: Producers’ Perspectives 1. In the Pakistani television industry, directors frequently work as producers. 2. I will return to this series and others in a separate section, where I will discuss the projects that have made impact. 3. Iqbal Ansari, Head of SP1, on record. 4. Felix, Qaiser, ‘Baluchistan: Five girls buried alive for honor crimes’, (9 January 2008), [AsiaNews]. Available at http://www.asianews.it/news-en/Balochistan,five-girls-buried-alive-for-honor-crimes-13114.html (accessed 7 July 2013). 5. ‘Ban Geo Drama Tum Ho Kay Chup’ (28 August 2011), [Facebook]. Available at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Ban-GEO-drama-TUM-HO-KAYCHUP/240885039280421 (Accessed 22 August 2014). 6. ‘Pakistani actor Shahood Alvi narrowly survives from girl’s attack’ (4 April 2013), [Awami Web]. Available at http://www.awamiweb.com/pakistani-actor-

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8.

9. 10.

11.

12.

13.

14.

15. 16. 17.

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shahood-alvi-narrowly-survives-from-girls-attack-64630.html (accessed 4 August 2014). ‘Udaari producer Momina Duraid responds to PEMRA’s show cause notice’ (16 May 2016), [Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/story/ 1103312/udaari-producer-momina-duraid-responds-to-pemras-show-causenotice/, (accessed 29 September 2016). Akbar, Ali, ‘Transgender Alisha succumbs to wounds at Peshawar hospital’ (25 May 2016), [Dawn]. Available at http://www.dawn.com/news/1260559 (accessed 24 November 2016); ‘Saudi Arabia bans transgenders’ (23 November 2016), [The New Observer]. Available at http://newobserveronline.com/saudiarabia-bans-transgenders/ (accessed 24 November 2016). Ali Rizvi, Hasina Moin and Kazim Pasha on record for this information. A practice called haq bakhshish, through which girls are married to Qur’an. Under this practice, girls are given to the service to religion for life. They are barred from marrying outside their family and this is purely to secure their share in the family property. This is a cultural practice that clashes with Shari’a. See for example, ‘Haq Bakshish: No right to wed’ (8 March 2007), [IRIN Asia]. Available at http://www.irinnews.org/report/70564/pakistan-haq-bakshish-noright-to-wed (accessed 23 July 2014). Ahmed, Nasir Fouzia, ‘First person the world according to Bari’ (18 May 2014), [Dawn]. Available at http://www.dawn.com/news/1106520 (accessed 28 August 2014). This series raises the issue of respect for wives in marriage. She has attempted to clear much known controversy around the right of a husband to beat his wife in the light of Islam. It was interesting to note that most respondents in my viewers’ sample (irrespective of their class) wanted me to take out Rudini’s interview, for they were uncomfortable with the issues raised and the treatment of the subject within his series. Educated in a religious seminary for over eight years, Rudini never attended a formal school. He escaped from his religious seminary twice and came to Karachi for work. He comes from the province of Baluchistan and writes on the practices he has seen in the rural areas of Pakistan. His serial Mi Raqsam is based on a real story about a Mullah who has four wives, one of whom is sentenced to stoning. On Pakistani television, there are very few genres that allow fantasy-oriented scripts such as telefilms. An assigned topic by the broadcaster or the production house. This writer has requested to be anonymous. Therefore, I will not give the titles of her series.

Chapter 5 Interactive TV: Is Empowering Women and Bringing Change on Producers’ Agendas? 1. Because these issues are considered as prohibited under Shari’a.

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2. They protest and disseminate their discourse through pamphlets and magazines in universities and in society through large and small-scale congregations. 3. ‘PakMorning, Utho Jago Pakistan Part 3/7’ (1 May 2012), [YouTube]. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼8IJwyHjEULc (accessed 23 July 2014). 4. Khoobsurat g. ‘Utho Jago Pakistan Sarim Burney Welfare Trust’ [YouTube]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼S8crVJjaAzU (accessed 23 July 2014) (link no longer working). 5. Op. cit. 96. 6. Boone, Jon, ‘Pakistan Geo News becomes latest target in blasphemy accusation trend’ (22 May 2014), [The Guardian]. Available at http://www.theguardian. com/world/2014/may/22/pakistan-geo-news-blasphemy-pakistan-sufi-songwedding. 7. Sarim Burney Trust, ‘Maryam’s poem for Sarim Burney’ (2013), [Dailymotion]. Available at http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x17q6lu_maryam-s-poem-forsarim-burney-at-good-morning-pakistan-nida-yasir-show_shortfilms (accessed 23 September 2014). 8. Walsh, Declan, ‘For many in Pakistan, television show goes too far’ (26 January 2012), [The New York Times]. Available at http://www.nytimes.com/2012/ 01/27/world/asia/for-many-in-pakistan-a-television-show-goes-too-far.html? pagewanted¼all&_r¼0 (accessed 26 July 2014). 9. Khan, Fawwad, ‘Aurat Khani Id Avi’ (13 January 2011), [YouTube]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼4XKIsK9qtmA (accessed 23 July 2014); mqmloveu, ‘Pakistan 6 Halala Nikah’s of a Mosque Imam’s wife’ (21 December 2008), [YouTube]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼ 6n06MaoUD4A (accessed 23 July 2014). This episode features a case of a woman named Shama who was forced six times into halala. 10. Recently, Geo Channel has been under pressure from PEMRA for its weak editorial policy on state institutions and specifically on blasphemy. Grabvideos, ‘I condemn editorial policy of Geo, showing picture of DG ISI on screen for 8 hours was a big mistake. Dr. Shahid Masood’ (2014), [Dailymotion]. Available at http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1r1twl_i-condemn-editorial-policy-ofgeo-showing-picture-of-dg-isi-on-screen-for-8-hours-was-a-big-mistake_news (accessed 1 August 2014). 11. Dahlgren (2009: 147) has also noted this. 12. ‘Alim aur Aalam, Episode 234’ (19 April 2012), [YouTube]. Available at http:// www.youtube.com/watch?v¼pCT1z5eXRYg (accessed 4 July 2014). 13. Hudasheikh786, ‘4of5 07-10-2010 8) ‫ ﭘﺮﺭﻓﯿﺴﺮ ﺟﮩﺎﮞ ﺁﺭﺍﻟﻄﻒ‬:‫ ﺧﻮﺍﺗﯿﻦ ﭘﺮ ﺗﺸﺪﺩ‬October 2010), [YouTube]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼_Pihru_Jej8 (accessed 2 August 2014). 14. Amir Liaquat on record for this. thedaxxlingschannel, ‘Special episodes on divorce’ (22 June 2011), [YouTube]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v¼ykQHI9dV-3I (accessed 3 August 2014). 15. ‘For the third time: Amir Liaquat among 500 influential Muslims’ (4 October 2015), [The Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/story/966965/

210

16.

17.

18.

19.

20. 21. 22.

23.

NOTES

TO PAGES

121 –153

for-the-third-time-dr-aamir-liaquat-among-500-influential-muslims/ (accessed 4 October 2016). ‘Two persons murdered after an anchor person proposed the widespread lynching of Ahmadi sect followers’ (2008) [Asian Human Rights Commission]. Available at http://www.humanrights.asia/news/urgent-appeals/AHRC-UAC203-2008 (accessed 23 August 2014) (link no longer working). Truthforjusticeonline, ‘Interview of Dr Aafia Siddiqui’s family Part 1’ (30 November 2009) [YouTube]. Available at: http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v¼qd_TuDpAINo (accessed 23 August 2014). Blissfulcreature, ‘Special Program on Honor Killing’ (6 August 2009), [YouTube]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼WjsSlqtTskM (accessed 23 August 2014). As far as I have researched, Pakistan has this option of muftiha (female mufti) in a religious seminary run by Maulana Abdul Aziz. For more information, see Nisha, Neservere, ‘Aik Din Geo Ke Sath 04 April 2014 Host Sohail Waraich spends a day with Maulana’ (4 April 2014), [YouTube]. Available at http://www. youtube.com/watch?v¼LYEocI9TmJE (accessed 8 August 2014). Badar Ikram and Fawwad Azeem on record for this. As happened in the case of the Women’s Empowerment Bill under the campaign of Zara Sochyay. Javed Ahmed Ghamidi, ‘Grand TV Debate on Hadood Ordinence – Mufti Muneeb ur rehman vs Javed Ahmed Ghamidi’ [YouTube]. Available at https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v¼UFwqPu2SI6Q (accessed 23 August 2014) (link no longer working). Ibid.

Chapter 6 Women Empowered or Disciplined through Gendered Content: The Case of Drama Serials 1. Saifeddin, M. ‘Three divorces in one sitting’. Available at http://www. muftisays.com/blog/Seifeddine-M/1098_02-02-2011/three-divorces-in-onesitting.html (accessed 28 July 2014) (link no longer working). 2. Tasneem is a middle-aged woman who actively participated in the discussions. She lives in a nuclear family system and is happy with her sons living independently. 3. See, for example, Glynn (2000) for regimes of knowledge on television for people with low social power.

Chapter 7

Interactive TV: Viewers Empowered or Disciplined

1. Siddiqui, Taha, ‘Morning show host Maya Khan sacked from Samaa TV’ (28 January 2012), [Express Tribune]. Available at http://tribune.com.pk/

NOTES

2.

3.

4. 5.

6.

TO PAGES

153 –180

211

story/328465/morning-show-host-maya-khan-fired-from-samaa-tv/ (accessed 27 August 2014). Hindi and Urdu word for religious scholar as well as religiously inclined people. It is additionally used to address people with a beard to imply their religious inclination. ‘Mosque Imam rapes kills a 12-year old’ (13 April 2012), [The Nation]. Available at http://www.nation.com.pk/national/13-Apr-2014/mosque-imamrapes-kills-12-year-old-girl (accessed 2 August 2014); Khan, Nisar Ahmad, ‘Seminary head among four held in gang rape’, (14 May 2014), [Dawn]. Available at http://www.dawn.com/news/1106150 (accessed 2 August 2014). Imam in local mosques and maulvis in the neighbourhood who teach the Qur’an. Amin, A., ‘HRCP says “honour killings” on the rise in Pakistan’, [The News]. Available at http://www.thenews.com.pk/Todays-News-2-167333-HRCPsays-%20honour-killings%20-on-the-rise-in-Pakistan (accessed on 4 August 2014) (link no longer working). Safaid Poshi can be literally translated into ‘wearing white’. It refers to whitecollar people, specifically the middle class mores that call for a protection of honour.

Conclusion 1. Projects such as Udaari, Sammi, Yaqeen ka Safar, Baaghi and Muqabil have been launched to meet corporate social responsibility.

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sarim-burney-at-good-morning-pakistan-nida-yasir-show_shortfilms (accessed 23 September 2014). thedaxxlingschannel, ‘Special episodes on divorce’ (22 June 2011), [YouTube ]. Available at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼ykQHI9dV-3I (accessed 3 August 2014). Truthforjusticeonline, ‘Interview of Dr Aafia Siddiqui’s family Part 1’ (30 November 2009) [YouTube ]. Available at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v¼qd_ TuDpAINo (accessed 23 August 2014).

For drama series Youtube.com Dramasonline.com Friendskorner.com

INDEX

References to notes are indicated by n. Aahat (TV show), 56, 88 – 9 abaya (black cloak), 30, 31, 34, 36 abduction, 10 adultery, 2, 10, 11, 12 advertising, 6, 61, 62 –3, 65 agency, 10, 39 Ahmadis, 121 Ahmed, Israr, 8 Ahmed, Khalid, 71 – 2 Ahmed, Umera, 91 – 2 Akhri Barish (Last Rain), 47, 48 – 9 alcohol, 10 Ali Raza, Syed, 56, 59, 62 Alim aur Alam (Scholar and the Global Society), 17 – 18, 117, 118– 19, 120, 156– 7, 159– 60 and questions, 188– 9 Anokha Bandhan (drama serial), 190 Ansari, Iqbal, 85 anti-Americanism, 5 apostasy, 9 armed robbery, 10 ARY Group, 5, 31, 75, 87, 114– 15 Aslam, Imran, 74, 127 Aurat Kahani (Woman’s Story), 112 awareness campaigns, 74 Azeem, Fawwad, 72

Baaghi (Revolutionary), 1 Baloch, Qandeel, 1, 36, 179 Baluchi tribe, 86, 191 Bari, Fasih, 72, 89 –90 Barlas, Asma, 9 Bayat, Hina, 124–6 bedrooms, 43 –4 Behkawa (drama serial), 47 – 8 Bhutto, Benazir, 11, 63 blasphemy, 5, 9 Bol Meri Machli (Speak Out, My Fish), 85– 6, 190 breakfast shows, 18, 60 – 1, 62 – 3, 98, 184–5 and gender issues, 105–12 and ratings, 66 – 9 and viewers, 152– 6 cable television, 4, 5 case studies, 190– 2 censorship, 25 – 6, 27, 57, 59, 172 chador (cloak), 33, 34 child labour, 56 Child Marriage Restraint Act (1929), 10 child rape, 22, 79; see also Roag children, 40, 41 – 2

224

WOMEN AND TV CULTURE IN PAKISTAN

citizenship, 129– 31; see also cultural citizenship class, 15, 20, 43, 44 –5, 63 – 4 and crime shows, 115– 16 and focus groups, 197– 9 and joint families, 135– 6 and popular culture, 81 and PTV, 58 – 9 clergy, 5, 18, 52, 96, 127, 172 common good, 100 conservatism, 171– 2 content heads, 80 – 8 contradictions, 171– 3 crime-reporting, 152, 162, 167– 8, 173 crime shows, 18, 40 – 1, 45 – 6, 113– 17, 204n.34 and viewers, 161– 70 cross dressing, 52 –4, 183 cultural citizenship, 2, 12, 16, 129– 31, 174– 5 customs, 11 – 12 decency, 25 Dil Hae Chota Sa (drama serial), 190 Dil Toh Bhatkay Ga (drama serial), 42 – 3 Dissolution of Muslim Marriage Act (1939), 10 divorce, 2, 10, 11 – 12, 22, 78 and drama serials, 95 – 7, 138– 41, 190– 1 and talk shows, 120 domestic violence, 2, 9, 78, 165 Doordarshan, 15 drama serials, 1, 2, 14 – 15, 18, 22 and case studies, 190– 2 and divorce, 138– 41 and female emancipation, 80 – 8 and gender issues, 79 and home, 131–8 and India, 27 – 8 and the lounge, 42 – 3 and prostitution, 46 – 7, 48 – 50 and PTV, 56 – 7, 58 – 9

and questions, 183, 187 and ratings, 69 – 70 and reality, 141–5, 148 and viewers, 62 and vulgarity, 25 –6 and writers, 88 – 97 dress code, 29 – 38, 166– 7, 172– 3 dupatta (scarf), 3, 6, 21, 24, 29 – 38, 173 and drama serials, 15 and PTV, 58 Duraid, Momina, 86 emancipation, 12, 14 – 15, 80 – 8, 91– 2, 179– 81 and Roag, 145– 9 Engineer, Asghar Ali, 9 equal rights, 10 ethics, 26 ethnicity, 13 etiquette, 9, 28, 39 extramarital affairs, 4, 26, 28, 86 extremism, 4, 5 Family Law Ordinance (1961), 10 family planning, 56, 88 fashion industry, 30, 31 Fasiullah, Agha, 73 fatwas (religious rulings), 123– 4 Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), 4 feminism, 12, 14, 81, 120 and interactive TV, 99 – 105, 111– 12 focus groups, 20 – 1, 177, 182– 5, 197–9 fornication, 10 freedom of expression, 5, 6, 176– 7 Gallup, 65 gender issues, 1 – 3, 6, 7, 14, 16 – 20 and breakfast shows, 105– 12, 152 and crime shows, 113– 17, 161– 70 and crimes, 22, 67 – 9, 176 and drama serials, 79, 89 – 97, 141–5

INDEX and interactive TV, 103, 104– 5 and openness, 23, 24 and producers, 73 – 4 and PTV, 56 – 7, 58 and ratings, 66 – 7 and talk shows, 117–28 and viewers, 150– 4 see also men; women generations, 15, 20, 26 – 7, 36 Geo Channel, 4, 5, 11, 73 – 5, 85 – 6 Geo Hina Kay Sath (Live with Hina), 18, 69, 117, 124– 6, 168– 9 Ghamidi, Javed Ahmed, 9 Ghazal, Seema, 94 Good Morning Pakistan (breakfast show), 18, 106 government, 3, 4, 5, 86 – 7, 122 Government of India Act (1935), 10 grandmothers, 27 Hadith, 8 halala (divorce), 22, 78, 138– 41, 190, 205n.37 Hanafi school, 159 Hawa Ki Baiti (Daughter of Eve), 18, 56, 117, 118– 19, 123– 4 hijab (scarf), 30, 31, 32, 36 hijras (transsexuals), 52 – 3 home values, 26 – 7, 38 – 46 and drama serials, 131– 8, 141– 3 homosexuality, 2, 21, 24, 57, 58 and drama, 86 and talk shows, 120, 125 honour killings (karo kari), 1, 2, 9, 11, 79 and media, 179 and talk shows, 122–3 housewives, 14, 21, 60 –1, 131–2 Hudood Ordinances (1979), 10 – 11, 12 Hum TV, 86 Humsafar (Companion), 136, 137 Ikram, Badar, 59, 63 – 4, 74 – 5, 127 Imran, Ali, 80 – 1

225

incest, 2, 24, 47 – 8, 190 income, 20 Independent Media Corporation, 5 India, 3 – 4, 7, 8, 29, 42 and advertising, 63 and children, 40 and drama serials, 27 – 8 and dress, 30, 34 – 5 and prostitution, 48 interactive TV, 17 – 18, 22, 68, 98, 187–8 and gender issues, 105–12 and public sphere, 99 –105 and viewers, 150– 1 see also breakfast shows; crime shows; talk shows internet, 4 interviews, 177– 8, 186– 9, 193– 5 Islahi, Amin Ehsan, 8 Islam, 5, 8, 9 – 11, 47 – 8, 92, 171–2 and dress, 32 – 3, 35, 36, 37 and interactive TV, 102, 103– 4 and morality, 154 and PTV, 57 – 8 and talk shows, 117– 24, 126– 8, 156– 61 Jamaat-e-Islami (JI), 6, 8, 13, 102 Jangloos (drama serial), 59 Jannat Say Nikali Hui Aurat (Woman Expelled from Heaven), 18, 138–9, 190–1 Javed, Babar, 59, 70, 82 – 5 Jeay Sindh Qaumi Mahaaz (JSQM), 13 Jirga system, 11, 191 joint families, 2, 4, 14, 22, 38 – 9, 202n.4 and criticism, 172 and drama serials, 132– 7, 191 journalism, 5 judicial system, 41, 165, 169– 70 Jurm Bolta Hai (Crime Speaks), 18, 113

226

WOMEN AND TV CULTURE IN PAKISTAN

Kaash May Teri Baiti Na Hoti (drama serial), 42, 43, 93 Kankar (Pebble), 92 Karachi, 13, 20 – 1, 177– 8 Kargil War, 3 Kazmi, Sahira, 58 Khan, Ayub, 10 Khan, Mahira, 36 Khan, Maria, 118– 19, 123– 4 Khan, Maya, 106, 111– 12, 153– 6 Khan, Reham, 36 Khawar, Ayub, 56 – 7 Khuda Mera Bhi Hae (God is Mine Too), 87 khula (openness), 23, 28 Lakson Group, 5 language, 19, 21, 24 and home, 38, 39, 40, 42 – 3 see also Urdu language Late Night Show (TV show), 14 Liaquat Hussain, Amir, 118–19, 120, 121– 3 liberalisation, 1 – 3, 5, 9, 25 –6, 89, 171– 2 Lodhi, Shaista, 30, 31, 37, 61, 66 – 7 and gender issues, 106, 109– 10 lounge, 39 – 40, 42 – 4 Maat (Checkmate), 91 madrassas (religious seminaries), 156, 157, 158, 159 Mansoori, Anees, 114– 15, 116– 17 marriage, 2, 9, 10, 11 – 12, 79 and drama serials, 93, 95 – 6, 131– 8 and the Qur’an, 202n.2, 208n.10 see also divorce Maududi, Abul Ala, 8 maulvis (bearded men), 158 Media Logic, 65, 71 mehram (male family member), 8, 39, 50, 109, 156– 7, 179– 80 men, 35 – 6, 138– 40, 153– 6, 167; see also mehram

Mera Saein (My Lord), 70 Meri Kahani Meri Zabani (crime show), 45– 6 Meri Zaat Zarra-e-Benishan (My Self, a Speckle Unfound) 18, 82 – 3, 91 and joint families, 134, 136 militant groups, 13 MMA, 6 Moin, Ali, 70 – 1, 82 Moin, Haseena, 58, 88 – 9 morality, 11, 28, 144–5, 153– 4 morning shows see breakfast shows mothers-in-law, 20, 27, 39, 133– 7 Muhajir (migrant) community, 14 Musharraf, Gen Pervez, 1, 4, 11, 122–3 Mutahida Qaumi Movement (MQM), 13 Nadeem, Sawaira, 108– 9 narcotics, 10 Naseer, Asim, 68, 113, 114, 115– 17 Nasir, Agha, 56, 59 nationalism, 10 Network Television Marketing (NTM), 3 news, 26, 75 – 6 newspapers, 75, 87, 88 Nijaat (TV show), 56 North West Frontier Province, 6 nostalgia, 29 nuclear families, 12, 16, 25 obscenity, 6 – 7 Omri, Syed Jalaludin, 8 openness, 23, 24, 26, 28, 38 – 54, 58 Padosi (Neighbour), 15 Pakhtunkhwa, 4 Pakistan, 44, 45, 92, 169 Pakistan Electronic Media Regulatory Authority (PEMRA), 4, 5, 6 – 7, 72, 86 –7 Pakistan Herald Publications Limited, 5 Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), 13

INDEX Pakistan Television Corporation (PTV), 3, 4, 6, 21, 24 – 9 and dupatta, 31, 32 and gender issues, 111, 202n.1 and producers, 55 – 9 Partition, 10, 14 Pasha, Kazim, 57, 58 Pasha, Nida, 31, 58– 9, 66 – 7, 110 Pasha, Sina, 60, 66, 110 patience, 28 patriarchy, 15 PEMRA see Pakistan Electronic Media Regulatory Authority pleasure, 173 polygamy, 139 popular culture, 77 – 9, 81, 174– 5 pregnancy, 41 – 2 pressure groups, 6 private channels, 24 – 9 private sphere, 8 – 9, 14; see also home values producers, 15, 16 –17, 21– 2, 186– 8, 206n.2 and crime shows, 113– 17 and female emancipation, 80 – 8 and gender content, 73 –4 and PTV, 55 – 9 and ratings, 65 – 6 and talk shows, 117–28 and viewers, 60 – 4 product placement, 62 – 3 propaganda, 55, 56 prostitution, 21, 24, 46 – 7, 48 – 51 PTV see Pakistan Television Corporation public sphere, 8 – 9, 14, 22, 54, 99 – 105, 173– 7 purdah (dress code), 8, 32 Al-Qaeda, 4 Qaid-e-Tanhai (Imprisoned in Loneliness), 18, 132– 3, 191 Qur’an, 2, 7, 8– 9, 202n.2, 208n.10 Qureishi, Faisal, 153

227

rape, 10, 11, 12, 40 and crime shows, 114, 115, 116– 17, 161– 2, 163– 4 and unveiling, 68 – 9 see also child rape ratings, 22, 61, 62, 64 – 73 Reehai (Freedom), 86 religion, 2, 7, 11, 17 –18; see also Islam reproductive health, 41 – 2 Rizvi, Ali, 57 – 8 Roag (Sorrow), 18, 22, 69 – 70, 81, 84 –5 and case study, 191 and emancipation, 145– 9 Rudini, Kifayat, 69– 70, 93 – 4 Sabz Pari Laal Kabooter (Green Fairy Red Pigeon), 83 sacrifice, 28 Sajjad, Enver, 73 – 4, 81, 94 – 5 Saleem, Ali, 52 – 4 satellite television, 3 – 4 secularism, 122 segregation, 157– 8, 172 Seja, Jerjees, 31 – 2, 59, 87, 127 sexuality, 11, 14, 90, 167; see also homosexuality; transsexuals Shabbir Toh Dekhay Ga (Shabbir Will Watch), 18, 45, 68, 113–14 shame (sharam), 23 – 4, 29, 39 – 40, 41– 2 Shari’a, 2, 4, 6, 7, 127 and divorce, 22, 95, 138– 41 and dress, 33, 34 and rights, 11 – 12 Sharif, Mian Nawaz, 6 Shehr-e-Zaat (drama serial), 92 Siddiqui, Aafia, 121 Siddiqui, Sultana, 58 Siegler, Scott, 70 soap opera, 4, 7, 14, 28 social media, 120 Soomro, Kainat, 68 – 9 ‘spying campaigns’ 153– 6

228

WOMEN AND TV CULTURE IN PAKISTAN

Star Plus, 4, 27, 29 stoning, 2 Subh Saveray Maya Kay Sath (Early Morning with Maya) 18, 106 subjectivity, 38– 9, 173– 4 Sunnah, 7, 9 Syed, Asghar Nadeem, 85 – 6 Taliban, 4, 13 talk shows, 2, 17 – 18, 98 and gender issues, 117– 28 and public sphere, 99 – 105 and questions, 183– 4, 188– 9 and viewers, 156– 61 Tamanna, Faisal, 75 theft, 10 transsexuals, 51 – 4, 79, 87, 89 Tum Ho Kay Chup (And You Are Silent), 85, 86, 191 Turkey, 7 Udaari (To Fly), 86 Umrao Jan Ada (drama serial), 47 United Producers Association (UPA), 7 United States of America (USA), 4, 5 unveiling, 68 – 9, 163– 4 Urdu language, 14, 20 Utho Jago Pakistan (Wake Up Pakistan), 18, 106, 109– 10 viewers, 60– 5, 150– 1, 177– 8 and breakfast shows, 152– 6

and crime shows, 161– 70 and talk shows, 156– 61 vulgarity, 6 – 7 Waqt Group, 5 ‘war on terror’ 4, 5 West, the, 28 –9, 37 – 8 whipping, 10 –11 wife-swapping, 59 women, 8 – 10, 13, 14 – 16 and bodies, 29 – 30 and drama serials, 27 – 8, 90 – 7 and health, 41 – 2 and the home, 19 – 20 and male relatives, 46, 49 – 50 and ratings, 72 and rights, 10 – 12, 74, 169, 175 see also emancipation; feminism Women’s Protection Bill (2006), 11, 126, 127 writers, 88 –97 Wudud, Amina, 9 Yeh Zindagi Hai (drama serial), 43, 44 –5 Yusufzai, Malala, 36 zanana (sphere of women), 15 Zara Sochyay (campaign), 74 Zia-ul-Haq, Mohammed, 6, 10, 32, 33, 57 Zina (adultery), 10, 11 Zip Bus Chup Raho (drama serial), 47