At a time when bullets and swords kill in droves, Malala Youzrafi’s story and the honour awarded to her in shape of the Nobel peace prize this month is a humbling reminder of the power of good storytelling, and of the fact that the world craves heroes and heroines.
The Nobel Prize is an award of international magnitude, which has been running for over a century. As the website of the organization tells us, it was, as specified in Alfred Nobel’s will, to be attributed to five categories: Physics, Chemistry, Physiology or Medicine, Literature & Peace, to honour, in his words “those who, during the preceding year, shall have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind”. This initiative, coming from a man who himself, as a chemist, built his personal wealth on contributing dynamite to the world, is perhaps representative of the inherent contradictions of the world.
Half a century ago, on 22 October 1964, Jean-Paul Sartre declined the Nobel prize for literature by saying “I have always declined official honours”. Ironically, he already was, by then a world recognized philosopher, writer and public figure. Stuart Jeffries of the Guardian argues in his article titled ‘Jean-Paul Sartre more relevant now than ever’ that in rejecting the honour Sartre worried that the Nobel was reserved for “the writers of the west or the rebels of the east”. This echoes some of the comments I came across on social media about Malala having been turned into a parrot and a political instrument of the West.
Instead of nodding my head and buying the alluring but simplistic humdrum Colonialist Western Hidden Political Agenda package, which that type of fuzzy dismissive criticism inevitably comes with, and commiserating over the numerous nameless voiceless victims of war and fanaticism who sadly do not make it to the spotlight, I decided to make up my own mind. I listened to both her UN and Stockholm Peace Prize speeches, picked up her book and started reading it.
I welcome criticism and free thought but have increasingly grown weary of the dismissive cynicism social media is prompt to come up with, for I too, like a good story. Reading ‘I am Malala’ is a moving experience in that it sheds a very personal light on her family’s customs, traditions and religion, as well as on the intricate story of her valley: Swat, and that of her country: Pakistan, a very young nation.
Malala first gained worldwide notoriety shortly after having been shot in the head by a Talib while riding a bus on her way to school in the Swat Valley: ‘Who is Malala?’ He demanded. No one said anything, but several of the girls looked at me. I was the only girl with my face not covered. That’s when he lifted his black pistol. I later learned it was a colt 45. Moniba told me I squeezed her hand’. She miraculously survived an act of sheer brutality meant to silence her forever. Yet, not only did she recover, but was able to stand up proud, and tell the world her story: the story of a girl who wanted to read and learn and who would not be muzzled by men called Taliban, ironically a word derived from the Arabic root for ‘student’.
The speech she gave at the UN, which is the closest modern thing to the Greek Forum -in the sense that it provides the world with a recognized platform for public speaking, albeit one open to women- was a feisty and inspiring one. Her words, simple yet eloquent were strong and, if anything, a-political.
When I listened to her speak, Malala struck me, in the best possible sense, as a young ambitious, passionate, and grounded person whose life story makes her belong to a powerful human lineage of individuals dedicated to pushing for change by challenging indifference. She starts by the realm of the personal, by understanding who she is, where she comes from, what culture she belongs to as well as the history of her country, and endorses the role circumstances have made her play in it. She tells her story in a way that makes it understandable, therefore universal.
Her book makes ample room for the tradition of debate in which her Pachto culture is versed: “ My father wanted us to be inspired by our great hero, but in a manner fit for our times – with pens, not swords.” Her ability to express, inherited and nurtured by her forward thinking father who granted her the same privileges as a boy despite the pressure of a misogynistic culture, firmly places her among a genealogy of orators who have left their mark unto the world. She quotes as her mentors Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa, Gandhi and Nelson Mandela.
Last year when Nelson Mandela passed away aged 95 on December 5th, the Economist departed from its staple one page obituary format to mourn him over three pages. The article ended as follows ‘Hard though much of his life had been, Mr Mandela lived long enough to see his work through. That gave him his great achievement, and his story a happy ending. And the modern world loves a happy hero even more than a tragic one.’
Malala’s tragedy ended well for she healed, that she is now pursuing her GCSE’s in England which has become her foster country, and kindling the hope of one day, going back to her home country to go into politics. Her story has all the elements that will further assert her inspirational status because it is an ongoing story, and that she will keep on waging her battle.
As Sartre’s writings fall into desuetude and that he is slowly dismissed for his incomprehensible existentialist mumbo-jumbo, Malala will continue to fight for the right to education, firstly by completing her own, and in her own time by making her contribution to the world she lives in, thereby challenging Sartre’s quote extracted from the last pages of his memoir Words, published the same year as his Nobel refusal: “For a long time I looked on my pen as a sword; now I know how powerless we are.”
Malala’s story is not one of despair, quite the opposite. Her biography, lovingly written by Christina Lamb, closes with a simple explanatory note on the Malala Fund: ‘My goal in writing this book was to raise my voice on behalf of the millions of girls around the world who are being denied their right to go to school and realize their potential.’ It carries a feisty call for unity in the face of ignorance and terror. Malala’s message proves Sartre wrong and ought to reignite our firm belief in the power of words because a pen, an education is the only way to make THEM powerless. When addressing the UN Malala said: “ They thought that the bullet would silence us, but they failed”. They will keep on failing as long as girls keep on walking in the tracks Malala has courageously opened for them, and that WE keep paying notice, and extending our support.
Photo by Southbank Centre, licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license