the famously rigid rule of the Taliban, members
of the Sikh community were kidnapped for ransom, and according to one trusted
source, the kidnappers included Taliban. One Sikh family, for example, lost
six members during the Taliban rule, having failed to collect the required
ransom to secure the release of relatives.
In many ways, the Sikh community's experience
of loss and forced migration had much in common with that of their Muslim
counterparts. Families were torn apart and ended up stranded in refugee camps
before eventually settling in whichever country was ready to let them in.
But the Sikhs' distinct religious identity came with additional hardships
that affected both those who had been left behind in Afghanistan and those
struggling to survive abroad.
In Afghanistan, the mujahideen, and later
the Taliban, elevated ordinary Afghans' intolerance of non-Muslims to the
level of official state policy - depriving the Sikhs of state protection,
the only protection that the community have ever had in recent Afghan history.
Subsequently, the Sikhs were denied their basic rights, including the right
to bury their dead in line with the requirements of their faith.
Religious intolerance, especially towards
Sikhism and Hinduism, is a deeply ingrained part of Afghan national identity
which was formulated in opposition to the Hindus and Sikhs of India. Often,
it takes exile and exposure to racism to make mainstream Muslim Afghans realise
just how unfair society has been towards the Sikh community. "It was
only when I came to England that I realised that our attitude towards our
Sikhs had been wrong," said a young Muslim Afghan whom I met in London's
Southall market recently. With the exception of a restaurant and a music shop,
the market is run almost entirely by Afghan Sikhs.
Like most Afghans, the young Muslim was suspicious
of my motives for asking questions and refused to let me interview him. Instead
he introduced me to an Afghan Sikh friend who was the owner of a small shop,
jam-packed with colourful shiny fabrics, South Asian-style garments and bejewelled
sandals.
"Talk to Harpal Singh, our community
leader. He knows everything," the shopkeeper advised. Such delegation
of authority to a community leader, which often results in block voting during
elections, is widespread in South Asia, and the Afghan Sikh community has
replicated this pattern in British exile. But aside from the issue of delegation
of authority, the Sikhs' fear of speaking out was striking.
Decades if not centuries of oppression have
obviously left their mark on this community, and their fear manifests itself
in other ways, too. Unlike most Afghans, who tend to be unreserved and gregarious,
the Afghan Sikhs speak in a quiet voice. Their manner of conversation to non-Sikhs
is structured to avoid confrontation and often begins with formulations of
reassurance.
"We never had problems with the people
in Afghanistan," said Harpal Singh. That he was not telling the full
truth was clear. After all, in my own school in Kabul, our Sikh classmate
was regularly pressured to convert to Islam and even in present-day Afghanistan,
Sikh children stay at home and are deprived of education because of widespread
harassment at schools.
Harpal Singh offered me what sounded like
a standard community leader's speech. The community was peaceful, had no problems
with other Afghans or the British people. He then told me about the Sikhs'
specific problem of having to authenticate their Afghan identity when arriving
in England or other western countries. The authentication process involves
speaking Dari and knowledge of the city they lived in before exile.
Given that the community's children often
grew up in refugee camps outside Afghanistan, young Afghan Sikhs sometimes
no longer speak Dari, being fluent only in their mother tongue, Punjabi. This,
in turn, adds to the complication of corroborating their identity outside
Afghanistan.
"But these days, the British no longer
believe that we are oppressed, that we are still not allowed to bury our dead
in line with our religious regulations," said another Sikh shopkeeper
on condition of anonymity. "The British say they are running the country,
and know what's happening there."
I asked him whether there was anything he
could do about this. He shrugged and said: "I have letters of my family
from Kabul but the British say they know what's happening there."
Despite daily harassment in Afghanistan and
the additional complications that stem from being Afghan Sikhs abroad, the
community still feels a powerful sense of belonging to Afghanistan and its
members are known to have helped non-Sikh Afghans make a living by setting
up businesses in the UK. It is this solid loyalty to Afghanistan and touching
solidarity with non-Sikh Afghans that dismantles the popular myth that only
Islam can create unity among Afghans.
Being Afghan is about more than religion,
and as possibly the country's oldest inhabitants, the Afghan Sikhs have always
known this much.
