25-05-2025
Faiz's ‘Hum dekhenge' is not about country or religion. It is anti-oppression
In the Subcontinent, Pakistani poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz's uncompromising 1979 poem Hum dekhenge ('We shall see') has mostly travelled with ease. This famed protest song, written against General Ziaul Haq's conservative rule, has outlived regimes, resurfacing in moments of protest across both sides of the border. But in recent years, it seems to be increasingly caught in the crosshairs of cross-border hostilities. Last week, Pushpa Sathidar, wife of actor and Dalit rights activist Vira Sathidar (who was seen as Narayan Kamble in Chaitanya Tamhane's National Award-winning film, Court) and two others, were booked under Section 152 of the BNS, for 'endangering the sovereignty and integrity of the nation', Section 196 for promoting enmity between groups and Section 353 for statements conducing to public mischief, after she organised a memorial for her husband in Nagpur. It is at this memorial that the members of Samata Kala Manch — an Ambedkarite cultural outfit that often speaks of class, caste and Brahminical hegemony — sang the Faiz poem.
In the FIR, right-wing activist Dattatraya Shirke alleged that the poem by a Pakistani poet was sung at a time when the country valiantly fought Pakistani forces in the aftermath of the Pahalgam terror attack. He accused the organisers of using provocative language that could incite unrest.
In this moment, I wonder about Faiz, the humanist, the star of Progressive Writers' Movement in undivided India, who opposed communalism, who condemned terrorism, whose writing grieved the scars of violence and lauded the resilience of the downtrodden, who wrote Hum dekhenge against the atrocities of his own government. In 2020, IIT Kanpur formed a panel to look into the recitation of the poem on their campus by some students. The committee had concluded that the poem was 'unsuitable to the time and place' and recommended 'counselling' for those involved. Faiz's work was also removed from school textbooks in 2022.
One is left wondering whether all of this stems from a lack of understanding or simply an unwillingness to engage with a poet whose work is accessible, deeply documented and who spoke not for Pakistan or India but for a better, more inclusive world. Days after Partition was announced, when the streets on both sides of the border were rife with violence, a deeply anguished Faiz wrote, 'Yeh daagh daagh ujala, yeh shab gazidaa seher/ Woh intezaar tha jiska, yeh woh seher toh nahin' (This smudged first light, this daybreak battered by night/ This dawn that we all ached for, this is not the one) [Subh-e-Azadi (Dawn of Freedom)].
Faiz's poetry, its universality and its constant endeavour to uphold human dignity are what make it significant. Written in Beirut, where Faiz was living in a self-imposed exile, after his blunt political views were condemned for being 'anti-Pakistan', Hum dekhenge quickly became a symbol of dissent, first in Pakistan and then in the Subcontinent. It also found significance in ghazal singer Iqbal Bano's oeuvre, when she sang it in 1986 at Lahore Arts Council's Alhamra auditorium, a year after Faiz's death, clad in a black sari — an act of rebellion at a time when saris were banned at public venues and on television. She sang it with vigour, pausing often as the exhilarated thousands who'd gathered in and outside the hall chanted Inquilab zindabad. This rendition, in one of the darkest periods of Pakistan's history, took the song to the common man. It was surreptitiously recorded by a technician. The recording was banned; so was Bano from singing in public. They thought the poem was 'anti-Muslim'. In India, the poem has often been called 'anti-Hindu'. Which is it really? If one really pays attention, it's not hard to see that it is anti-oppression.
The lines that bothered Pakistan then and bother India now, including in the current FIR are as follows: 'Jab arz-e-Khuda ke kaabe se, sab butt uthwaye jaayenge/ Hum ahl-e-safa mardood-e-haram, masnad pe bithaaye jaayenge / Sab taaj uchhale jaayenge, sab takht giraaye jaayenge (From the abode of God, when the icons of falsehood will be removed/ When we, the faithful, who have been barred from sacred places, will be seated on high pedestal/ When crowns will be tossed, when thrones will be brought down)'. Shirke has claimed that the thrones being brought down constitute a direct threat to the government. And yet, songs can't overturn governments; they can only gnaw at the illusion that power lasts forever.
In 1989, almost a year after Ziaul Haq's death in an aircrash and the return of democracy to Pakistan, Bano performed at Delhi's Siri Fort, with the hall brimming with ghazal enthusiasts who had one demand from her — Hum dekhenge.
If convicted, the punishment for Pushpa and the others can be imprisonment and a fine. That is for the courts to decide. But Hum dekhenge has and should endure — as a reminder of the courage art is capable of. To quote Faiz, 'Bol ke lab azaad hain tere/ Bol ki zubaan ab tak teri hai… Bol ki sach zinda hai ab tak/ Bol jo kuch kehna hai keh le' (Speak, for your lips are yet free/ Speak, for your tongue is still your own/ Speak, the truth is still alive/ Speak: say what you have to say).
