When I was in the seventh grade I had the bright idea of starting a small business. I would write and sell study-notes to my classmates on the subjects that didn’t fill me with dread, namely English and History. I was known, where I was known, as a fairly good student at the subjects and using that reputation as a building block, I began my modest branding strategy. A dedication to the daytime soap The Bold and The Beautiful had instilled in me a deep awe for the character of Sally Spectra, a plus-sized no-nonsense gift to the world at large. In one episode – between plotting revenge for the kidnapping of a daughter and trying to seduce a rival – she was trying to trick investors into giving money to her fledgling company. She did this by arranging a lunch and mistakenly “dropping” papers on the table that showed vast sums of money she pretended to have raised.
Thanks Sally, I thought. The next day I chose the most talkative boy in my class and just after our history test was over, I let my notes slip from my bag. When he asked me what they were, I became all coy but eventually told him they were the secret to my success in the subject. He fell for it and begged me to share them with him. I did, but only on the promise that the next batch would cost him 50 rupees and that he should tell no one. Exclusivity is key to a successful scam. As Sally predicted, my business grew from one, to ten to twenty until eventually news of my weekly class notes spread like wildfire across the school. After a month I was raking it in (“FK Notes” they were called, and the implied profanity make this only that much more thrilling to divulge) and had even diversified to other subjects.
The flip side of a successful viral marketing campaign is that you can rarely control the fire of publicity once it gets going. Somehow my teachers caught onto my extracurricular activities and, in what remains a grossly anti-entrepreneurial attack on freedom, took my notes with their bruised egos to the headmaster. Business folded immediately, partly because I was scared of being suspended but mainly because I was running out of material. But I think of my Spectra Campaign often, especially when I am considering the efficacy of more modern publicity campaigns. How wonderful it would have been to make FK Notes an online database with a paywall? How easy it would have been for me to monitor and control who gets what, when? Who knows? I could have become the go-to note maker for seventh grades across the city, the country even. And one day…(evil laughter)…the world! #FKTheWorld
But the hashtag wasn’t around then. Given its ubiquity, it may surprise you that it’s only been around since 2009 really. But now those four little lines are a weapon of publicity. They tell people what to think about. Most of the time people use them to unwillingly betray what the things they hope people associate with them (#fit #happiness #bliss, which usually implies the far more truthful #insecure, #needy #myparentsneverlovedme). But more recently, the little symbol has been itself branded a weapon of radical grassroots social change, in essence declaring that if you hashtag it, it will be.
Ordinary citizens, civil society organisations and other groups have ralled around the #JusticeForZainab hashtag
It works to make famous catchy phrases that highlight social causes in public discourse, like #blacklivesmatter, #bringbackourgirls or #metoo. These are powerful slogans, and each has deservedly brought attention to the cause they represent. But I find myself consistently skeptical of the value of hashtag politics in a place like Pakistan.
This past week, #juticeforZainab became a rallying cry, or wail of anguish against the brutal violation of a seven-year-old girl who was raped, killed and thrown on a trash heap in Kasur. It shone a particularly harsh and alarming light on the city, which has not only seen several other young girls similarly killed, but was the hub of a vast pedophilic porn ring that went unchecked – and was even protected — for years. That we should be angry that a child was raped and killed is not radical politics, it’s human decency. It is basic humanity to protect children, a natural instinct. (Recall that after all those months on top of his container shouting a cliché of useless slogans, it was the massacre of the Army School children that eventually forced Imran Khan to abandon his ill-conceived dharna.)
I wonder if there would be a similar outrage against sexual abuse in the madrassras of Pakistan
It is right that we should be angry. But when I see people use the hashtag as evidence of a “changing society” I feel uncertain. Using a hashtag to lodge a complaint against something as universally reviled as pedophilia is easy because it is widely acceptable, but I wonder if there would be a similar outrage against sexual abuse in the madrassras and other religious institutions? What about child labour laws? Would our begums share statuses on their iPhones as their infants are handled by prepubescent maids? Can we hashtag ‘justice for journalists’ without fear of being blacklisted by “the Boys?” Or bemoan the piteous fact that, amidst all the tragedy in their lives, Zainab’s father found the time to demand that the man leading the investigation step down because he is an Ahmedi? Can we hashtag religious intolerance in Pakistan? Martial Rape? Military intervention in foreign policy?
I suppose the more pertinent question here is: would it matter if we did? If the hashtag is a symbol of heroic revolt, surely it is functional only if the thing you’re protesting is under wraps, or contested by society at large, or not perceived as a vice by the public in the first place.
