A Popular Past: Personal Narratives of Heritage Places
This week and for several weeks to come I am overwhelmed with running an online course for UNBC so I will be posting some pieces written a few or more than a few years ago about a different world and my former life. But I suggest that in many ways that matter that world is not so very different and that maybe it has something to offer us, some points to make and issues to raise that we should also think about…
A Popular Past: Personal Narratives of Heritage Places
Sohbet: Journal of Art & Culture, Vol. 02, 2011
National College of Arts Lahore
The Crisis of Conservation of Historic Places
The heritage of Pakistan is under serious threat; at best it is ignored and too often it is destroyed either by new development or by insensitive “conservation”. Pakistan is not alone in this respect, it is a condition shared by innumerable historic cities across Asia. “As in the West, communities in Asia now realize that a city is not just bricks and mortar, but a combination of narratives that make up the unique character of the place – with stories about the place constantly evolving.” [1]
The heritage management industry has developed a full kit of tools to approach the problem, from inventories, restoration and adaptive reuse guidelines to cultural tourism schemes and integrated urban revitalization. However, as observed by the noted heritage analyst Herb Stovel, “an overview of the efforts to safeguard historic cities over the last thirty-five years does not provide great confidence in the effectiveness of the many measures introduced for protecting urban heritage… If we stand back to assess the overall effectiveness of our collective efforts, it is difficult not to recognize that we appear to be slowly losing the battle for retention of the heritage values of our cities. [3]
The “we” to whom Stovel refers is the professional heritage management community who are upholders of what can be called the “authorized heritage discourse” [2]. This hegemonic discourse is embedded in concepts of technical and aesthetic expertise and institutionalized in government agencies, academic departments and preservation societies. It is based on the core notions that monumentality, grand scale and innate significance tied to beauty and time depth are what makes heritage and that it is the right or responsibility of experts to decide its fate and ensure the maintenance of authenticity through conservation “as found”.
As defined by this authorized discourse, heritage is not an active process or experience, “but rather it is something visitors are led to, are instructed about, but are then not invited to engage with more actively” [2] It frames heritage audiences as passive receivers of the endorsed message and creates barriers between people and their heritage.
How then can people actively negotiate meaning for their past and define significant social and cultural roles for it to play in the present and future if they are excluded from the process or, at best, invited to be educated and to blindly support other peoples conservation agendas? If the heritage profession is failing in its task to provide security and context for remnants of the past, can we envision a revised or alternative approach? One that would bring us back to what is surely the real subject of heritage preservation and management – the cultural processes that engage with acts of remembering the past, interpreting the present and imagining the future - processes which are facilitated by “heritage sites” but not reliant on them.
Personal Narratives
As a backdrop to this discussion I want to present two short narratives set in what I call “minor monuments”. By this I mean historical sites which are acknowledged within the authoritative context as having heritage significance due to their historical associations and architectural features. As such they are protected by antiquities legislation but only to a minimal degree; they receive little or no maintenance, no study and are closed to the public. Such minor monuments can be found scattered all over Lahore and other historic cities of Pakistan, slowly degrading under our watchful eyes.
The first narrative is set in Gulabi Bagh, near the University of Engineering and Technology on the GT Road, Lahore. The site comprises one of its original gateways, a portion of its original garden space and the Tomb built by Shahjahan in 1671 for his wet nurse Dai Anga. Both buildings have remnants of their original exquisite tile mosaic decoration and fine frescoes. The second narrative takes place at the Tomb of Ali Mardan Khan, built at the same period by the architect and designer of the great canal which brought water from the River Ravi to Shalamar Bagh. The tomb was built for his mother and he was later laid to rest beside her. Both stories are based on interviews and site observations collated into representative narratives. 1
Narrative 1 set in Gulabi Bagh
Mohammad Afzal took a break from his all-day card playing, to stretch his legs and have a cigarette. He and his group of elderly friends had climbed the fence into Gulabi Bagh heritage site earlier that day, as they did almost every day. The site was technically closed to the public but the guards didn’t seem to care much that they occupied the space near the foot of the Gate for their retirement club. He walked around the side of the Gate now, pausing to look up at its colourful mosaic flowers and patterns and the elegant inscriptions. He had been coming here all his life, growing up nearby and driving his rickshaw in the adjacent streets, and he remembered it as bigger and much greener in the past.
Rows of saroo trees used to line the pathway leading from the noble Gate to the Tomb of Dai Anga. Now it was still the only green and open space in the neighbourhood but not so open or so green.
The Gateway into Ghulabi Bagh [Rose Garden] with Tomb beyond
The weather was good today and there were lots of people in the site, students huddled over their books, boys teasing a cat and some young woman with a camera and a measuring tape peering closely at the outside walls of the Mughal tomb. Strolling towards the Tomb he passed the madressah boys playing cricket after school and the regular gaggle of little ones who snuck in from the nearby katchi abadi, gathered off to one side munching on the fruit they had pilfered from the beri trees. They couldn’t afford equipment to play cricket but they played hide and seek in the cool of the garden or marbles inside the chambers of the tomb. They loved this place with its coolness and grass and they would stay until dark when the guards would chase them away saying that the site had no lights and it wasn’t safe to be alone with the drug addicts in the night.
It would be a good thing if there was more grass, flowers and trees like a real garden and if the drug addicts were kept away. They could go somewhere else – they didn’t appreciate either the garden or the tomb. After all, the site was important; it should be looked after, if not for us, then for the young ones who have a right to enjoy such places. This monument is very significant for those of us who use it, he thought, and since it was built with love, it should be maintained with love. Instead, we have destroyed it.
M Afzal playing cards with his friends in their regular spot at the gateway into Gulabi Bagh
M. Afzal recalled that once he had chatted between card games with a young man watching over his young daughter as she played on the steps of the Tomb. He was a well dressed business man who worked in Shah Alami Bazaar and lived in a nearby house. He was very knowledgeable – he had even sought out Dai Anga’s Masjid near the Railway Station after he had read about it in some newspaper. He had told M. Afzal all about the history of the place and that the Emperor Jehangir must have really loved and respected Dai Anga to build such a beautiful tomb for her. That was the reason it was important to look after the site since it symbolized the love and respect of a king for his wet-nurse who was, after all, most probably just a commoner like them.
Most of the youngsters didn’t have any idea at all about the history of the place; once he had sent a boy packing to read the dingy old information board at the entrance to the site. The boy had come back better informed saying that since this was a shrine built by a Muslim king, we should revere it and look after it. There was no doubt that the site could do with sprucing up, some toilets would be a blessing and some lighting, but then he remembered that, after all, none of them was supposed to be here in the first place. This was a closed monument.
Local boys climbing the wall to play in the garden
Narrative 2 set in the Tomb of Ali Mardan Khan
It was Thursday evening and as R and her friends tumbled out of the rickshaw they balanced containers of food, flowers and bags. All assembled, they set off down the long “tunnel” leading to the Tomb of Ali Mardan Khan. The path was enclosed by walls and covered with wire netting to keep people from getting into the adjacent railway grounds but R. always felt it was more like a ceremonial entrance to the tomb and the night’s magic. When they reached the Gulabi Bagh end the site opened up in front of them, green and full of trees with the grand tomb in the center and its mosaic covered gate beyond. As she walked to the entrance of the tomb, R. paused to look at the empty pools and the overgrown grounds and wondered how splendid it would look if water reflected the buildings and flowers lined the now- buried pathways.
The Tomb of Ali Mardan Khan
The site belonged to the government and was closed except on Thursdays, although people seemed to get in and out without much problem. Mostly they came to visit the shrine of Ali Mardan in the basement of the tomb. After dropping all their things on a mat spread under the grand central dome of the tomb, some of her friends went downstairs to pay their respects to the saint, but R. remained upstairs and sat alone on the cool mat looking up at the ceiling above her.
The whole interior was bare brick, as though someone had intentionally and carefully stripped it of every inch of decoration. She was sure it must have been decorated – after all, her husband, who was a clerk in a government office, had told that Ali Mardan had built it for his mother and he wouldn’t have left it unadorned. Somehow it made no difference really, because it was the space that was magical; people sat under it transfixed. Whenever she came there were always groups reclining and speaking in hushed voices, young men with books and old men at rest.
When her friends returned they spread out their food on a cloth and ate without too much discussion. They saved a generous portion for Pir Sb. [Sufi spiritual guide], wrapping it up and setting it aside. Excitement mounted as the group climbed the steep stairs up to the roof of the Tomb. A narrow platform of eroding brick led round to a small set of steps which took them to their destination. It was their secret space, or so it seemed, shared only with their aamal, Phir Sb., a space formed between the domed ceiling which R. could see when she looked up from the floor of the tomb below and the dome above it which one saw from outside.
Discarded terracotta lamps and garlands of wishes
Through a short passage she could see their Pir Sb., seated cross-legged on a mat placed on the top of the curved surface. Around and below him ran a narrow circular walkway. The darkness was broken by only the oil lamps placed all around the dome, their smoke mixing with the heavy incense. R. joined the other women as they walked slowly round and round the Phir, chanting their prayers. Like her they were praying for love, for good marriages for their daughters, for healthy grandchildren and prosperous husbands. Some had special concerns: violent husbands, addicted sons or secret loves but her prayers were simple – just send me love. Some women paused in their prayers and tied baubles or bright coloured cloths on the garlands strung along the passage, and others lit more lamps or placed alms in front of the Phir. But mostly they continued round and round, a stream of female voices floating in a sacred space high above the ground and the world below.
Alternate Voices and What they are Saying
Through these narratives we hear alternative voices telling us what heritage sites mean to them. This is not “community participation” or “social inclusion” as crafted by the authorized heritage discourse to collect and incorporate opinions from stakeholders on proposals they did not design or endorse. This is the expression of subaltern discourses on how people engage with history at intense and personal levels, achieved not by perceiving heritage through the filter of expert interpretation but by individual relationships with places and spaces.
The people we see in these narratives are not the programmed target audience of the heritage management profession – an imagined group of semi to well – educated locals and tourists receptive to becoming better informed and experiencing the truth about the past. They are rather the marginalized old, women and children, poor, under-educated, dislocated and transient. In fact, they are almost everyone living in the historic cities of this country. They do not relate heritage to their identity as passive receivers, and not in active and self-conscious opposition to the authorized discourse. They simply relate without any reference to it at all, falling outside its sphere of influence.
Living within the remains of ancient environments and mediating your relationship with them on a daily basis can be deeply rewarding, but it can also be a negative experience. Think of the young student who surreptitiously chips away day after day at the sculpted figures decorating the Hindu mandar [temple] which now serves as his madrassah [Islamic school], determined to eliminate the sin from his world; or the family that has shut up a room of their tiny house, space they can really not afford to waste, because it backs directly onto an abandoned Hindu temple, replete with potential curses and dangers. Feelings can be ambivalent when objects from the past pose contemporary problems, like the historical step well that must be covered and sealed to eliminate the risk to local children or the ancient but collapsing house that cannot be lived in, and becomes a rubbish dump and home to rats and snakes.
Communities regularly make decisions about these heritage management issues without recourse to professional input or international guidelines. Positive or negative, inspiring or offensive, this is involvement at a fundamental and vibrant level, fulfilling Lowenthal’s definition of heritage as a way of acquiring or engaging with a sense of history [1] The weekly experience of the women gathering at Ali Mardan’s Tomb is enhanced in intangible but pivotal ways by the setting. The intensely private interactions with a heritage space that we see in these narratives take on cultural complexity that would be lacking if they took place just anywhere – choosing to pray, play cards, deface and barricade or throw your garbage in a heritage place can be a concrete expression of inclusion or rejection, acceptance or dissent . Such interactions bypass conventional “experience the past” interpretations provided for visitors to heritage sites. They enable communities who are otherwise outside the dominant heritage message, to actively remake and consume meaning of the past in and for the present. [4]
The inevitable corollary of this debate is a need to enhance and further empower this self- conscious process, without transforming it into meaningless public participation or subsuming its energy into the conventional heritage management agenda. We have inherited a legacy of complex and rich urban heritage which survived for millennia without the benefit of “heritage management”.
It exists because of generations of community decision – making and has been shaped by individual narratives which may be at odds with heritage management “best practice”. This is the challenge for the heritage profession and its authorized discourse and for individual practitioners who must be willing to act outside current industry norms and standards if they want to engage with this genuinely personal understanding of historical space and its value to the present.
[A finishing note: Since this was written in 2011 the garden space of Ghulabi Bagh have been totally landscaped with so-called Mughal style garden beds. The space for lounging, playing or courting is gone. Now it is a showcase garden without purpose or audience.]