On Censorship - Behzti (Dishonor)

Truth is everything in Sikhism, the truth of action, the truth of an individual, God’s truth. The heritage of the Sikh people is one of courage and victory over adversity. Our leaders were brave revolutionaries with the infest minds, warriors who propagated values of egalitarianism and selflessness.

But sometimes I feel imprisoned by the mythology of the Sikh diaspora. We are apparently a living, breathing success story, breeding affluence through hard work and aspiration. There is certainly much to be proud of and our achievements and struggles have been extraordinary. They are a testament to our remarkable community – energetic, focused, and able. But where there are winners there must be losers. And loss.

I find myself drawn to that which is beneath the surface of triumph. All that is anonymous and quiet, raging, despairing, human, inhumane, absurd, and comical. To this and to those who are not beacons of multiculturalism, who live with fear and without hope and who thrive through their own versions of anti-social behavior. I believe it is necessary for any community to keep evaluating its progress, to connect with its pain and to its past. And thus to cultivate a sense of humility and empathy: something much needed in our angry, dog-eat-dog times.

Clearly, the fallibility of human nature means that the simple Sikh principles of equality, compassion, and modesty are sometimes discarded in favor of outward appearance, wealth, and the quest for power. I feel that distortion in practice must be confronted and our great ideals must be restored. Moreover, only by challenging fixed ideas of correct and incorrect behavior can institutionalized hypocrisy be broken down. Often, those who err from the norm are condemned and marginalized, regardless of right or wrong, so that the community will survive. However, such survival is only for the fittest, and the weak are some- times seen as unfortunates whose kismet is bad. Much store is set by ritual rooted in religion – though people’s preoccupation with the external and not the internal often renders these rituals meaningless.

My play reflects these concerns. I believe that drama should be provocative and relevant. I wrote Behzti because I passionately oppose injustice and hypocrisy. And because writing drama allows me to create characters, stories, a world in which I, as an artist, can play and entertain and generate debate.

The writers I admire are courageous. They present their truths and dare to take risks whilst living with their feats. They tell us life is ferocious and terrifying, that we are imperfect, and only when we embrace our imperfections honestly, can we have hope.

Such writers sometimes cause offense. But perhaps those who are affronted by the menace of dialogue and discussion, need to be offended.

The human spirit endures through the magic of story-telling. So let me tell you a story.

As a writer I lead a quiet life, so nothing could have prepared me for the furor and intense media interest of the past few weeks. I am still trying to process everything that’s happened – my play, Behzti, has been canceled, I’ve been physically threatened and verbally abused by people who don’t know me. My family has been harassed and I’ve had to leave my home.

I have chosen not to speak until now, but not because I have been frightened into silence. Dealing with the practical issues around my own safety and that of those close to me has been my priority.

Firstly, I have been deeply angered by the upset caused to my family and I ask people to see sense and leave them alone. I am very grateful for the overwhelming support I have received nationally and internationally from the artistic world, from fellow Sikhs, and many others. At a time when the power of words is under the closest scrutiny, please know that your words have kept my spirit strong.

My play and the foreword to my play are in the public domain, and I wholeheartedly stand by my work. I was very saddened by the decision to stop the play but accepted that the theater had no alternative when people’s safety could not be assured. Contrary to some reports, nothing in Behzti was ever altered as a result of pressure from anyone. As any drama practitioner knows, new writing evolves during rehearsal, and any changes made were simply part of the usual creative process between writer, director, and actors. Nor as has been suggested, did I ever veto any attempts to restage Behzti. And I will, when the time is right, discuss the play’s future with relevant parties.

The closing of the play has triggered a series of timely and valuable discussions. However, there can never be any excuse for the demonization of a religion or its followers. The Sikh heritage is one of valor and victory over adversity. Our ancestors were warriors with the finest minds who championed principles of equality and selflessness. I am proud to come from this remarkable people and do not fear the disdain of some, because I know my work is rooted in honesty and passion. I hope bridges can be built, but whether this prodigal daughter can ever return home remains to be seen.

Unfortunately, the contents of Behzti seem to have been taken out of context by many. Surely it is only by reading or seeing the whole thing that anyone can usefully comment of the decisions made and the play’s merits or flaws?

I certainly did not write Behzti to offend. It is a sincere piece of work in which I wanted to talk about what is beneath the surface of triumph – all that is anonymous, despairing, human, inhumane, and absurd – and to explore how human frailties can lead people into a prison of hypocrisy.

For a story to be truly universal I think it is important to start with that is specific. Though the play is set in a Gurdwara, its themes are not just about Sikhism, and I hope that a person of any faith, or indeed of no faith, could relate to its subject matter. I feel that the choice of setting was crucial and valid for the story I wanted to tell and, in my view, the production was respectful to Sikhism. It is only a shame that others have not had the chance to see it and judge for themselves.

Religion and art have collided for centuries and will carry on doing battle long after my play and I are forgotten. The tension between who I am, a British-born Sikh woman, and what I do, which is write drama, is, I think, at the heart of the matter. These questions of how differences in perspective and belief are negotiated in Britain today will I hope continue to bring about a lively and vital debate.

I believe that it is my right as a human being and my role as a writer to think, create and challenge. The dramatists who I admire are brave. They tell us life is ferocious and terrifying, that we are imperfect and only when we face our imperfections truthfully, can we have hope. Theater is not necessarily a cozy space, designed to make us feel good about ourselves. It is a place where the most basic human expression – that of the imagination – must be allowed to flourish.

As for the threats and hate mail – these have stirred only tolerance and courage within me. My faith remains strong and I pray that these days pass peacefully, that my life will normalize and that I can get back to working on my other commissions for theater and television. Finally, I want to pay tribute to Birmingham Rep, which has supported my work for the past six years, and to the show’s fantastic cast and crew who showed great fortitude under the most oppressive conditions. You can all rest assured – this warrior will not stop fighting.