This piece contains descriptions of terrorism and gun violence.
Around two years ago, I saw the movie “Raving Iran” in a makeshift cinema in one of Berlin’s most-visited techno clubs, Griessmühle. While watching the movie, I was struck by the sense of irony – it was almost funny, watching a movie about how difficult it was to rave or simply create music in an authoritarian-religious context while sitting in one of the spaces where doing those very things was celebrated every weekend. These ravers risked everything - being caught, arrested, beaten up or even shunned by their own families and thrown out of their houses. I felt almost thankful for how the rave scene had operated in my home country of Pakistan. Parties in large, private houses and underground raves hidden away in some abandoned leather factory (neither safe, nor particularly ‘appropriate’ for a Pakistani girl to go to) seemed a walk in the park to access than for those living in Iran.
A twisted sense of privilege washed over me; certainly, the complete lawlessness of law and order in Pakistan meant that policemen were more likely to ask for bribes rather than arrest anyone if they caught people at a rave – if you’re rich or middle-class enough to afford it. Parties are for the privileged, English-speaking middle/elite classes, who have more in common with Americans than with their own working-class countrymen. From the outside, Pakistan looks like a hyper-religious country; on the inside, if you are privileged or well-connected, subverting the law is often pretty easy. It isn’t very secure to do so for a girl, given security concerns and the wicked, omnipresent eye of society scrutinizing your every move. But it sure as hell is doable.
I think of where I am right now, far away from all of this in Germany. While Berlin routinely offers a bountiful crop of all-weekend ragers, the parties in Pakistan operate in the shadows. Although music such as deep house, tech house and EDM has become more prevalent in the past couple of years - bringing artists like Diplo and Sander Kleinenberg to our humble homeland – the electronic music scene remains somewhat tame, with little room for experimentation. This is partly because electronic musicians rarely have the space to explore and thrive in their art - be it through lack of familial encouragement, low government investment in the arts, pushback from fundamentalists, barriers to obtaining music knowledge or equipment, or simply not having a place to do what they want to do. Parties are seen to promote ‘immoral behaviour’, which is a vague term that encapsulates everything between freely talking to the opposite sex to doing heroin, depending on how liberal your family is.
I suppose it’s partly due to the nature of the party culture. For a select few, it’s about advancing a niche, underground scene. For others, it’s simply a way to shake off the shackles of conformity in a space which doesn’t judge them for doing so. In a country caught between the pull of extremism and the cultural hegemony of the West, some people just want to escape it all. I remember having a conversation with a friend after a party about the hedonistic drive towards escapism in Pakistan. “It makes sense,” she said.
“When you constantly have to be a watered-down version of yourself, to live by your parent’s rules, society’s rules – or the fucking government’s rules – wouldn’t you want to get totally fucked up for at least one night?”
It does make sense. Why did the ravers in Iran, under constant threat by the religious police, defy every command that their tyrannical government had demanded they obey? Why did they willingly put themselves in danger for a night of dancing under the desert moon? Was it simply for the love of the music, or did they need to escape? I’m reminded of the times back when I was a teenager, when we would hear whispers about extremist groups planning an attack on some major party or the other. As recently as two years ago, there was an incident where some DJs had a dispute at a party and someone was shot in the aftermath. Whenever I hear the phrase ‘toxic masculinity’ now, I think of that incident. Even after hearing those kinds of rumours, or experiencing these kinds of events, people still go to parties.
For a country that has walked through the shadow of terrorism, this kind of risk-seeking behaviour isn’t unusual. Back in 2007, when Benazir Bhutto - a politician who had served as first female Prime Minister of Pakistan - was assassinated, there were riots in the city of Karachi, which we just happened to be visiting at the time. People were torching cars, breaking windows, looting stores and flooding the streets. The city was ordered to be completely shut down – we didn’t leave our house for 5 days. On the 6th day, our restlessness had gotten the better of our young brains and my uncle reluctantly took us on a midnight drive. Everywhere we drove, we were met with an eerie silence, when usually there was at least the bustling vibrancy of awful traffic gracing the streets. But even when there wasn’t a car in sight on the roads, we noticed that some restaurants had their blinds half-closed and their lights dimmed, but were full to the brim with people out for a midnight meal. I like to think of that instance sometimes as our own special flavor of defiance.
It’s weird sitting in a place like Griessmühle and thinking of all this. It almost feels like I’ve entered the Upside-Down. Part of me tells myself that I should constantly feel gratitude. That I should thank whatever freaky force of nature dropped me into this crazy city. Another part feels immediately guilty. There are so many family members, so many friends and talented people I’ve left behind who may never have that support system in place that encourages them to sincerely be themselves. I guess that’s the thing about escaping – it’s never truly possible.
Photography and image design by Abeera Atif and Liam Li. Edited by Siobhan McKay.
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