BEING A PAKISTANI MUSLIM IN HIS HOME TOWN

Luton is more than an airport: Sarfraz Manzoor explains how he
defied stereotyping to make a Saturday night television show out of being a Pakistani Muslim in his home town

By Sarfraz Manzoor, Guardian Newspapers Limited, February 28, 2005

When the call came saying that the BBC wanted me to present a programme I
was naturally delighted. What would they offer me? The possibilities raced
around my brain: perhaps they had read one of my Guardian columns and
wanted me to present a film about celebrity cults. Maybe someone had seen
me on Newsnight Review and fancied me presenting a profile of some
cultural titan. Images flashed and flared inside my brain: I saw myself
discussing literature with Philip Roth, sharing a coffee with Martin
Scorsese. My head became so giddy I almost did not hear what the BBC were
actually offering: a chance to make a programme about being a Pakistani
Muslim from Luton. Oh bugger.

Talk about revisiting old ground: I first wrote about Luton back in 2001.
I thought I had moved on but being a writer and broadcaster with my
background means constantly having to challenge the lazy thinking of
others who can't get their heads round the fact that I, like most Muslims,
don't spend all day musing about religion and bemoaning my fragile sense
of identity.

Some people are never happier than when putting others in boxes. For the
unimaginative, the only thing they want to hear is what they think they
already know. I also had the depressing feeling that my programme was
expected to be another grim trawl through the usual laundry list: the
alienated youths, the hidden threat of terrorists lurking in mosques, the
poverty of ambition among British Pakistanis. That coffee with Marty may
have to wait.

When I learned the programme was to be part of an evening about British
Pakistanis and it was to be produced by the Asian Programme Unit my mood
moved from apprehension to downright scepticism. There was something about
the idea of an Asian Programme Unit which felt very eighties, as outdated
in fact as the word "Asian".

I never watch programmes that are, apparently, aimed at me as a British
Pakistani. In fact, whether it is on the BBC or Channel 4 nothing makes me
leap for the remote control faster than something that appears targeted at
the "Asian community"; most of those programmes are either crushingly
tedious, pointless polemics or comically absurd in their attempts to be
hip. I am more comfortable with the argument that issues of
multiculturalism are the responsibility of all programme departments.
Perhaps one could argue that a distinct department guarantees that a
particular section of the licence fee paying audience will have their own
programming, but it also risks allowing everyone else to escape their own
responsibilities.

The main reason why I agreed to make the programme was the opportunity to
work with Riete Oord. She is a hugely talented director with an impressive
track record. She doesn't make "multicultural" documentaries and that made
me think that this could be a project worth accepting. I was also excited
to discover that we both wanted the programme to be entertaining, witty
and affectionate. We did not want the usual tired cliches.

This was to be a programme about my home town of Luton but it would not be
another example of metropolitan cynicism directed at those unfortunate
enough not to live in Stoke Newington. It had to be about what Luton and
its Pakistani community are actually like, hence its title Luton Actually.
But while the programme was about Luton we wanted it to be accessible to
everyone - most importantly, it could not ever be confused with a current
affairs documentary. The rule that Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David laid
down in writing Seinfeld was "No lessons, no hugs"; in my programme the
rule was "No issues, no statistics". And music, lots of music. It was the
music which got me into the most trouble. My musical tastes have often
been described as offensive but it was only during the course of making
Luton Actually that they were accused of possibly being blasphemous. The
sequence in question was of people praying at Luton Mosque, and I wanted
to illustrate that for most Muslims their religion is personal and
peaceful. I chose a gospel song from Iris Dement entitled I've Got That
Old Time Religion In My Heart. I was making the point that there is a
shared sense of devotion among Christians and Muslims. There was a degree
of nervousness among BBC executives - still smarting from the Jerry
Springer furore - that the song might offend Muslims. A compromise was
reached and a researcher sent to play the clip at the mosque.

Thankfully the mullahs proved to be more sophisticated and tolerant than
the TV executives and the sequence remains in the programme. The
experience proved that often those with little actual knowledge of the
Muslim community can end up making inappropriate decisions. It also
demonstrated the obstacles faced when trying to make interesting
television. Where other genres, such as history, drama and documentaries,
have developed new ways of telling stories, current affairs remains rooted
in a solemn world where over-excited reporters try to scare the viewer
witless. I wanted to prove that you do not need to shout to be heard; you
just need to have something to say. Last week I showed Luton Actually at a
free private screening in Luton. The cinema was packed but what was most
gratifying was just how diverse the audience was. Not just Pakistanis but
blacks and whites, parents and students, the unemployed and professionals.
Later, an Irishman told me he had been moved and that the themes of family
and heritage chimed with his own experience. The reaction was very
positive and as I watched them watching my programme and heard the
audience contributions afterwards it struck me that this is what we mean
when we talk about a dialogue between communities.

The evening helped me appreciate the value of the BBC: only the BBC would
have commissioned Luton Actually, and if such programmes contribute to the
dialogue it is a dialogue the BBC is probably best placed to mediate. The
screening also confirmed that towns such as Luton rarely get the
television they deserve because most television folk cannot imagine that
people might actually want to live there. What Luton Actually demonstrates
too is that it is possible to make programmes that are entertaining and
accessible about unpromising subjects and people will come to them. What
is needed is fresh thinking from the programme-makers and encouragement
from television executives. BBC2 controller Roly Keating deserves credit
for taking the risk for screening the programmes on a Saturday night. This
is a statement of intent from the channel that they believe in them and I
hope that their faith is rewarded. Now about that Scorsese documentary.

Luton Actually is on BBC2 on March 5 at 10pm. saf-manzoor@hotmail.com