The film of Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children is set to be released on 1 February. If the team behind the movie adaptation is at all nervous about screening the film they have good reason. Rushdie, who wrote the screenplay, and has been the literary face for freedom of expression for years, has a tumultuous history of censorship with India.
The Booker prize-winning book is about two children, born at the stroke of midnight as India gained its independence. Their lives become intertwined with the life of this new country.
One of the figures in the book, The Widow, was based on former Prime Minister Indira Gandhi. In the book, the character, through genocide and several wars, helps destroy Midnight’s Children. Gandhi had imposed a widely-criticised State of Emergency in India.
In an interesting turn of events, Gandhi threatened Rushdie libel over a single line. That line suggested that Gandhi’s son Sanjay had accused his mother of bringing about his father’s heart attack through neglect. Rushdie settled out of court, and the single line was removed from the book.
The movie adaptation of Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children
The real controversy that followed, the one that changed Rushdie’s life completely, came after the 1988 release of his book The Satanic Verses. While the Iranian supreme leader Ayatollah Khomeini had issued a fatwa against Rushdie and called for his execution (citing the book as blasphemous), the author saw many countries, including India, indulge in their own brand of censorship.
As has been revealed in Rushdie’s memoir Joseph Anton, the author felt the Indian government banned his book without much scrutiny. The Finance Ministry banned the book under section 11 of the Customs Act, and in that order stated that this ban did not detract from the literary and artistic merit of his work. Rushdie, appalled at the logic penned a letter to the then prime minister of India, Rajiv Gandhi, stating:
Apparently, my book is not deemed blasphemous or objectionable in itself, but is being proscribed for, so to speak, its own good… From where I sit, Mr Gandhi, it looks very much as if your government has become unable or unwilling to resist pressure from more or less any extremist religious grouping; that, in short, it’s the fundamentalists who now control the political agenda.
Rushdie was right, of course. Years later, in 2007, he attended the first Jaipur Literary Festival in India unnoticed. Without any security or fuss, he arrived unannounced, mingling with the crowd. Things had changed dramatically by 2012, when Rushdie’s arrival to the now must-attend literary festival was much publicised, and predictably attracted controversy.
Maulana Abul Qasim Nomani, vice-chancellor at India’s Muslim Deoband School, called for the government to cancel Rusdie’s visa for the event as he had annoyed the religious sentiments of Muslims in the past. (Incidentally, Rushdie does not need a visa to enter India as he holds a PIO — “Person of Indian Origin” — card.)
The controversy escalated quickly, with the organisers first attempting to link Rushdie via video instead of having him physically present, but then cancelling the arrangement when the Festival came under graver physical threat. It was a sad day for freedom of expression in India, especially considering the fact that many, including Rushdie felt these moves were politically motivated because of upcoming elections in Uttar Pradesh, where the Muslim vote is very important. The government vehemently denied these claims.
Liberals in India were shocked at the illiberal values that the modern India state espoused, feigning to not be able to protect a writer and a festival against the threats of protestors. Shoma Chaudhary of Tehelka wrote:
The trouble is nobody any longer knows what Rushdie was doing inThe Satanic Verses: neither those who are offended by him, nor those who defend him. Almost no one, including this writer, was given a chance to read the book.
Later in the year, initial press reports around Midnight’s Children revealed that the film could not find a distributorin India. The production team thought it might be a case of self-censorship as the film featured a controversial portrayal of Indira Gandhi. However, PVR Pictures, a major distributor in India, has plans to release the film in the country in February 2013.
31 years after the Midnight’s Children hit the stands, and the same year as he was bullied into cancelling a visit to a literary festival, it seems Salman Rushdie will yet again challenge Indian society. It remains to be seen if he will, yet again, become a pawn in the internal politics of the country.
Judging by sales figures, Turkish readers love comics magazines and graphic novels, but the political and military leaders of the country have had little patience for them, an examination of Turkey’s banned books revealed last month.
On 5 January 2013, the Turkish government will lift bans against 453 books and 645 periodicals blacklisted over a 63 year period. It is part of a package of judicial reforms that will also offer a conditional pardon for certain media and freedom of expression offences and secure greater free expression in the publishing field.
When Turkish journalists got hold of the astonishing list of banned books at the end of November, a surprise awaited them. Amid titles of works by “usual suspects” — Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, Vladimir Lenin; Turkish authors Nazım Hikmet and Aziz Nesin; and the theologian Said Nursî — the figure of Captain Miki (or “Tommiks” as he is known here) made an unexpected appearance. One episode among the adventures of the Italian hero, who has been popular with Turkish readers since the 1950s, was banned for more than 52 years, they learned.
So how exactly did Captain Miki offend Turkish state? The Prosecutor’s report revealed that a single issue of Captain Miki’s adventures was banned in 1961, months after the 27 May 1960 military coup took place. The generals, who hung a democratically elected prime minister the same year, accused Captain Miki of having encouraged laziness and a “spirit of adventurousness” among Turkish people.
When I called MK Perker, one of Turkey’s most prolific comic book authors, to ask about Captain Miki’s tragic fate, he didn’t sound much surprised. In 2011, Perker and a group of famous Turkish comic writers published Harakiri, a high quality comics magazine which was fined the Turkish equivalent of 50,000 GBP after putting out only two issues. They were accused of precisely the same offence: Encouraging laziness and a spirit of adventurousness among Turkish people.
“Some people spy on comics magazines,” he said, “and then complain to prosecutors about certain images they find disagreeable. These are mostly random events. You can’t foresee them. A magazine publishes content similar to ours and nothing happens. But just because someone picks on you and files a complaint, you end up getting in trouble.”
Perker, whose comics appear weekly in the Sunday supplements of two national newspapers, said he regularly feels the need to self-censor his own work. “For my newspaper pieces, I need to be cautious,” he said. “But in places like Harakiri I feel more free. We don’t have a boss at the magazine. We don’t have to show our work to an editor. We don’t run any advertisement so there is no fear of ever losing our artistic independence. Harakiri is like HBO [the American cable television network] when compared to comic sections of national newspapers,” he said.
Despite the 50,000 GBP fine in 2011 putting an end to his happy days of artistic independence, Perker and his friends put out a third issue earlier this year.
Credit: Habertürk
Perker, whose works appeared in the New Yorker, Mad Magazine, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Washington Post and Heavy Metal among others, began his career at the Turkish cartoon magazine Gırgır, which used to sell half a million copies in its heyday during the 1970s. I asked Perker whether things got better in terms of freedom of expression since his days in Gırgır.
“Censorship always existed in Turkey,” he said. “It is a very consistent phenomenon. After the 12 September 1980 coup d’état, Gırgır was shut down by the military junta. Markopaşa, the weekly satirical magazine published by the Turkish author Sabahattin Ali, was closed numerous times. Its publishers had to sell the magazine personally on streets because there was simply no other way to distribute it,” he said.
In Ottoman times, under rule of Sultan Abdul Hamid II, cartoonists and comic writers faced similar problems. Perker points out that when the Sultan’s pointed nose became a subject of cartoons, a ban was issued against newspapers running such images. He says:
The Sultan’s nose became a metaphor for government. Depictions of all pointed noses were outlawed. Comic magazine publishers had to go to Geneva in order to continue their publishing operations.
According to Perker, despite the pressures on their activities, the influence of comic magazines continue to be a force in Turkey’s cultural life. The political response to weekly comic magazines has even become a subject for debate in government.
In 2005, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan sued Penguen magazine when it published a cartoon that depicted him as an elephant, giraffe, monkey, camel, frog, snake, cow and duck. Erdogan lost the case on free expression grounds. While some parliamentarians sue cartoonists in courts, others, like the deputy prime minister Bülent Arınç said he wanted all cases against cartoonists dropped and expressed his support in 2010.
This is a feeling shared by Kürşat Kayra, the Ankara prosecutor who prepared the legal documents that lifted bans placed on hundreds of books, newspapers and periodicals:
If we don’t acknowledge that the right to freedom of expression is a fundamental human right, then we won’t be able to say ‘the king is naked!’ when the occasion arises.
Kaya Genc is a Turkish essayist and novelist. Follow him on Twitter: @kayagenc
Music has always been a medium to stir up controversy — from glass harmonicas being banned briefly in the 18th century for driving people mad, to the censoring of Elvis Presley’s wiggling hips on the US-based Ed Sullivan show in 1957. Censorship in the music industry is no relic of the past. Only this month, Egyptian authorities announced a bar on “romantic music”. Here are our favourite modern examples of banned music:
Taming the rave
Authorities in England and Wales attempted to curb the fun in 1994, introducing the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act. This defined raves as “illegal gatherings,” putting a stop to any electronic music one might to listen to at an outdoor party. The Act defines banned music as including “sounds wholly or predominantly characterised by the emission of a succession of repetitive beats.” 18 years after the act was introduced, the parties still appear in their masses — as do the police. Here’s Norfolk Police bashing away at some rave equipment following an order for destruction by request of the court:
Sensuality censored
In a bid to halt “vulgarity and bad taste”, music lovers in Cuba were hit with a tough sanction in December: a complete ban of the sexually-charged reggaeton music in the media. Other music genres with aggressive or sexually explicit lyrics will also be curbed, preventing the songs from being played on television or radio. Under legislation passed under President Raul Castro, music can be enjoyed privately, but will also be banned in public spaces — anyone discovered to be breaking the law could be subject to severe fines and suspensions. According to Cuban Music Institute boss Orlando Vistel Columbié, the music genre violates the “inherent sensuality” of Cuban women. One of the most well-known reggaeton artists is the Puerto Rican born artist Daddy Yankee. Here’s his 2004 hit, Gasolina, which probably wasn’t an anthem for rising petrol prices:
Singing a song of silence
On 23 October 2012, Islamist militants took control of a country steeped in musical history, imposing a total ban of all genres of music in northern Mali. The rebel group jammed radio airwaves and confiscated mobile phones, replacing ringtones with verses from the Quran. Three Islamist groups linked to al-Qaeda have taken control of the northern Malian cities of Timbuktu, Kidal and Gao, banning everything they deemed to breach the religious law of Islam, Sharia. Dozens of musicians have fled the area, and many have been threatened with violence should they practice music again. Mali is famed for its rich cultural heritage and many residing there consider music akin to material wealth. Musician Khaira Arby has fled south since the crisis. Here she is with her band Sourgou:
Careless whispers from Iranian government
Iran had a pop at western music in 2005, decreeing it illegal, along with other “offensive” music. The Supreme Cultural Revolutionary Council banned the music from state-run radio and TV broadcasts. The sounds of Eric Clapton, The Eagles and George Michael were often used as television background music until the ban was imposed. President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad left no 80s hallmark unscathed — banning western haircuts like the mullet two years later. George Michael’s 1984 single, Careless Whisper, breaks Iranian law with both music and hairstyles:
Romancing the state
On 13 December, Egyptian authorities banned the broadcast of “romantic” music, insisting that only songs enamoured with the state would be permitted for playing on TV stations. Only nationalistic numbers can now be played on the 23 state-owned channels, and songs mocking public figures will be banned to adhere to the “sensitivity” of the political situation in Egypt. President Mohammed Morsi fervently denied that a decree granting him sweeping powers was permanent recently. Complaints have begun to surface surrounding the musical censorship, with some speculating that it was a move to mask the development of the decree. Egyptian megastar Amr Diab’s most well-known hit, Habibi Ya Nour Al Ain (Darling, You Are The Light of My Eyes), is just one of the many tunes that won’t be heard on the country’s airwaves:
When Turkish journalists got hold of the 
