Rushdie and The Satanic Verses, Thirty Years On
O n Valentine’s Day, 1989, the world awoke to a frontal attack on values of the Enlightenment by an ancient act of theocratic barbarism.
The Supreme Leader of Iran, Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, had gone well beyond the limits of many so-called “rational actors” in condemning a book which, rightfully or not, some Muslims had taken offense to. The publication of Salman Rushdie’s The Satanic Verses elicited not merely a disavowal, but an official religious decree, a fatwa, offering a six million dollar reward for the murder of Mr. Rushdie, “so that no one will dare insult the sacred beliefs of Muslims henceforth.” Rushdie would go on to spend almost a decade in hiding, facing numerous serious attempts on his life and (sometimes successfully) on the lives of those around him who played some part in publishing and disseminating the book around the globe. (I invite the reader, at this juncture, to enjoy Christopher Hitchens’s exceptional and far more eloquent firsthand account of the proceeding here.)
Supposing that Rushdie intended offense (he did not), was an Iranian citizen and thus in some way a subject to the edicts of the Ayatollah (he was not), and intentionally and carelessly threw caution to the wind in an attempt to needlessly antagonize a major world population (he did not) — what should we make of the act and its fallout?
The only reasonable conclusion one may draw, regardless of Rushdie’s intent, is that the fatwa is illegal in international law, reprehensible, and should have been (and ought continue to be: the fatwa remains in permanent effect) roundly denounced as the ravings of a decrepit lunatic. Instead, reactions could be described, at best, as “mixed”; at worst, as largely negative and unsupportive of Rushdie’s plight. Let us not forget that the fatwa resulted, at minimum, in the murder of one translator of Verses, the stabbing of another, the shooting of a separate publisher, and multiple attempts — thankfully warded off — specifically against Rushdie, often coordinated via the Iranian Embassy. This is to say nothing of the numerous lives lost at the hands of crazed protestors the world over.
To some, this may beg the question: is it really worth it to publish a book which may offend so deeply as to result in a significant loss of life? Leaving aside the moral imperative of free speech for the moment, let’s merely examine reality as it stands. There are close to eight billion people in the world, with opinions ranging from far right to far left on any number of political issues, and beliefs ranging from the most open and inclusive to the most hard-line and exclusionary. No matter what one says or writes, it is nearly impossible to imagine that one would not be able to find a people who took offense. In the specific case of Rushdie, the size of the group is often made reference to when stating the severity of his transgression: “You have offended 1.2 billion Muslims.” Forgetting the small irony that Rushdie was a Muslim at the time of the book’s publication: the size of the offended audience has absolutely no bearing on whether or not the author of the “offensive” speech should be murdered. In fact, if anything, the right of the minority must be diligently protected against infringements by the majority, in which case Rushdie is indeed the one who deserves the greater protection.
Beyond the size of the audience and their likelihood of taking offense, there is the additional problem of the impossible, yet apparently essential, ability of precognition. The idea of self-censorship in service of reducing the risk of causing offense requires that one know, in advance, what is going to offend the relevant party. This, it should be obvious, is not only insipid and absurd, but also impracticable. Every individual has a different line for which offense comes into play. While many may hold that a general consensus can be reached as to what is offensive and what isn’t, any moderately-sized experiment in codifying such boundaries immediately brings to light many more disagreements about offensive content than any of the participants would have been independently supposed.
The point then, it should be clear, is much larger than the confines of the Rushdie affair. The offense one takes to a particular idea does not serve as justification for the censorship of said idea. Not only does it deprive the idea’s author of the right to expression — it simultaneously deprives the audience member of the right to hear the author’s point of view. The proposition that a statement oozes with power such that it cannot be uttered aloud is both laughable and wrong. In the extreme, the idea that a statement ought to result in the execution of an individual due to the offense taken by those on the receiving end is utter insanity.
The sleep of reason brings forth monsters. Let us all remember the constant vigilance with which we must defend against primeval theocratic stupidity, and rally once again around the positive good that is freedom of speech.
As on every Valentine’s Day, I encourage those whom I come in contact with to go out and reward their local bookstore by purchasing a copy of The Satanic Verses, and thus I pass that recommendation on to you, the reader. Not only will you be richer for having read the book, but you will also have supported Mr. Rushdie and simultaneously signaled to the long-deceased Ayatollah and his descendants where they can collectively stick their fatwa.
Aaron Clarke
February 14, 2019
