Are the notions of honour, dignity and esteem of relevance in our times? Most Indians would think not. For, in our world it is the lack of these notions that seem to drive unrestrained greed and corruption. To the cynical Indian, the world appears wholly amoral and bereft of all value systems, most of all of honour. It, therefore, comes as a surprise to stumble upon the works of Kwame Anthony Appiah, a Princeton University professor, who argues that no matter how crass and opportunistic the world might appear, all societies do possess an honour code. In fact, even the slightest reflection would reveal the importance of honour, esteem and shame in all our lives.
This is the core of Appiah’s slim but powerful book, The Honor Code. Though the book’s title is unfortunately spelled in the American manner, it is otherwise a work that is marked not just by its insightful arguments but also by its style of expression. Appiah, a London-born Ghanaian philosopher and cultural theorist, has produced a remarkably thought-provoking work that forces one to revisit our first-hand notions about the world and our responses to it. Central, of course, to his theme is the notion of honour, no matter how it is spelt.
Appiah draws our attention to the centrality and importance of an apparently abstract idea like honour. It is not abstract but real, he points out: “What you do deliberately with your face — whether you present it boldly or hide it away — is not the only thing that matters. We blush involuntarily with shame; and tears well up in our eyes when we feel intensely, especially when we experience such moral emotions such as indignation and pride... To care for your honour is to want to be worthy of respect. If you realise you have done something that makes you unworthy, you feel shame whether or not anyone is watching”.
Later in the book, he writes: “We are indeed a spectacularly violent species... We fight not only for food and sex and power but also for honour”. The problem, the author argues, is not the lack of honour systems but that honour and morality are not necessarily congruous. He quotes Pakistan’s best-known rights activist Asma Jehangir as asking the fundamental question: “What sort of honour is it to open fire on an unarmed woman?”
Yet, millions in Pakistan believe that it is the right of a family to retrieve its honour by murdering their daughter if she is seen to have besmirched their honour. In the book, Appiah recounts the infamous case of Samia Sarwar, the daughter of a Pathan notable in Pakistan, who had dared to defy her family and file a divorce case against her husband, a violent, abusive man who had abandoned her a few years after their marriage. Samia, after many years, was in love with another man and wanted a divorce. She had taken shelter in Dastak, a voluntarily organisation for women run by Asma Jehangir’s sister. Her mother sought an interview, which was granted, but she brought with her an assassin who shot Samia through the head before he himself was gunned down by a guard. Samia’s mother escaped and neither she nor any other member of her family was ever brought to justice. In Pakistan’s parliament, several speeches were voiced — all in favour of Samia’s family and their quest for honour.
While in Pakistan and parts of India, the practice of honour killings continues, things are changing. More and more rights groups and social leaders are speaking against the practice. International opprobrium is forcing governments to change laws and enforce it. In other words, an alternate honour system is gradually evolving even in the darkest parts of Pakistan and north India. And that is the thing about honour systems, argues Appiah. They evolve and change with society and motivated campaigning.
England, which once considered itself the repository of all things honourable, was itself home to an extremely pernicious honour code as Appiah recounts. England’s honour code for gentleman, which encouraged egregious practices such as duelling, started to break down as the power of the landed gentry declined. In China, the horrible practice of foot binding of high caste women also came to an end with active campaigning and a change in the notion of what was honourable.
Thus, Indians too have ground for hope. Despite the unrestrained financial rape of the country, the bludgeoning of dissent and the use of intimidation to silence whistleblowers, more and more Indians are voicing their disgust and anger at the processes at work. The media’s persistent and often embarrassing glare on the protagonists of loot and injustice too is working its own dynamics. Hitherto it did not matter how you made money as long as you had lots of it. Suddenly it does matter how you make your money. Are you exhibited as a public enemy furtively looking at the camera from behind bars or as an extremely dubious voice in a taped telephone conversation? Things will change when people like the thugs in the Commonwealth Games, the banks, the bureaucracy, the Army, political parties and the media are reviled in their own homes. Then the moral revolution in this country truly would have begun. Thank you, Appiah.

Indranil Banerjie is a Fellow at Vivekananda International Foundation