As
I stare at the blank piece of sketch paper that sits on my messy
drawing desk, I ponder my task while the lead pencil in my hand grows
heavier the closer I bring it to the surface of the paper. I cringe and
lightly sweat as my mind forms the images I will eventually begin to
bring to life with lead and leaf.
I
am charged with drawing Muhammad, the Muslim prophet. Such a thing is a
contravention of Islamic law. An insult of gravest consequence. Can you
imagine the furore that might stem from such a drawing? I can. Which is
why I am so apprehensive about starting the drawing. I am the sort of
man that starts something and must see it to the end. If I don’t start, I
don’t have to finish. Yet, the work is demanded. I cannot say no.
As
a cartoonist working at Jyllands-Posten media company, I must draw many
things. I am, for the most part, tasked with drawing political cartoons
that satirise the figureheads of our country. I mock their mistakes,
lambast their doctrines, and insult their political persona. So, to
many, my work is that of insult. I will offend a person and maybe that
person’s supporters. But not a people. Not a race. Not a religion. It
seems now, though, I will.
‘We
want you to draw the Islamic Prophet.’ I hear coming through the
earpiece of the phone, monotonous but distinctly terrifying in its
monotony. The crackle of the poor signal reception leads me to believe I
misheard. A false hope, as my editor reconfirms after a long pause.
I
ask my editor what the purpose of such a task is. I remind him that
visual depictions of Muhammad are against Islamic law and with arouse
anger within the Muslim community in Denmark. He explains:
‘It’s
an experiment,’ he beings, ‘to see how people respond to tasks that
might cause them discomfort.’ I ask him what the hell that means. He
chuckles and I can hear the self-confirming smarm in his voice.
‘Well, you’re uncomfortable with the idea, yes?’ I agree wholeheartedly. The idea seems crazy.
‘Good.
Then our reasoning behind the experiment is perfect.’ He pauses then
continues, after what I hear what I can only assume to be the noise of a
stiff drink being swigged. ‘You know we like liberty and freedom of
speech. This experiment is to see how people respond to the idea of
doing something that allows them to express their mind even though,
without breaking any law, they know it is wrong.’ He waits for my reply.
I ask him what this will achieve.
‘Men
and women are allowed to speak their mind in this country. But they
can’t, because it might offend someone.’ He swigs that drink again. ‘So
in essence they are not allowed, even though they are.’
I
can hear him pouring another glass. He’s always liked a stiff drink.
It’s probably one of his hobbies. He’s rosy-cheeked and always bubbly
when we’re in the office, so I guess the drink’s doing something right. I
explain to him that he might end up causing something very politically
dangerous.
He laughs. ‘If you become a politician, I will move out of Denmark.’
So
as I sit here, waiting for my muscles to allow me to move my arm, I
respect him. He’s a daring individual to make a bold move like this. As a
man who never really thought too much about politics and racial
tensions and such, I realise I am perhaps the problem with politics.
Apathy towards issues like this is making the world too frightened to be
honest with itself. If no-one cares about the issues, how will we make
them better? And, I realise, I am frightened to draw an image that might
offend someone, when I’d been doing it all along. It’s worse, sure, but
then again... who cares?
So I start to draw.
