Vor dreißig Jahren: Fatwa gegen Salman Rushdie

Am Valentinstag 1989 verbreitet Radio Teheran keine Liebesgrüße. Ayatollah Khomeini hat eine andere Botschaft: "Ich setze das stolze Volk der Muslime in aller Welt davon in Kenntnis, dass der Autor des Buches 'Die satanischen Verse' - das sich gegen den Islam, den Propheten und den Koran richtet - und alle an seiner Publikation Beteiligten zum Tode verurteilt sind."

Das politische und religiöse Oberhaupt des Iran eröffnet damit eine Jagd: "Ich fordere alle Muslime auf, sie hinzurichten, wo immer sie sich auch befinden."

Schon vor zehn Jahren schrieb Andrew Anthony einen lesenswerten Essay über die Folgen, die diese Fatwa hatte:

In the 20 years since the fatwa, the parameters of cultural debate in Britain and elsewhere have undoubtedly narrowed. If the Islam of Khomeini and other fundamentalists has played a key role in redefining what is and is not acceptable, then it is not the only factor. Other religions have also got in on the censorship act. In 2004 the play Behzti (Dishonour) was cancelled at the Birmingham Rep after a riot by Sikh protesters on the opening night. Christian groups too have taken to organising more intimidating protests - though with less success - against shows and productions they deem offensive.

Taken together they are all part of a multicultural accommodation that has come to determine the terms of public discourse. In hindsight, The Satanic Verses was published at a turning point in progressive politics. Throughout much of the 20th century a battle had been waged against discriminating on the basis of race (The Satanic Verses itself was avowedly anti-racist) and class. In other words, those aspects of humanity that are biologically inherited or socially imposed. For a variety of reasons, including the fall of the Berlin Wall later on in 1989 and the emergence of minority group activism, a new identity politics emerged. Class and race were replaced or trumped by culture.

The emphasis moved to combating cultural discrimination. All cultures were deemed equal, and therefore all components of culture - religion, tradition, beliefs - had to be protected from critical appraisal. Obviously culture is socially inherited, but in a free society it is also a matter of freedom of choice. The liberty to change your beliefs, reject your traditions and question your religion is what distinguishes individuals from members of an enforced collective. Such liberty necessitates the discussion and expression of ideas that may be unpalatable to others. Increasingly, therefore, this has become a process that is actively discouraged.

Respecting culture has come to mean restricting debate. Malik quotes the sociologist Tariq Modood on this issue: "If people are to occupy the same political space without conflict, they mutually have to limit the extent to which they subject each other's fundamental beliefs to criticism."

To some extent this sensitivity has been achieved by coercion - the fatwa model. But there has also been a more voluntary adoption of multicultural manners, chief among which is the duty not to offend. And where that has failed, the government has shown itself all too willing to step in with proscriptive legislation. Three years ago we came within a single parliamentary vote of being saddled with a law (the Religious Hatred Act) that meant you or I could be imprisoned for seven years for using insulting language, even if the insult was unintentional and referred to an established truth.

Furthermore, under draconian anti-terror laws, it is now illegal to be in possession of a whole range of reading material. This is one of the terrible ironies of the conflict with reactionary Islam, previewed in the attempt to censor (and kill) Rushdie. In 1989 the British government defended freedom of expression against Islamic extremists. By 2009 Islamic extremists could accuse the British government of withdrawing freedom of expression. That the extremists dream of a far more extensive (and violent) censorship is no comfort or excuse.