The exile who remained intellectually at home
The passing of Professor Amin Mughal in London on August 12, 2026, at the age of 91, has left me with an overwhelming sense of personal bereavement. I have lost a mentor, friend and former colleague; Pakistan has lost one of the last representatives of a generation for whom progressive politics was inseparable from humanism, scholarship, intellectual integrity and personal courage.
Harris Khalique called his departure “یہ ماتمِ وقت کی گھڑی ہے”—an hour for mourning the times—and described him as “the last of the Mohicans who touched so many lives.” These words capture the magnitude of the loss. Professor Mughal belonged to a generation that imagined Pakistan as a democratic, pluralistic and egalitarian state—not as a security-dominated order governed by fear, dogma and privilege.
Born in Punjab in 1935, he taught English at Islamia College, Civil Lines, Lahore. His teaching career there ended because of his trade union activities. For Professor Mughal, principles were never dispensable instruments of convenience. Losing employment did not silence him. Along with Professor Manzoor Ahmed, he helped establish Shah Hussain College, transforming an act of official victimisation into another avenue for education and intellectual resistance.
As a leader of the National Awami Party, he was imprisoned more than once. His politics sprang from compassion for workers, peasants, minorities and all those denied dignity by structures of power. It was not the doctrinaire radicalism of slogans. It was a deeply humane commitment to freedom from exploitation, arbitrary authority and cultural suffocation.
He was associated with Lail-o-Nahar and later with the weekly Viewpoint, edited by the legendary Mazhar Ali Khan. I had the privilege of working with Professor Mughal at Viewpoint from 1979 to 1984. Its modest office at 4-Lawrence Road, Lahore, became my real university. Mazhar Ali Khan, I.A. Rehman, Zafar Iqbal Mirza—affectionately known as ZIM—Alys Faiz and Amin Mughal represented journalism as a public trust rather than a commercial enterprise.
Reflecting on those formative years in my tribute to ZIM, I wrote: “Amin Mughal and Alys Faiz were so proficient in writing that few could match their stature. They also taught me the art of journalism with great affection and dedication.” That remains one of the greatest blessings of my life. Professor Mughal taught by example. His scholarship was vast, his editing precise and his intellectual standards uncompromising. He corrected younger colleagues without belittling them and encouraged inquiry without demanding conformity.
The Viewpoint collective stood firm during General Ziaul Haq’s brutal dictatorship, when truth invited censorship, dismissal, imprisonment or exile. Literature and journalism became important sites of resistance during those years. Professor Mughal understood that control over language, culture and historical memory was central to authoritarian rule. His engagement with Urdu and Punjabi literature was therefore never merely aesthetic; it was part of a larger struggle to recover suppressed voices and alternative visions of Pakistan.
Forced into political exile in 1984, he settled in London and never returned to Pakistan. Exile, however, could not sever his intellectual or emotional relationship with his homeland. He worked for Daily Jang and, in the early 1990s, edited the Urdu daily Awaaz. Although the newspaper survived for only a little over a year, it represented another attempt to provide Britain’s Pakistani community with a serious and progressive public forum.
Writing in The News on Sunday in 2008, Arif Azad recalled Professor Mughal as looking “his usual sharp and buoyant self, dressed in impeccable attire as is his wont.” He described him as belonging to “the vanishing breed of left-wing Pakistan intellectuals” in whom one could still discern the lofty and humane aspirations associated with Pakistan’s early journey.
The description was exact. Professor Mughal’s impeccable dress reflected something deeper: an inner discipline, dignity and refusal to be diminished by adversity. Political persecution could deprive him of employment and homeland, but it could not deprive him of intellectual independence or personal grace.
His Finchley home gradually became, in Arif Azad’s memorable formulation, “a port of call” for visiting writers, politicians and political and cultural activists from both sides of the border. For decades it served as an informal salon, archive and classroom. Generations of visitors encountered there a formidable memory, an incisive mind and a host of unfailing generosity. Even when he withdrew from active engagement in South Asian politics, he remained an enduring reference point for politically conscious Pakistanis in Britain.
His interests ranged across philosophy, literature, history, political economy and contemporary affairs. He wrote perceptively on Bhagat Singh and, following Benazir Bhutto’s assassination, produced After Benazir Bhutto: Some reflections. Although he had opposed her politics, he recognised her courage and wrote that in the imagination of the masses she had acquired a mystical significance destined to inspire future struggles. That ability to rise above personal political preference and acknowledge truth distinguished him as a genuine intellectual.
Professor Mughal’s life reminds us that exile is not merely physical displacement. It is also the condition imposed upon ideas that a state refuses to accommodate. Pakistan expelled or marginalised many of its finest minds and then wondered why intolerance, intellectual poverty and historical amnesia prevailed. Professor Mughal remained physically in London, but intellectually he never ceased to inhabit the Pakistan for which he had struggled.
One by one, the great teachers of my Viewpoint years have departed. Their passing makes the country feel lonelier and its moral landscape immeasurably poorer.
Professor Amin Mughal leaves no office, fortune or monument carrying his name. His true legacy survives in the minds he liberated, the writers he encouraged, the causes he defended and the generations he taught to question received wisdom.
Farewell, dear mentor and friend. You lived in exile, but your ideas never left us. They will remain at home wherever people struggle for a democratic, pluralistic, just and humane Pakistan.
