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Authority, Community & Identity article

The “Dark Continent” is Dead


A slide produced by the Church of Scotland Foreign Missions Committee from the 19th century.

Emmanuel Katongole’s book gave me hope. After reading Born from Lament, I want to shout from the mountaintop that the “Dark Continent is dead!” Or at least the awful way we in the West describe Africa is dead. Historically, the version of Africa peddled by the West since the 19th Century, though long before, is anomalous. After all, the Greeks referred to their southern neighbors as aphrike, or ‘without cold. The Romans referred to the continent as aprica, a land of sunshine. Instead, the West lingers on darkness; a phrase inherited from Henry Morton Stanley, journalist-turned explorer who dynamited his way through Congo in 1866 to find David Livingstone and then fame. He explored central Africa for over a decade more until he returned home and published Through the Dark Continent in 1878. The West has never seen Africa the same way since. Even Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which struggles to awaken Europeans to the degenerative effects of colonization in the Congo, still cannot escape the racism of the era.

Nearly a century and a half later, serious scholarly efforts are underway to reconceptualize the idea of Africa, not as a place of lightless oblivion but of vibrant creativity and hopefulness. Katongole’s book joins Dayo Olopade’s The Bright Continent, Stephen Ellis’ Season of Rains, and even a much older literature from scholars like V.Y. Mudimbe. And Katongole’s focus on religion and hope is welcome, as authors like Olopade have already written on African innovations in family life, technology, trade, and the environment. The value of religion, and more specifically theology, is that it provides Africans with the vocabulary and the conceptual framework to find and express hope.

In Born from Lament, Katongole argues that suffering begets hope and that lament becomes a disciplinary device by which Africans can exert some power over their trials. The people he has met and worked with in the Congo, Northern Uganda, and Burundi stand in the debris left behind by long histories of unimaginable violence. And amidst the ruin, as Katongole beautifully puts it, they find themselves arguing with God. And it is through argument and lament that Africans are able to express mourning, outrage, protest, and ultimately, hope.

He sets out to tell this story of hope found through lament in several ways. First, he draws heavily on Jason Stearn’s Dancing in the Glory of Monsters to fully explain just how devastating years of war have been in Congo and Northern Uganda. He then moves on to show that the Bible, especially 1 Peter 3:15 offers Christian Africans the ecclesiological and theological framework to see suffering and death as part of a larger process of resurrection and renewal. He goes on to locate “the strange gift” of hope through lamentation. Using the Book of Lamentations, Katongole nicely argues that lamentation brings comfort through its performance and its revelation of a vulnerable God who suffers with us rather than vanquishes the world’s ills for us. While I am no theologian, I found these insights fascinating and profoundly moving.

Katongole saves some of his most interesting insights for the second half of the book when he considers the value of lament to peace-building and creation of nonviolent social ethics and politics. Embedded in this is the possibility that only the peoples of Congo and Northern Uganda can ever really understand what has happened to them—only they have cried, as Katongole argues. And therefore only Africans can build the peace and hope needed to resurrect their lives; there is the potential for incredible empowerment in Katongole’s analysis. The book wraps up with three beautiful and evocative case studies of Christopher Munzihirwa, archbishop of Bukavu in the mid-1990s during the Rwandan genocide and the origins of the Congo wars; David Kasalis’ work at the Université Chrétienne Bilingue du Congo; and Maggy Baranktise’s work with displaced and orphaned children.

What unfolds is an engrossing, heartfelt exploration of how suffering in Africa can result in a powerful, or empowering sense of hopefulness when steeped in Christian faith. This historian of East Africa certainly learned a great deal. I was also left with many questions, some I hope Katongole will continue to explore in the future.

In 1939, Aimé Césaire wrote that negritude, or blackness, could be “measured by the compass of suffering.”[1] Blackness arose out of the horrors of the slave trade, plantation work in the New World, and colonialism in Africa. Drawing from that shared suffering, the Diaspora could remake itself, reclaiming its history and dictating its own future. As Katongole rightly notes throughout his book, suffering is not new to Africa or the Diaspora, made evident by its presence in African-American spirituals and the civil rights movement. Yet I would like to see in more concrete ways how lament might have been shaped by the memories of and emotions surrounding historic suffering. Do Maggy, Christopher, and David see their lamentations drawn from a wellspring of historic struggle, or are they focused firmly on the heartaches of the moment? If they are aware of and place themselves on a much longer journey of suffering, then how has lament been used at different times and in response to different horrors? From those changes can you see any changes to the theology and politics at play? And perhaps most interesting, is lament a particular cultural practice used – and therefore only truly understood – by Africans and the Diaspora?

Moving away from history to the present, I wonder what impact lament might have on not only peace-building but truth and reconciliation. So much of peace-building in Africa these days seems focused on tightly controlled moments of hard truth-telling and then quite literal requirements for reconciliation, sometimes with the promise of economic incentives in return. But perhaps peacebuilders need to allow those who have experienced incredible violence to work through their grief—to argue with God, their community, and their assailants? Might the discipline of lament become an institutionalized practice, or does that strip the journey, as Maggy Baranktise might say, of its meaning? And if it becomes part of secular practices created by states and nongovernmental organizations, what might robbing suffering of its theological and spiritual roots mean for lamentation?

Third, Katongole creates the very stark image of suffering amid the rubble. In these moments, it almost seems as if people have no one else to turn to except God and therefore lament occurs at the individual level, between sufferer and God. And so it begs the question: is lament and healing individualized processes carried out by people who are alone, or who feel alone? Or might the sufferer find someone, some kin, left in the rubble with whom to share their suffering and grief? Put another way, is lament a personal experience with God alone, or is it something performed within the expansive kinship networks Africans weave for themselves? This leads to a much broader question: all too often scholars pinpoint Christianity, capitalism, and often the blending of the two, as socioeconomic forces that atomized Africans and weakened kinship. Does the discipline of lament mean that Africans suffer alone with God? Or do they suffer together communally?

Of course, these are all questions for another book. What Emmanuel Katongole has given us is a gripping and thoughtful account of the hopefulness in religion in Africa; one that is sorely overdue.

[1] Aimé Césaire, The Original 1939 Notebook of a Return to the Native Land, eds. James Arnold and Clayton Eshleman (Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 2013), 47, https://muse.jhu.edu/ (accessed July 25, 2017).

Array
Paul Ocobock
Paul Ocobock, assistant professor of history at the University of Notre Dame, is a historian of twentieth century Africa with a special focus on East Africa. His book, An Uncertain Age: The Politics of Manhood in Kenya, was recently published in the New African Histories series of Ohio University Press. He is currently working on coffee farming in Kenya and how farmers have engaged with shifts in global capitalism over the past century.
Field Notes article

Madrasa Discourses in the Shade of the Himalayas


Mahan Mirza in search of the secret temple of Kamar-Taj from Doctor Strange in Patan, Nepal.

CNN headlines flashed in the background as I sat down to lunch with Scott Appleby and his spouse Barbara Lockwood in the shadow of the Himalayas in Kathmandu, Nepal. On the screen was the usual: a smorgasbord of Trump, immigration, ISIS, Russia, “Muslim Ban.” We had just checked into Yatri Suites & Spa, a hotel in Thamel, the tourist ghetto deep in the heart of Kathmandu. Appleby, Dean of Notre Dame’s Keough School of Global Affairs and expert in religion, was here to teach graduates of madrasas (Islamic seminaries) from India and Pakistan along with undergraduates from Notre Dame (ND) as part of the Madrasa Discourses project. The groups of students were meeting for the first time. Over two weeks the madrasa and Notre Dame students were exposed to intensive teaching and dialogue on citizenship, religion, and society in a pluralistic and changing world, sensitive to the oppositional narratives of Islam versus West. Even in the narrow winding streets of Nepal, drenched daily with monsoon rains, there was no escape from the news media which equate the word “madrasa” with everything toxic in Islam.

“In popular western media parlance,” writes Notre Dame Professor Ebrahim Moosa in his book What is a Madrasa?, “the mere mention of the word ‘madrasa’ conjures up an ‘us vs. them’ dynamic” (2). In light of the charged media rhetoric vis-à-vis Islam, it was natural for the seven Notre Dame students to feel apprehensive about their encounter with participants from entirely different cultural backgrounds. But it was surprising to find that even the Indian participants—who live as minorities in a pluralistic and secular society—were unsure of what to expect from their counterparts from the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Would the Pakistanis be open to secularism and alternative conceptions of faith and the good life? Would they be dangerous? All the participants with a madrasa background were male, except for one female from Pakistan, clad in a traditional black flowing gown (abaya) with a face-veil (niqab). The Notre Dame undergraduates, by contrast, were all female, selected from a pool of applicants not for their gender, but on merit. The stage was set.

Indian student Manzar Imam makes a point to American student Jebraune Chambers, Pakistani students Abdul Ghani, Sumera Rabia, Muhammad Shahzad, and fellow Indian Maquabool Alam.

I am the faculty and program manager for the three-year Templeton Foundation-funded project aimed at advancing the theological and scientific literacy of madrasa students, a project directed by Ebrahim Moosa. Housed in a research initiative within the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies, a part of the Keough School of Global Affairs, the project launched in January of this year, and the trip to Kathmandu was the first international component. The summer intensive would either be a dream or a nightmare for the Keough School, which aims to “advance integral human development through transformative educational programs.” It would be a dream if everyone got along, engaged in deep conversations, and ended up transformed. It would be a nightmare if gender dynamics grew tense, language barriers could not be overcome, and frustrations solidified stereotypes. Instructors and mentors on all sides had done their best to prepare the participants for the encounter, but no amount of preparation could eliminate the unpredictability inherent in human interpersonal relations in entirely new contexts. The program was a living laboratory for Contending Modernities initiative, whose goal is to “generate new knowledge and greater understanding of the ways in which religious and secular forces interact in the modern world.”

Scott Appleby led discussions for the first three days on secularism, modernity, and fundamentalism. Armed with new conceptual tools, students engaged in small group discussions in the late afternoons to address specially crafted prompts: “I would prefer to live in a religious rather than secular society”; “Does a madrasa education form students to lean towards fundamentalism or are they open to modernity?”; “As a woman or minority, do you think that you can flourish in a society where Sharia norms prevail?” These questions invited madrasa graduates to explain the meaning of Sharia, its sources, and how it is to be applied today, to an audience that, for the most part, carried conceptions of Islam shaped by the media and popular culture in the West. At the same time, the participants from the United States could voice their alternative perspectives on human flourishing and “the good” that might be at odds with Sharia-driven norms as articulated by the madrasa graduates.

These conversations spilled over into the field trips, the dining hall, cafes and restaurants, and the daily walks through the streets of the Thamel district. The outcome was no less than miraculous. “I am amazed at how quickly we were able to form friendships and find common ground,” wrote Kirsten Hanlon, a rising ND junior in neurology, adding: “This program has inspired me to think more carefully about my faith, scholarly interests, and unwarranted perceptions about others.” Molly Burton, a triple major in philosophy, gender studies, and peace studies, found her interactions with a highly-educated woman from Pakistan eye-opening: the summer experience helped her understand “why women cover themselves,” why an “amazingly strong pious woman” would wish to maintain a lifestyle, by free choice, “that few Americans understand.” Nabila Mourad, a Brazilian student at Notre Dame of Lebanese Muslim heritage, discovered the need to consider more deeply her own narrative and purpose in life.

The Pakistani delegation poses inside a museum in Patan Durbar Square, surrounded by ornate wood, brick, stone, and metal fixtures.

Muhammad Furqan, the youngest participant from among the Madrasa scholars in Delhi, said: “Although it was my first encounter with American students, it was a beautiful experience for me which I never want to forget.” Waqas Ahmad, hailing from Khayber Pakhtunkhwa, formerly the Northwest Frontier Province of Pakistan, called the program a turning point in his life: “Someone who is born in the subcontinent and raised in a typical Islamic environment can never expect that he will be honored someday with an opportunity of learning from multi-lingual scholars and an opportunity of interaction with multi-lingual students.” Sumera Rabia, the sole female participant from the group of madrasa graduates, spoke admiringly about her counterparts from the United States, whom she referred to on the very first day as her seven sisters: “The interaction with Notre Dame was an amazing experience…Their toleration and respect of other’s opinions is a thing which we should have.”

An interactive series of lectures and workshops exposed students to the new social and political realities of our age that contemporary formulations of Sharia often have to contend with. Local activists based in Nepal, including Prakash Bhattarai and Shubham Amatya, both Master’s alumni of Notre Dame’s Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies, discussed gender equality and social change in light of UN mandates and global norms on human rights. Ebrahim Moosa emphasized the need to view Sharia not as a collection of ahistorical rules and commandments, but rather as attempts by well-meaning yet fallible humans to draw on divine revelation to articulate historically contingent expressions of the common good. Leela Prasad, professor of religious studies at Duke University, drew on Hindu Advaita philosophy and the concept of “co-being” to invite students to think about the complex ways in which humans draw on diverse religious traditions to heal the world and live ethical lives.

The program culminated with Mohammad Fadel, a renowned legal scholar at the University of Toronto, who discussed strategies to reconcile Sharia norms with the evolving international consensus on human rights. Drawing on the political philosopher John Rawls, Fadel argued that it is theoretically possible to forge an overlapping consensus between historical Islam and political liberalism without violating the principles or integrity of either. Bringing the summer intensive full circle, Fadel maintained the thesis that Islamic law, contrary to popular understanding, was inherently secular in its conception in that it provided formal rules to allow humans to flourish and live ethically in this world. He responded effortlessly to challenges by students with historical examples, highlighting Moosa’s point that Sharia norms must be understood historically in pursuit of the common good. Professor Fadel’s intervention was especially poignant given that he drew on scholars from the West African Maliki madhhab (school of thought) represented by scholars like al-Qarafi and al-Shatibi to impress a South Asian audience that is entirely Hanafi (another school of jurisprudence) in training and formation. Ammar Khan Nasir and Waris Mazhari, the lead faculty from Pakistan and India respectively, by contrast, led students through classical Arabic texts authored by Hanafis such as Abu Bakr al-Jassas and Ibn ʿAbidin al-Shami to reinforce the hermeneutics of Fadel and historicism of Moosa. Mazhari and Nasir also drew on the rich tradition of ethics in Islamic thought in matters related to human dignity, advocating the need to once again make human dignity central in matters of jurisprudence.

From a cafe overlooking Boudhanath in Kathmandu, Professor Mahan Mirza caught a glimpse of some of our American, Pakistani, and Indian students making ritual circuits of the stupa.

The summer intensive in Nepal is the first of many that students will participate in over the next three years. Yet even if the program had ended here, it would still be considered a resounding success for the deep reflection and personal transformation it engendered in participants. If anything, such programs indicate the power of human interaction to effect change, if the conditions are ripe. Take intelligent and well-trained students, prepare them well, put them together with other students, equally bright and eager, from an entirely different background, invite scholars who are experts in their field, and let the magic happen.

Making magic of this kind is precisely the vision of Ebrahim Moosa, himself a madrasa graduate and the architect of Madrasa Discourses: “I remain a friendly critic of madrasa education, acknowledging its inability to provide the big picture of Islamic ideas and its failure to effect the intellectual transformation of contemporary Muslim societies, especially in the sphere of religious thought. Yet madrasas can offer something of enormous value—provided they are effectively upgraded in the knowledge stakes” (29). In the shade of the Himalayas, one thing was clear: we have mountains to climb, but we have taken our first steps.

 

Contending Modernities is grateful to the John Templeton Foundation and Notre Dame International for providing us the resources to embark on this ambitious project.

Array
Mahan Mirza
Mahan Mirza was appointed teaching professor and executive director for the Keough School's Rafat and Zoreen Ansari Institute for Global Engagement with Religion on July 1, 2019.

An Islamic studies scholar and expert on religious literacy, Mirza brings extensive pedagogical and administrative experience to his roles at Notre Dame, including serving as dean of faculty at Zaytuna College in Berkeley, California, America’s first accredited Muslim liberal arts college. Prior to his appointment as Executive Director of the Ansari Institute, Mirza served as the lead faculty member for Notre Dame's  Madrasa Discourses project, which equips Islamic religious leaders in India and Pakistan with the tools to confidently engage with pluralism, modern science, and new philosophies. 

Mirza holds a B.S. in mechanical engineering from the University of Texas at Austin, an M.A. from Hartford Seminary, and a Ph.D. in religious studies from Yale University. He has taught courses and lectured on Arabic-Islamic studies, western religions, and the history of science, along with foundational subjects in the liberal arts, including logic, rhetoric, astronomy, ethics, and politics. He has edited two special issues of 
The Muslim World and served as assistant editor for the Princeton Encyclopedia of Islamic Political Thought (2018).

He is a fellow with the Liu Institute for Asia and Asian Studies at the Keough School and continues to serve as an advisor for Madrasa Discourses.
 
Authority, Community & Identity article

Between ‘Descriptive Haste’ and ‘Prescriptive Haste’


Maggie Barankitse, one of the exemplars featured in Katongole’s book, speaks at a UN summit on Burundi. Photo: Eric Bridiers / U.S. Mission

The central thesis of Emmanuel Katongole’s Born from Lament: The Theology and Politics of Hope in Africa is that lament is the boat in which African victims and survivors navigate the turbulent waters of hatred and violence in which they could drown at every turn. Lament is the language they use to make sense out of senselessness, meaning out of suffering, humanity out of inhumanity and hope out of hopelessness. Katongole describes lament as “a way of naming what is going on, of standing and of hoping in the midst of ruins” (48).

Through this book, Katongole intends, to respond to “the most pressing theological task [which] is to give an account of Africa’s hope” (19), because according to him, “no such theological account exists” in Africa today (20). He also argues that the few theological attempts available tend to issue premature and blanket prescriptions of hope while displaying blindness to grassroots practices of hope. This is what he calls ‘prescriptive haste’.

1. Book Strengths

The focus on East Africa and Great Lakes Region makes this a clearly delimited and grounded book. While the book contains a number of extravagant and general references to the African continent, (a matter to which we will return below) the geographical delimitation anchors the book firmly. This approach provides tremendous scope both for the author’s narrative portraiture approach and his desire to probe deep into the everyday practices of lament. It also lends the narrative of book the correct cadence, the right density of argument, as well as the necessary depth of inquiry.

At the heart of this book are a number of true stories, what Katongole refers to as portraits, of resilience, faith and hope in the middle of ruins. These stories of lament refute the popular and repeated trope of Africa as a place of hopelessness and no agency. The stories of Christophe Munzihirwa (later assassinated) and Emmanuel Kataliko (probably poisoned to his death), successive Archbishops of Bukavu in Eastern Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), and that of Sr. Rosemary Nyirumbe of Gulu in Northen Uganda are offered as portraits of impactful leaders who met  violence and hatred with ‘excess love’ which inspired a sense of agency. Other compelling portraits given are that of David Kasali, founder of a Christian University in the town of Beni (Eastern DRC) and that of Maggy Barankitse (pictured above), whose faith activism in Burundi sent her into exile but also earned her the accolade of being called ‘mother of Burundi’.

Following the work of Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot and Jessica Hoffman Davis on portraiture, Katongole attempts to deploy the arts of the portraitist in the exploration of his theme – that is, he proceeds as one who, in an effort to fathom complexity, nuance and subtlety, proceeds by means of blending aesthetics with empiricism, story-telling and the explicit intention not merely to inform but also to inspire. Crucially, Katongole relies heavily on poetry, poetic prose and metaphor in order to dig deep into the nature of hope and lament. His use of lamentation poetry from the Great Lakes Region is especially riveting. Katongole handles the gruesome circumstances with which his faith activists are saddled gracefully, insightfully and sensitively.

He builds his admirable foray into portraiture upon biblical exegesis. Spurred on by the biblical motif of ‘giving an account of the hope’, he proceeds to offer impressive exegetical work on the Book of Lamentations. Katongole comes close to adding a wholly new dimension of theology in Africa. But there are serious shortcomings, to be discussed below. Still, Katongole’s book is one of the best responses to the 1971 call by Kenyan theologian John Mbiti, who warned that whatever else African Christian theology may become, it does not deserve the name if it does not put biblical exegesis at the center. In this regard, Mbiti warned fellow African theologians against the risk of becoming mere ‘anthropological theology’.

2. On Descriptive Haste: Comment and Critique

The book contains many strengths worth celebrating, yet a number of serious problems remain. If Katongole accuses other African theologians of ‘prescriptive haste’, he himself could be accused of ‘descriptive haste’. This shortcoming shows up in more ways than we can list here. Firstly, he issues a summary, hasty and unsubstantiated dismissal of the theological output emanating from the largest single continent on earth, home to more than a billion human beings. It is rather precipitate to suggest that all of the theological literature coming out of Africa provides no account of the hope in that continent.

Nor is it helpful to suggest, albeit not in so many words, that Katongole’s approach to hope and lament analysis is the only fitting approach for the theological community of the entire continent. As if 75 years of published modern African Theology—not to speak of the much earlier contribution of African church fathers like Augustine, Tertullian, Tatian and Clement of Alexandria—could be completely blind to the theme of hope and suffering! By claiming that no account of the hope that is in Africa currently exists, Katongole, by deduction, suggests that only his method makes such an account possible. The truth is that while not many theologians may have used his specific language of hope and lament, they have been dealing with hope and lament nevertheless. In fact two women theologians who have specifically used the notion of lament in their work are Nyambura Njoroge and Denise Ackermann. But what is African Theology if it is not also a theology hope in the face of massive de-culturation and de-racination? What is Black Theology if it is not also a theology of lament in the light of church and state practices that equate blackness with curse in order to justify racial oppression and dispossession? What is African Women’s Theology if it is not also a theology of lament in the face of global patriarchy, African patriarchy and Christian patriarchy?

The second manifestation of the descriptive haste is in Katongole’s insistence that although the research material with which he interacts emanate “from East Africa Great Lakes Region” he will nevertheless retain ‘Africa’ in the title of the book (xvi). This is not an argument, only an assertion. Why pretend to be writing about all of Africa when the book has a clearly delimited geographical locus? The subtitle of this book might have been more truthful if it was: “The Theology and Politics of Hope in Selected Countries of East Africa and the Great Lakes Region”.

Incoherently and rather strangely, Katongole seems to think that his “use of portraiture as a theological method” allows for the reader to “discover general themes and patterns that resonate across much of sub-Saharan Africa” (p.xvi). But how is this possible? Is the Sudanese conflict exactly the same as the conflict in the Central African Republic? Are the so-called faith activists in the DRC deploying the exact same tactics and strategies as those of faith activists operating in Northern Zululand? Even a cursory reading of Katongole’s own attempt to summarize the essence of the method of portraiture (33), it is clear that while this method may help with digging deeper and with finer nuancing, it is neither intended to or especially suited for the deduction of patterns and the making of generalizations.

Clearly, Katongole is rendering unto portraiture what does not belong to portraiture, attributing to the methodology what it is incapable of accomplishing. Seemingly, the clearly delimited geographic and thematic focus of the book are insufficient and unable to restrain the author from repeatedly foraging into grandiose claims and generalizations about the entire continent which go way beyond the limits suggested by his focus.

The centering of an African theology of hope within a biblical framework is especially important for Katongole as noted in the section on biblical theology above. And yet one of the most deafening silences in this book is the lack of engagement with African Biblical scholarship. Had Katongole interacted, however minimally, with the likes of Teresa Okure, Lovemore Togarasei, Dorothy Okoto, Musa Dube, Sarojini Nadar, Tuesday Adamo, Jonathan Draper, Elelwani Farisani, Madipoane Masenya, John Mbiti, Itumeleng Mosala, Justin Ukpong, to mention but a few, perhaps he might not have been as hasty as to conclude that there is no theological accounting for the hope that lives in Africa.  This conclusion is only possible in a book that reduces the work of the likes of Desmond Tutu, with four new books since the year 2010, to an extended footnote (218).

More importantly, in his references to the Bible, Katongole seems to ignore totally the decades old exegetical, methodological and hermeneutical toils of fellow African theologians. This might explain the almost total absence of engagement with the contentious issues in biblical hermeneutics, one of the most abiding themes in African biblical scholarship. African biblical scholarship has wrestled not only with the contents of the Bible but its symbolic meaning and its insertion into the African political, cultural and ideological worlds. These themes are absent in Katongole. In this regard, Katongole’s biblical exegesis comes close to an attempt to reinvent a wheel that has long been hard at work. More importantly, in his exegetical work, Katongole is clearly susceptible to the ideological pitfalls long identified and long debated among African biblical scholars. Nearly thirty years ago, Itumeleng Mosala published, with Eerdmans, his book on biblical hermeneutics and Black Theology in South Africa. This book is not in Katongole’s bibliography. Nor does Katongole seem aware of the fruit of years of scholarly collaboration between African and African American scholars.

As well as the notion of lament, Katongole repeatedly invokes the notion of agency. However, he does this without reference either to postcolonial theory or to African postcolonial theology whose forté is biblical scholarship. As a result, Katongole tends to depict agency as straightforward, uncomplicated and unproblematic – except perhaps in a philosophical kind of way. But subaltern and postcolonial scholars have long pointed out how complex agency is so that some distinguish between survival, resilience and agency. Others have sought to distinguish between various faces and phases of agency. Nor does Katongole problematize his notion of martyrdom much beyond Catholic canonization of martyrs. When a poorly built church building collapsed and killed more than a hundred worshippers at the church of televangelist TB Joshua in Lagos Nigeria in 2014, he immediately conferred martyrdom on the deceased. Which kinds of martyrs are more authentic and why?

Agency – of the straightforward and one-size-fits-all type – tends to be thrust upon Katongole’s chosen faith activists without much interrogation or nuance. This reflects both the limitation of his particular take on portraiture and his neglect of insights from African postcolonial theology. This neglect extends to one of the most prolific African theologies of our time, namely African Women’s Theology produced and sponsored mainly, but not exclusively by the CIRCLE for Concerned African women theologians. I do not recall seeing a single reference to the work of a single member of the CIRCLE. How can an African male theologian expect to analyze the stories of female victims of violence in Africa, including doing justice to the biblical notion of ‘daughter of Zion’, to the total exclusion on the voices of African women theologians?

While it is understandable and even commendable that Katongole centers his theology around the amazing work of his native Catholic Church in Africa, the truth is that the fastest growing and the largest African churches today are of the Pentecostal, Independent and Charismatic churches. Like the African biblical scholarship and African women theologians, these churches are conspicuously absent in this book. This is not to say that the portraiture of Catholic Archbishops, bishops and Sisters is not instructive. This is rather to suggest that within and between the youthful charismatic churches of Africa, a new thing is being born. It is a thing to which Katongole may not be fully awake.

My sense therefore is that the practices of hope and lament in Africa are probably more complicated than Katangole’s mainly Catholic template allows for. While Katongole’s book offers a captivating engagement with the practices of hope and lament in selected areas of East Africa and the Great Lakes region, he makes himself guilty of what I call ‘descriptive haste’ which, amongst others, ignores the complex and fruitful scholarship by African theologians, especially women and non-Catholics, on this very topic.

Array
Tinyiko Maluleke
Tinyiko Maluleke is Professor of Theology in the Faculty of Theology at the University of Pretoria in South Africa. In addition to his scholarship on African theology he is a prominent public intellectual on South African, African and global socio-politics.
Authority, Community & Identity article

The Many Faces of Lament


Somali women stand at Mogadishu International Airport during a ceremony held to receive the casket containing the body of former Somali president Abdullahi Yusuf Ahmed. Photo: Stuart Price / AU-UN

Emmanuel Katongole’s recent book is a profound examination and analysis of lament as peacebuilding method, theologically-driven epistemology, and politics of renewal in several specific East African contexts. This book follows on his previous work, The Sacrifice of Africa, in exploring in an extraordinarily moving way both the problems Christianity has wrought and the unique gifts that it has to offer the continent.

My reading of Katongole’s book took the form of a particular kind of call and response to his claim that lament and hope are each other’s “spine”—that they go hand in hand. That is to say, each time he began a new theme and chapter in this gracefully crafted exposition, I began to absorb, appreciate, ponder, but also challenge and question—“but what about…?,” only to find that he had almost always already prefigured my query to address it head-on in the next section of the book. (I will come to the “almost” later.)

For example, in articulating some of the contours and experiences of lament in the Bible (Old and New Testaments) as well as among his interlocutors in Africa, Katongole first compels us to examine with him the Book of Lamentations, and in so doing, he demonstrates how lament, in that Book, becomes an anguished cry from the depths of suffering, and moreover one to which God never responds. How can this have anything at all to do with hope, one might ask, as I did? Katongole moves from the acknowledgement of unbearable pain—both individual and communal—to de- and re-constructing God as suffering with the people, especially those who suffer the most.  But how can we have any confidence that a silent God suffers with us? God, in this rendering, becomes an intimate and vulnerable rather than an all-powerful and hence somewhat distant deity. But does God-as-sufferer-with-us help, politically or theologically? Yes, because the very practice of lament—including the wailing plea for help, the critique of God for forsaking the sufferer, the demand that God hear and do something—requires risk; the risk that God is not what one thought, the risk of loss and grief of all that is known. All of this brings us to the risk of being called to help in the creation of something new. The new creation brings both hope and terror of the unknown. It also may never be fully realized, or realized much at all, before new reasons for lament occur. (This last point is something that Katongole could emphasize more, although he demonstrates it through the story of Maggie Barankitse, who is currently in exile from Burundi, thus demonstrating the ups and downs of deepening one’s faith in a “new creation.”)

The suffering with on the part of God, of course, finds its ultimate expression for Christians in the crucifixion of Christ. The passages in which Katongole’s interlocutors discover Christ’s solidarity with them and “excess of love” in their depths of hopelessness are extremely moving, but Katongole does not move to anything like comfort too quickly. Instead, he lets the reader linger with his interlocutors in the anguish, anger and even despair that they experience before—and eventually in tandem with—the rays of hope and the glimpses of new possibilities.

In Katongole’s telling, the Christ who suffers with us is the incarnation of God’s unbounded love for humanity, both individually and in covenant relationship with the “people.” Christianity, therefore, has something critically important as well as unique to offer: the God who, through suffering with, loves unconditionally and to excess. This in turn is what enables hope. The emergence into hope is also an emergence into something new—new political, social, theological and ethical constructs of being in the world.

What does this profoundly theological understanding of the politics of crisis in East Africa have to do with the political? Everything, in Katongole’s telling, because the book is also political exhortation, providing an ontology, epistemology and methodology that fuses politics and faith. I should note here that Katongole draws deeply on a wide, impressive and extremely inclusive range of theological and political sources (African, Asian, Latin American and western, female and male) to develop his unsettling and necessary challenge to political and spiritual complacency. He shows that, most of the time, neither the Church or Christians themselves—either within or outside of Africa—actually enact the love and willingness to walk the way of those who suffer on the continent that fully entering into the process of lament makes possible. Quite the contrary: there are too many who preach comfort through the prosperity gospel, or are content to be self-satisfied in their claims of faith. Katongole’s examples of lament and hope thus pose a critical, political as well as theological challenge to Christians, even as he finds the central promise of hope within the Christian message. His passages on how too many Christians have created a religion of self-gratification rather than risk are all too true of those living in the global north as well as those living in Africa.

One way of understanding Katongole’s work on the critical importance of lament is through William Connolly’s concept of “visceral register.” Yet, while important in some ways, I submit that Katongole shows that it is extremely limiting in others. Connolly’s work on the constant emergence of the metaphysical is necessary to acknowledge, but we should also recognize that it primarily works vis-à-vis a particular kind of Enlightenment mind whose ontological and epistemological orientations regarding human experience have become impoverished. Indeed, as Katongole shows, the lament/hope axis is much more than visceral. The forms of knowledge that derive from the at least partially unbidden insights and experiences of Christopher Munzihirwa, Maggie Barankitse, the poets and musicians of the DRC, and David Kasali, among others, are indicative of the constitutive nature of what Connolly might include under the visceral, but what Katongole deepens as the ontological and epistemological connection between suffering, love and indeed life itself. Whereas Connolly advocates the inclusion of the visceral in a discourse that has difficulty accommodating the metaphysical, Katongole’s point of departure is a practice – and politics – of lament that is fundamentally and simultaneously visceral, metaphysical and rational. This practice is part of the political ontology that the impoverished discourse still struggles to grasp.

Herein also, however, lies a considerable challenge for a rather large component of those who should be part of Katongole’s audience: humanitarians, peacebuilders, scholars of Africa, conflict, peace, and religion, who may or may not be Christians. This challenge recurred to me frequently while reading Born from Lament. It is a work that might suggest some (understandable) impatience with those who would reject out of hand the constitutive nature of the theological and the political—in Africa as well as in many other parts of the world.  Listening to people’s stories—especially including their theological constructs—is absolutely required, Katongole seems to say, to reach depths of understanding and insight about the ways out of conflict that one could never achieve by, for example, social scientific models alone.

Here, however, questions arise regarding the vast political differences within and across the African continent, the richly multi-religious nature of African societies, and the role of Christians and Christianity amidst the wide range of sufferings and non-sufferings present in the world. First, Katongole focuses on suffering and conflict, while rightly stating at the outset that it is imperative to transcend two simplistic narratives about Africa: that it is hopeless, or that it is “rising.” The first focuses on the need for others to intervene where Africans themselves allegedly cannot; the second resorts too quickly to neoliberal fixes for deeply colonial and post-colonial structural issues. Despite this extremely important insight, Katongole himself focuses more on the first narrative in his exploration, largely because of his long-term focus on the Eastern Congo/Northern Ugandan/Rwandan nexus. There are plenty of places on the continent, however, in which struggles occur but do not fit either the hopeless or rising narratives, and the suffering with hope of Katongole’s interlocutors may also not comprehend the daily lives of millions who get by with joy as well as problems, love and family and friends as well as suffering. The question is how we can develop theopolitical expressions of lives—within as well as outside of Africa—without replicating extremes of any kind.

Second, this wide range of experiences in Africa provokes the question of how widely Katongole’s deeply Christian message can resonate across the continent and beyond. The East African nations of Congo and Uganda are, perhaps, some of the more religiously homogeneous places on the continent, compared to, for example, Ghana or South Africa or Kenya or Tanzania or Cameroon. Moreover, the role of African or “traditional” religions and beliefs is frequently an integral part of the peacebuilding work done in Katongole’s narratives, yet it becomes subsumed as background to the Christian promise rather than fully interrogated. It is not only Christians who lament and hope.

If the excess love of the suffering Christ is what Christianity uniquely has to offer, is this knowledge for Christians alone, or should it be for non-Christians as well? And if the latter, what exactly is the message for non-Christians, including African Muslims, Hindus, those rejecting any of these as religions of the colonizers, and those practicing some form of African religious tradition, either as part of Christianity or Islam, or separate from them? It is not enough, perhaps, to engage in either apologetics or (even gentle) proselytism to promote Katongole’s message: we must also draw out the ontological and epistemological contributions of these different traditions of faith, worship, and practice, precisely because of the rich, active, and dynamic religious landscape of the continent.

I make this perhaps controversial assertion not because I “blame” religious “difference” for conflict, or because I see religious traditions as hermetically-sealed and neatly divisible. Quite the contrary. Following the spirit and example of Katongole, I want to know how Christians who have experienced the indescribable love of God in and through their suffering, and from it draw out unfathomable hope, can and should relate equally deeply with those who want the same things but are not and do not want to become Christian, or those who navigate their lives through a range of syncretic (for lack of a better term) practices and commitments. I want to know what understanding their processes of lament looks like.

At the end of the book, Katongole makes the assertion that the world has much to learn from African Christianity, and I heartily agree. I would enlarge this assertion, however, with and through the exploration above, to insist on how much African Christianity as well as African religiosity—through and in spite of the experiences of colonialism and both domestic and global structural inequities—have to teach the rest of the world, about commitment, solidarity, and hope, in the midst of both crisis and daily life.

These thoughts represent my own wrestling with Katongole’s impressive and challenging work, as well as my ongoing wrestling with humanitarian, neoliberal, and Christian presumptions. Katongole has taught us a great deal in this volume and has pointed the way to our learning even more, if only we open ourselves to the risks and challenges necessary to that process.

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Cecelia Lynch
Cecelia Lynch is Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Irvine. She is an expert on international relations, religion and ethics, humanitarianism, and civil society, and has researched and published extensively on topics related to peace, security, international organization, globalization, humanitarianism, and religion. She co-edits the Critical Investigations into Humanitarianism in Africa (CIHA) Blog, at www.cihablog.com.
Authority, Community & Identity article

The Visceral Politics of Lament: A CM Symposium on “Born from Lament”


A girl stands on the edge of a cemetery for children at a refugee camp in Dadaab, Kenya. Photo: Andy Hall/Oxfam.

One of political theorist William Connolly’s challenges to the regulation of public speech by supporters of liberal secularism has been to expose the “visceral register” of political engagement. Rejecting the sequester of the emotional and embodied in the “private sphere,” he investigates how metaphysical commitments appear in our public life often through micro-politics of self-artistry. In other words, though some regulators of our public life seek to limit the conversation, metaphysical commitments often emerge anyway. Furthermore, these commitments often appear in the visceral register, through emotion, ritual, and art.

In his new book Born from Lament: The Theology and Politics of Hope in Africa, Emmanuel Katongole explores a constellation of manifestations of politics in a visceral register by analyzing the theology and politics of lament in East Africa. Tacking between theological and empirical analysis, Katongole gives an account of the hope that is within him, a hope that is rooted in the embodied and emotionally laden practices of lamentation.

Katongole’s book begins with the contradictions presented by the African encounter with modernity. The originary violence of colonialism produces a pendulum swing between pessimism and optimism. Katongole’s argument is, in part, that a theological account of the relationship between hope and lament can allow the transcendence of this contradictory dialectic. “In the midst of suffering,” Katongole argues, “hope takes the form of arguing and wrestling with God” (xvi). Lament as wrestling with God is not a private, or merely spiritual, matter. Rather, echoing here Connolly’s insight, Katongole argues that the visceral practices of lament are inescapably political.

Katongole’s book proceeds through a method of portraiture, juxtaposing biblical narratives with representations of concrete embodiments of lament in East Africa. This method produces a many sided prism, through which the central argument that lament and hope are irreducibly connected shines through. Katongole takes us episodically through multiple dimensions of lament—cultural, theological, political and more—and with each new episode we learn more about the texture of lamentation and why it is such a necessary practice.

In the following symposium, four commentators offer an insightful collection of observations, affirmations and critiques of Katongole’s work. Contending Modernities collaborator and Professor of Political Science at University of California Irvine Cecelia Lynch writes in her essay appreciatively regarding Katongole’s thick theological exposition. For her, this inescapably metaphysically laden account of politics is what the discourse of political science needs to make sense of the complex dynamics of political and social change in East Africa. She questions, however, whether Katongole has given adequate attention to the complex mix of religious dynamics present in the contexts out of which he writes. While she does not call him to cast off his unapologetic Christian theology, she asks Katongole to consider how Christians as Christians might make sense of the lament of those who don’t share their Christian faith. Whereas Lynch invites Katongole to consider the religious (and nonreligious) diversity of his context, Tinyiko Maluleke, Professor of Theology at the University of Pretoria, critiques Katongole for his lack of engagement with the rich, internally plural theological discourse occurring across Africa. Though Maluleke appreciates Katongole’s scriptural and empirical engagements, he worries that his claims about Africa writ large are too grandiose and in their “descriptive haste” miss important developments that may, ultimately, strengthen Katongole’s argument. Also in the vein of history, Paul Ocobock, Assistant Professor of History at the University of Notre Dame, wonders how the laments featured in Katongole’s work draw upon historical precedents. Ocobock celebrates Katongole’s departure from history, however, insofar as he disrupts the long and lachrymose characterization by the west of Africa as the “Dark Continent.” Finally, Professor of Catholic Studies at DePaul University William Cavanaugh pushes an affirmation made by both Ocobock and Lynch further to ask what the West stands to learn from Africa. Cavanaugh turns the gaze back on Western modernity and invites Katongole to critique the shallow optimism that animates late modern politics.

Each of these commentators raise significant questions for Katongole, questions which indicate, ultimately, the strength of his work for shifting the paradigm of our understanding the complex, context-specific ways in which modernity has collided with East Africa.

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Kyle Lambelet
Kyle Lambelet, PhD is a Postdoctoral Fellow at Emory University's Candler School of Theology and a Research Associate with Contending Modernities. His research focuses on the intersections of religion, ethics, conflict, and peace with particular attention to the ethics of nonviolence.
Field Notes article

Religious Women Constructing Modernity in Cameroon

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Photo Credit: Mark Fischer. “Cathédrale Notre Dame de Victoire de Yaoundé.”

How do religious women in Cameroon navigate their faith vis-à-vis their communities and religious hierarchies? Our Contending Modernities project is in its initial phase, so in this blog post we detail our framework and initial thoughts, focusing on the structure of Catholic women’s engagement in Cameroon. (Our larger project examines three different constellations of women’s groups—Muslim, Catholic and African “traditional”—in Yaoundé, Bamenda and near Ngaoundéré, three distinct parts of the country.)[1] We want to know whether and how these women of faith consolidate community and reinforce and/or challenge authority. We are particularly interested in settings in which Cameroonian women employ tools of their faith to assert rights, grow spiritually, and address economic and political issues they face, vis-à-vis religious and governmental structures of authority. We conceptualize authority as encompassing religious as well as political and economic forms of legitimacy and decision-making. We think of community as consisting of intersecting gender, faith, geographic and ethnic boundaries and identities. The women’s groups in each site are also connected to different degrees to broader faith-based and NGO networks and transnational advocacy and humanitarian groups. They thus provide important sites for investigating the multiple forms of authority and community in Cameroon, a country often described as a microcosm of the continent, bringing women’s agency to the fore in ways that are shaped by but not pre-determined by transnational pressures and trends.

Background: Catholic Socio-Religious Organizations

As background, we detail initial observations regarding the dynamics at the heart of Catholic religious communities in many parts of Cameroon. The collaboration between engaged laypersons and religious authorities has many implications for the social and professional lives of the faithful. It is important to recognize that many active Cameroonian Catholics, including women, are motivated by the desire to live their spirituality and offer their services to Church institutions. Such engagement, however, can, at the same time, produce competition as well as self-promotion in order to obtain a potentially privileged position vis-à-vis the clergy.

Catholic women (and men) may belong to religious institutions that are also social and many times remunerative. These organizations parallel public institutions as well as secular (non-religious) private ones. Members of the clergy may also use their influence to promote particular lay women and men in positions within these organizations, including within public and private non-religious institutions. While Cameroon does not have an official religion, Catholics do make up almost 40% of the population, while Christians overall make up 65%.

Socio-professional promotion, then, becomes in part institutionalized through religious engagement. Such processes occur particularly in charismatic groups, and represent, in effect, an important way in which modernity is created for Catholic women. Many factors contribute to the fact that these religious associations become the promoters of personal and socio-professional development. Women, for example, learn the games of competition, the modes of efficient management, and the methods of diverse organizational performances; these organizations also encourage aspirations to better living conditions. At the same time, they provide psychosocial and frequently economic solidarity as well. Finally, acquiring these leadership and organizational skills provides a space for the ongoing construction of women’s identity, both religious and socio-professional.

The Catholic Women’s Association

The Catholic Women’s Association (CWA) of Cameroon, based in Bamenda, links and organizes Catholic women in cities across the country. Our initial contacts have been with the organization in the capital, Yaoundé, where we met with a number of the women leaders in the capital city, and attended a benefit event for a local hospital with them. This event was organized by a coalition of many groups, including the Belgian Embassy, and took place at the Hilton hotel, the premier hotel in the city. Prior to this event, the primary investigator (PI) met with one of the leaders of the CWA in Bamenda, who immediately took her to the archdiocesan priest who acts as the spiritual advisor for the group. This was done to ensure that the priest was informed of and approved of the research project; the CWA leader also wanted the PI to understand how important the priest was to the women’s spiritual formation. At our meeting, the priest was not only supportive, but also very helpful in making additional contacts, in particular with the national CWA President in Bamenda. These events confirm that the CWA is an important means of spiritual as well as social identity formation, and also indicate that the CWA tends to work closely with religious authority, but also that its members tend to be connected with centers of influence that are not explicitly religious. Subsequent visits can help us address the degree of professional (and also economic and political) identity formation, as well as any independent channels of religious formation among the women.

One of the features of Cameroonian politics is the potent division between the anglophone and francophone sections of the country, which stems from the post-World War I era when Cameroon, which had been colonized by Germany in the 1880s, was divided between the British and the French. The francophone political class has been dominant in the country since independence, and Anglophone grievances built up and in 2016 erupted in strikes largely led by professionals (particularly lawyers and academics). The government responded by cutting off internet access to the Anglophone part of the country. Bamenda, the headquarters of the CWA, is in the anglophone part of the country, while Yaoundé, the capital, is largely francophone, although the majority of people in the capital have a knowledge of both languages (as well as one or more Cameroonian languages). As a result of the internet cutoff, the PI’s email requests to CWA headquarters have not been answered, and communication other than by telephone is difficult.

This situation means that subsequent research will also be critical in assessing whether the CWA attempts to transcend linguistic as well as other identity boundaries. We intend to develop further our understanding of what constitutes the channels of authority and influence for women in the CWA, vis-à-vis both the Catholic clergy and institutions outside the official purview of the Church (examples could include other professional associations, universities, embassies, government ministries, transnational NGOs). Finally, subsequent research can aid in identifying the importance of diasporic connections for the CWA. The CWA’s website discusses its diasporic links and activities, providing yet another way in which CWA members negotiate “modern” identity, socio-economic factors, and relationships of authority with other women as well as with clergy.

 

[1] “Traditional” African religions are significant in all three areas of the country, either separate from or in combination with adherence to Christianity and Islam, although they are more evident in some places than others.

 

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Cecelia Lynch
Cecelia Lynch is Professor of Political Science at the University of California, Irvine. She is an expert on international relations, religion and ethics, humanitarianism, and civil society, and has researched and published extensively on topics related to peace, security, international organization, globalization, humanitarianism, and religion. She co-edits the Critical Investigations into Humanitarianism in Africa (CIHA) Blog, at www.cihablog.com.
Tatiana Fouda
Fouda Ange Tatiana is a PhD candidate in political science at the University of Yaounde II in Cameroon. Her research focuses on political behavior, mobilization and collective action, as well as questions of citizenship and political commitment. She is part of the ACI Cameroon project team as the field survey administrator.
Field Notes article

In Pursuit of Truth: Science, Tradition, and Renewal

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Madrasa Discourses Pakistan Lead Faculty Amman Khan Nasir on a fieldtrip in Islamabad.

Under the steady beam of the PowerPoint, Pakistani students enrolled in the Notre Dame-based Madrasa Discourses program grappled with the theological implications of the age of the universe and theory of evolution—revealing their deep discomfort following a presentation that challenged a literal reading of the Quranic Genesis. This was a rare and civil encounter between religious scholars and scientists, hosted at an Islamabad hotel by the Pakistan Institute for Peace Studies (PIPS). Such meetings are an anomaly in a country where religious and scientific experts occupy exclusive and often antagonistic social spaces. The event was the fifth day of the week-long “April Intensive” session of the “Advancing Theological and Scientific Literacy in Madrasa Discourses” project.

Pakistani Madrasa Discourses students meet with PIPS scholars at the Crowne Plaza Hotel

Dr. Abdul Hameed Nayyar, renowned Pakistani physicist and nuclear disarmament activist, patiently fielded questions from the openly skeptical students in the first semester of their three-year program. “What about competing theories?” some asked. “How can science be a source of truth if it is constantly shifting?” At the heart of these concerns are questions of epistemology echoed by the Indian students enrolled in the program who were meeting simultaneously a few hundred miles south across a militarized border. Borders, however, remain pervious to ideas, and both sites were connected throughout the week via an online virtual classroom.

Science and religion both operate through consensus. So say scholars who navigate contentions and even apparent contradictions inherent in conflicting theories and theological readings in the search for deeper truth. Yet consensus is nebulous concept. Who defines a consensus? The Ulama, religious scholars of a region? Or all experts of a particular age? Do we? The answer is significant, as the claim of a consensus carries weight and is even viewed as binding authority. And while religion, with its deep historical roots and foundational texts, may appear more infallible when faced with the continual transformations of science, can it too shift with the times and new forms of moral consensus? These are difficult and unresolved questions.

Hakim Syed Zillur Rahman speaks with Indian Madrasa Discourses students at the Ibn Sina Academy of Medieval Medicine and Sciences.

Religious scholars’ skepticism of science as a source of knowledge continues. At the PIPS meeting with scientists the binary approach to tradition (turāth) versus renewal in Islamic theology (tajdīd) surfaced once again. Yet, as the Director of the Sharia Academy in Gujranwala, Mawlana Zahid ur Rashidi, noted, science and religion are both components of an analytical approach. Science attempts to answer “what” questions; religion seeks to answer “why” questions. Apart or together, they both seek different aspects of the truth. In fact, in predicting the periodic renewal of religion, the Prophet Muhammad seems to have anticipated modernity by weaving the notion of continual change into the very fabric of religion, argued Professor A.K. Ramakrishnan of Jawaharlal Nehru University, who spoke to students about the Philosophy of History.

During the intensive sessions, students covered the history of philosophy though a reading of Sophie’s World, discussed the skepticism of Ghazali, the empirical approach of Ibn Khaldun, and engaged in critiques of the theological tradition by ardent scripturalists and rationalists alike. They did this by interacting with the faculty members of Madrasa Discourses: Mahan Mirza (Notre Dame), Waris Mazhari (New Delhi), Ammar Khan Nasir (Gujranwala), Idris Azad (Islamabad), Zahid Mughal (Islamabad), Mawlana Waheeduddin Khan (Delhi), Yasin Mazhar Siddiqui (Aligarh), Hakim Syed Zillur Rahman (Aligarh), and Altaf Ahmad Azmi (Delhi).

Indian students visit Maulana Wahiduddin Khan at the Centre for Peace and Spirituality located at Basti Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, New Delhi.

The eminent scholar and peace activist Mawlana Wahiduddin Khan advised students that their madrasa training is foundational and indispensable, but that their connection and relevance to the world will come from experiences “off campus.” These off-campus experiences are what Madrasa Discourses attempts to facilitate. At the meeting in Islamabad with scientists, madrasa graduates did not uncritically adopt the theory of evolution. Nor did the physicists defer to the standard story of human origins attributed to the Qur’an and held by followers of the Abrahamic traditions. Yet, hope lies in the readiness of the scientists to engage with religious scholars and the openness of madrasa students to learn more. In the exchange regarding the process of seeking and approximating truth, the seeds of an idea may have taken root. The destination of this open-eyed journey across different philosophical and epistemological traditions may not be clear or predictable, but composed rather of myriad intricacies, inspiring us to better understand the human condition in its full complexity.

 

 

Indian students discuss texts at the Don Bosco School in New Delhi.

 

Lead Faculty Waris Mazhari and Mahan Mirza at the resting place of Sufi mystic Nizamuddin Aliya.

 

Indian students on a field trip to the central mosque at Aligarh Muslim University.

 

 

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Dania Straughan
Dania is Program Manager at the Contending Modernities research initiative, where she oversees operations and contributes to program development. Dania is a graduate of the Kroc Institute’s Masters in Peace Studies. She is active in efforts to establish restorative justice pathways in her local community, and volunteers to advance grant making for community-led social cohesion programs globally. She previously served as outreach coordinator at the Millennium Nucleus for the Study of Stateness and Democracy in Latin America, at the Catholic University of Chile.
Mahan Mirza
Mahan Mirza was appointed teaching professor and executive director for the Keough School's Rafat and Zoreen Ansari Institute for Global Engagement with Religion on July 1, 2019.

An Islamic studies scholar and expert on religious literacy, Mirza brings extensive pedagogical and administrative experience to his roles at Notre Dame, including serving as dean of faculty at Zaytuna College in Berkeley, California, America’s first accredited Muslim liberal arts college. Prior to his appointment as Executive Director of the Ansari Institute, Mirza served as the lead faculty member for Notre Dame's  Madrasa Discourses project, which equips Islamic religious leaders in India and Pakistan with the tools to confidently engage with pluralism, modern science, and new philosophies. 

Mirza holds a B.S. in mechanical engineering from the University of Texas at Austin, an M.A. from Hartford Seminary, and a Ph.D. in religious studies from Yale University. He has taught courses and lectured on Arabic-Islamic studies, western religions, and the history of science, along with foundational subjects in the liberal arts, including logic, rhetoric, astronomy, ethics, and politics. He has edited two special issues of 
The Muslim World and served as assistant editor for the Princeton Encyclopedia of Islamic Political Thought (2018).

He is a fellow with the Liu Institute for Asia and Asian Studies at the Keough School and continues to serve as an advisor for Madrasa Discourses.
 
Field Notes article

Intersectionality of Religion and Social Identity: The Chinese of Banda Aceh


Photo Credit: Adnan Ali. “Into the Lights.”

Background

Aceh, with its special autonomy and self government model, has a special right to apply shari’a law. The region has attracted frequent media coverage for various reasons: the armed political conflict, the 2004 earthquake and tsunami disaster, and shari’a law cases, among others. While it is known as the stronghold Muslim community in Indonesia, Aceh as a provincial territory is also home to religious and cultural minorities, such as the Chinese, locally known as “Tionghoa” or “orang Cina.” Banda Aceh, the provincial capital, is an interesting area to observe or learn about the Aceh Chinese community’s cultural and religious dynamics. This short article will discuss the case of the Chinese in Banda Aceh area, with some comparison to another Chinese community in Tamiang, a district located in the provincial border between Aceh and North Sumatra (a province that statistically has quite a significant number of non-Muslims). Through this narrative, the essay will address how political, religious, and economic sources of authority affect the social acceptance and rejection of the Chinese community.

 

Chinese Community in Banda Aceh.

Photo Credit: Adnan Ali. “Red Lanterns.”

Chinese migrants have a long history in several regions in Sumatra, including Aceh. They settled in several areas of Aceh, not only in the big city of Banda Aceh, but also in several sub-districts across Aceh. In terms of religion, most of those Chinese are either Buddhist or Christians. In Banda Aceh, they live predominantly around the area called Peunayong, now referred to as the city’s “Chinatown.” Most of them work as traders or business men/women selling groceries, food, and clothing. There are two notable Chinese temples along Peunayong’s main road. Apart from the Peunayong area and its surroundings, some Chinese in Banda Aceh also live in the Goheng area, across a small river near the Teuku Umar main road, and in the Setui business area nearby. One of the Chinese community leaders in Banda Aceh mentioned that historically the Goheng area was a community of Hokkian Chinese migrants. After the tsunami disaster, some of the Chinese community also moved to the Pantee Riek and Neuheun villages into new homes in the “perumahan Budha Tzu Chi” complexes funded by a “Tionghoa” organization for the people affected by the 2004 tsunami.

 

Authority and Community: Social Acceptance and Resistance

It has been years since shari’a law was formally instated in Aceh in 2002 and since the conflict between the Indonesian government and Aceh independent movement ended with the Helsinki Memorandum of Understanding in 2005. Over the years of armed conflict and its aftermath, the construction of local identity as “Acehnese” (orang Aceh) and Muslim became more dominant. While the Chinese (Buddhist and Christians) and the local people (mostly Muslim) have coexisted relatively peacefully in Banda Aceh since Chinese settlers arrived in the nineteenth century, or even before, in the last 50 years politics and armed conflict have caused many to feel unsafe or flee.

When the armed conflict in Aceh escalated in the late 1970’s, boosted by the establishment in 1976 of the Gerakan Aceh Merdeka (Aceh Independent Movement), some acts of terror caused members of non-local ethnicities like the Chinese and Javanese (though majority Muslim) to leave Aceh. However, many Chinese returned, especially after the signing of the 2005 peace agreement. Earlier in 1965, the PKI (Indonesian Communist Party) resurgence had much the same effect, and many Chinese fled Aceh for security reasons.

Both religious and community leaders as well as state authorities have particular impact on the social acceptance or rejection of, as well as policies that affect, the ‘other’. For example, Chinese Buddhists and Christians practice their cultural and religious observance as minorities. Some of their cultural and religious events, like Chinese New Year (Imlek), are quite well known locally as “uroe raya Cina” (Chinese holiday). When the late Mawardi Nurdin was mayor of Banda Aceh, there was a big public Chinese festival held in the city in 2011. However, this event was discontinued after his death. The acceptance or rejection of a public recognition of this Chinese holiday, in this case, was dependent on the will of state authorities and political leaders. The impact of these leaders is also felt in other ambits, such as with names. The Chinese in Aceh, like other Chinese elsewhere in Indonesia, adopted an Indonesian name apart from their Chinese given and family name. These local names are mostly utilized for special and official purposes. Having an Indonesian name has not always been optional, however; the New Order government of Suharto enforced the taking of local names. The fourth Indonesian president, Abdurrahman Wahid, rescinded this order and additionally allowed the Chinese religion of Confucianism to be officially recognized by the government.

 

Religious and Social Identity

Most Chinese settlers were Buddhist upon arriving to Aceh. Quite a number of them converted to Christianity around the 1970s. The Chinese now make up a significant portion of the Christian population in Banda Aceh. Some of them are affiliated with the Methodist Church in Kampung Mulia. There are also two Chinese Buddhist temples nearby. The Methodist Church offers primary and secondary education, and most students are Chinese. Meanwhile, there is a Catholic Church near Peunayong, and Catholic Chinese are also part of its congregation.

Photo Credit: Nugraha Kusuma. “Chinese New Year.”

During Abdurrahman Wahid’s presidency, the Chinese cultural performance of Barongsai (a dragon dance dating from fourth century China) was recognized officially by the government, together with other aspects of Chinese culture, after having been banned for years, especially during the New Order regime. In 2011, the Barongsai was performed at a Peunayong festival and attracted the attention of many Acehnese people and visitors. This Barongsai was at once contested and later prohibited, especially through municipal government policy. More recently, from 2014 until the present, the Barongsai has been performed again. Recognizing the potential for polemic and resistance, the Chinese have tried to avoid further rejection by combining the Barongsai performance with the seudati, a local Acehnese dance. Now when the Barongsai is held, seudati dancers perform around the Barongsai dragon dancer.

 

Conversion to Islam: Muallaf and Muallaf Organizations

In addition to those who converted to Christianity, a few Chinese also converted to Islam. A village leader (keuchik) from the area near Peunayong noted that three Chinese people from his village had converted to Islam within the last decade. They converted for a number of reasons, include marriage. Mixed marriages between Chinese and locals occur mostly in the second or the third generation, with almost none in the first generation.  There is no clear statistical data from formal sources about the number of Chinese who have converted to Islam. One Chinese leader interviewed estimates that around 200 Chinese have converted to Islam in Aceh. Newly converted Chinese are referred as “muallaf,” or more specifically “Cina muallaf.” On the Aceh border with North Sumatra, in areas like Tamiang, there are said to be many more converts to Islam, not only from Chinese community, but also from other ethnicities, such as the Batak (some of whom migrated from across the provincial border to Tamiang). Converts to another religion are often expelled from their extended family. This exclusion normally persists for years, sometimes for two generations. This research has recorded several personal stories of struggle from converts to Islam, and their situation can be quite difficult, socially. On the one hand, these converts were expelled from their family and ethnic groups, but on the other hand, they are not yet fully accepted by their converted religious community.

This situation has led to initiatives by Chinese converts in Banda Aceh like Mr. R, a business man affiliated with the Aceh Independent Movement. He helped found Formula (Forum Muallaf Aceh, or Forum for Aceh Converts) in 2010 and received support from the provincial government. However, the organization split due to internal conflict, and PMAS (Persatuan Muallaf Aceh Sejahtera, or Unity of Converts for a Prosperous Aceh) was founded, led by Ms. F. The branch of PMAS in Tamiang actively advocates for the betterment of muallaf, economically and socially. One of the interesting phenomena observed during interviews with [muallaf] Chinese was the way they affiliated themselves to local identity. For instance, a Chinese [muallaf] leader claimed that she is more native than another Chinese Indonesian: “I am more native than him, he is from Medan, and I am locally from Goheng Banda Aceh” (“…Saya ini lebih asoe lhok (penduduk asli) dari pada…, dia itu Cina Medan, saya keturunan Go Heng. Asli Banda Aceh, saya…”). She was, in essence, arguing that being more ‘local’ as someone who was born in Aceh supported and provided her with particular privilege and status. That is, the status of being closer to “native,” and as such less rejected because of commonalities with the Muslim Acehnese majority.

The process of social co-existence between majority and minority occurs is dynamic, not stable. Several other factors apart from religion or ethnicity also play a part in the process, such as politics, power and economics. Nevertheless, in the overall public space in Aceh with its special case of shari’a law, violent conflict has not re-emerged, nor have there been public conflicts or contestations. This is in line with the findings from the research and development unit of the Ministry of Religious Affairs in which Aceh is categorized as a “passively tolerant and low violence” community with regards to interreligious relations in Indonesia. In the case of Aceh, [contemporary] narratives fed the formation of “local” identity, when the notion of who is/was “local” (which is apparently based on racial/ethnic identity), and who is/was “other” became stronger, especially during and after the Aceh armed conflict (1976-2005). These insider/outsider contestations as usual influence the notion of whose culture is dominant and whose is lesser.

 

Some references:

Suryadinata, Leo, Ethnic Chinese in Contemporary Indonesia, Singapore: ISEAS, 2008

Syafi’eh, “Terang Lampion di Serambi Mekkah: Relasi-Muslim Tionghoa di Aceh Timur in Noviandi dan Muhammad Alkaf”, Pembentukan Kesalehan dan Artikulasi Islam di Aceh, Langsa: Zawiyah Serambi Ilmu Pengetahuan, 2015.

Usman, Rani, Etnis Cina Perantauan di Aceh, Jakarta: Yayasan Obor, 2009.

“Cerita warga etnis Tionghoa tinggal di negeri Syariah”, Harian Merdeka online (www.m.merdeka.com), retrieved on 14 March, 2016.

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Eka Srimulyani
Professor of Sociology at the Department of Social and Political Science, State Islamic University of Ar-Raniry, Banda Aceh. Among her latest publications is “Teungku Inong Dayah: Female Religious Leaders’ Authority and Agency in Contemporary Aceh”, in Feener, Michael R. et al., Islam and the Limits of the State: Reconfigurations of Ritual, Doctrine, Community and Authority in Contemporary Aceh, Leiden: Brill, 2016.
Field Notes article

Empowering Democratic Policy-Making: The Indonesian Women’s Coalition


Photo Credit: World Bank Photo Collection. “Women at a community meeting discuss the reconstruction of their village” in Yogyakarta, Indonesia.

There is no sharp division between secular and religious discourse in the minds and practices of women in Indonesia. Rather, both must be used proportionately towards better public policy for women and marginal groups in Indonesian society. Religion is not only a matter of language and ritual; it is a path towards the betterment of human life. Max Weber, in his research on religious movements, questioned the religious positions controlled by religious leaders who are not models to behave with dignity (Weber 1978: 471). The Indonesian Women’s Coalition echoes Weber’s arguments and cultivates the spiritual person’s personal righteousness within the principles of Pancasila[i] through the women’s leadership program. In the coalition’s efforts to promote equality and justice, religious and secular frames and sources of authority are selectively and strategically used.

The Indonesian Women’s Coalition has trained its members to be involved in public policy making from the village to the national-level. As a mass feminist organization and movement, the Indonesian Women’s Coalition practices the principles of equality and gender justice as a correlate to the constitutionally-mandated protection of diversity (www.koalisiperempuan.or.id).

While the majority of members are Muslim, the Indonesian Women’s Coalition has organized and educated women both using religious and secular teaching. It advocates religious teachings that favor gender equality and justice, and references secular international norms. Members learn about their political and social system in the spirit of equality and critical thinking, providing new lenses with which to interpret gender relations at the family and communal levels. As a result, members have contributed to the creation of women- and children-friendly city regulations, and better reproductive health care policies.

To foster women’s leadership, the Indonesian Women’s Coalition empowers women by training them to negotiate gender relations within families. At the village level, activities involving women at the grassroots encourage dialogue processes between women and men in a family. When referring to asymmetric experiences of equality, referencing certain religious tenets can bolster the role of women outside of familial spaces and encourage the expansion of women’s leadership to serve the community. Religious authorities in Indonesia’s mosques tends to promote teachings that establish the man as the head of the family, while exclusively women are dedicated to domestic work. However, the feminist education provided by the Indonesian Women’s Coalition puts forth a rereading of the Islamic teaching that changes family relations. God created women equal to men, and as such, both should be involved with domestic tasks.

Indonesian Women’s Coalition members are also members of the PKK (the Family Welfare Development Organization) a grassroots women’s organization formed since the Suharto New Order era. During the Suharto (or officially Soeharto in Indonesia) era, the PKK was seen as a state apparatus to employ women in public service roles, but without providing women leadership opportunities. The Indonesian Women’s Coalition, built in the post-reformation era, has changed the role of women in Indonesia. Together with other women’s organizations nationwide, the Indonesian Women’s Coalition is campaigning for the implementation of a national regulation which requires political parties to nominate women to at least 30% of all candidacies. Members of the Indonesian Women’s Coalition who live in areas with local regulations that discriminate against women and marginal groups like LGBT, have worked together to remove them.

Photo Credit: Anna Istanti, IWC. The Indonesian Women’s Coalition informs locals about national health policy and advocacy in the village of Pengol, Indonesia.

This approach has won the Indonesian Women’s Coalition the support of women around Indonesia. By the end of 2013, there were 38,000 individual members at the grassroots level in 900 villages across 24 provinces. Members of the Indonesian Women’s Coalition are mostly village-level activists, many of whom are part of women’s religious organizations, who fight together for their interests in transforming public policy. Currently through the MAMPU program (Advancing Indonesian Women for Poverty Reduction), the Indonesia Women’s Coalition assists the National Health Service by providing healthcare information at the village level. At MAMPU’s launch, the Indonesian Women’s Coalition in the region of DI.Yogyakarta held a seminar to present the national health insurance system to fellow citizens. The organizers invited religious leaders among other leaders in society to support their program on health insurance because they believe that the right to health care is political, and sought to cultivate broad support.

At the national level, the Indonesian Women’s Coalition is currently arguing cases before the Constitutional Court on the formulation of articles 284, 285, and 292 of the Code of Criminal Law (Kitab Undang Hukum Pidana). The coalition and other community organization are challenging the reformulation of the definition of adultery, which would involve the state in matters of citizens’ sexuality. Civil society organizations objected to the lack of clarity regarding the punishment for adultery outside of marriage and for same-sex sexual relations, which are seen as a crime even though they are not criminalized by national law. The current formulation of articles 284, 285, and 292 explain adultery as sexual acts committed by persons of different sexes, outside of marriage.

The Indonesian Women’s Coalition considers Pancasila, tradition, and religious discourse to be primary sources to improve the lives of women and children, as well as tools to nurture the living pluralism within its community. For examples, members educated in Islamic studies reference a teaching from the Book of Fiqh to strengthen the position of lesbian, bisexual and transgender groups both within the coalition and in society. In this book, Aisha, the wife of the prophet, protected and physically made space for transgender persons to pray behind her. As such, LGBT groups are assured protection.

Meanwhile, other members use secular discourse to advocate women’s rights within the rights framework of the United Nations, such as CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination Against Women) and with the language of global feminism. These sources of authority offer international legal status which advances the coalition’s work on women rights. Both secular and religious discourse have their legitimacy and are used in different circumstances.

Photo Credit: CIFOR. “Pandang portrait: Intimate life/oil palm work”

Arguments built by the Indonesian Women’s Coalition show respect to religious norms and international legal norms. In fact, both sources contain authoritative human rights norms which provide philosophical and religious underpinnings for their just implementation. Neither one can be relied upon on its own.  The Indonesian Women’s Coalition seeks to build egalitarian social policy within state policies, and believes that individual piety, when used to improve others’ lives, can inspire more women leaders to work for equal and just public policy for all citizens.

 

[i] Pancasila, the foundational and constitutional theory of the Indonesian state, contains five principles of human rights values: belief in Deity, civilized humanity, unity of Indonesia, equal representation of people, and social justice

 

 

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Farsijana Adeney-Risakotta
Farsijana Adeney-Risakotta received her Ph.D. in anthropology and Indonesian studies from Nijmegen University in the Netherlands. Farsijana also holds a Master of Arts degree in religion and society from Satya Wacana University in Salatiga, Indonesia, and a bachelor’s degree in theology from the Theological Seminary, Jakarta. Farsijana has worked as a field researcher on social change in the Moluccas for the University of Amsterdam (1999–2000). She was a lecturer for the Institute for Integrated Village ministry (1995) and assistant director of the Center for Analysis and Training in Rural Development in Tobelo, North Moluccas, Indonesia (1990).
Global Currents article

The Portland Samaritans and Politics Moving Forward


Photo Credit: Joe A. Kunzler Photo, AvgeekJoe Productions, growlernoise-AT-gmail-DOT-com. “#Trimet MAX Blue Line at Beaverton TC”

A man is spewing racist and anti-Muslim invective against two young women, one of whom is wearing a hijab. It’s Friday afternoon—rush-hour in Portland, OR—and the train is crowded. Three men move to quiet him. They are pleading with him to settle down, to get off the train. One is making concessions, saying that yes, the man is a taxpayer, but he’s scaring people and he needs to get off. As the train glides towards the next stop, the man pulls a knife. In a flash, he cuts the throats of the three men. Two of them die. The third is still recovering.

It is unimaginable. I’ve ridden that train countless times, jostling with others, happy to be part of the city’s life and, at the same time, looking forward to getting back to my leafy backyard. The reality of it presses into me. The story runs off the page, escaping the banality that envelopes the news. I feel it, the horror of it and the astounding, shining bravery of those who rose to shield the young women.

The suffering of those close to the event is the part that is truly impossible to grasp: the parents and friends of Taliesin Myrddin Namkai-Meche, a recent Reed College graduate; those surrounding Rick Best, a veteran and father of four; the long recovery of Micah Fletcher and his people; the pain endured by the women who were harassed and the fear felt by their families; and the trauma experienced by others on the train. Their story is theirs to tell. Namkai-Meche’s mother, Asha Deliverance, is telling hers with astounding eloquence and humanity. She is imploring us to reflect and to work for change. We must heed her call to think about the future we want. It’s a political question, but only because politics refers to our communal life, to the life of a group of people, moving together through the world, hoping to make it home safe.

—

Photo Credit: Tony. “Empty Car”

It hardly bears mentioning that these deaths were part of a pattern of rising white nationalist, anti-Muslim fervor connected to the candidacy and election of Donald Trump to the presidency. The killer’s track record of hate speech makes that much clear. His actions on the train were part of a chain of death threats, mosque burnings, and murders that has snaked across the country since Trump first got on the campaign trail. These events have led some to ask if liberalism—defined roughly as a concern with individual freedom and tolerance—is in its death throes or if it was always unable to live up to the promise of incorporating real difference, cultural, ethnic, or religious.

Somehow, Islam has been tied up in this question for a long time, at least as a theoretical matter. In her masterful book, Thomas Jefferson’s Qur’an, the scholar of Islam, Denise A. Spellberg, unwinds the story of how the founders of the United States understood Islam. For Jefferson, Islam was a litmus test of values. More than a reality, it was an ideal through which one could test the boundaries of toleration. Jefferson supported the tolerance of Islam as proof of his own. Sadly, he does not appear to have imagined that the existence of Muslims in the republic was not just a theoretical future. He likely lived amongst Muslims, or their decedents, who were enslaved on his plantation. Spellberg also writes of a curious figure, John Leland. A friend of Jefferson and a Baptist minister, Leland squinted at tolerance as an inadequate sentiment and argued for fuller bodied embrace of Islam and other religions.

Leland’s is a sentiment I hear with some frequency these days. In my own field of Islamic studies, some scholars hold up Islam as a retort to liberal tolerance and secularism. Often drawing on the work of the Catholic philosopher, Alasdair MacIntyre, these Islamicists point to the Muslim tradition as an alternative to shallow and callow liberalism. For them, a tradition, such as Islam or Catholicism, animates people at the core of their being. They argue that liberals dilute themselves and deceive others when they claim that our deeper needs and identities can be bracketed, allowing us to enter into the public sphere as equal, rational agents, tolerant of difference but only inasmuch as it doesn’t encumber public life. Really, these scholars argue, this “go along to get along” philosophy is always a cypher for the cruel imposition of European and American values on others. The historian and literary critic, Joseph Massad, goes so far as to claim that liberalism must castigate Islam, which it paints in its funhouse mirror image, to constitute itself. Islam, in Massad’s telling, will always be excluded from liberalism.

The reality is that Muslims have participated in liberal societies, including the United States, for a very long time. Anglo-American philosophers may have used tolerance as a hypothetical test to see who could live within the polity. But tolerance also has historicity outside of these theories: it was shaped by the encounters of people over the centuries. In this sense, tolerance isn’t the purview of John Locke and other dead white philosophers. It is one of the evolving ways that people have worked out, amongst themselves, to live and travel side-by-side.

Neither can Islam made into a simple retort to liberalism. Namkai-Meche took the same Introduction to Islam course that I did more than a decade later. The course was taught by Kambiz GhaneaBassiri at Reed College. As GhaneaBassiri said in a recent radio interview, those of us, like Namkai-Meche and myself, who came to the class looking for easy rejoinders to anti-Muslim hate were bound to be frustrated. The course delved deeper than that. By illuminating the nuances of the dizzyingly diverse array of people, ideas, and practices that associate with Islam, the course showed us, implicitly, how small modern American Islamophobia is. We began to understand that Islam is infinitely more complex and the world infinitely bigger than any stereotype would allow.

—

Today, with tolerance threatening to slip from view, we may wonder if liberalism wasn’t so bad after all. Liberal tolerance certainly has been used as a cover for some of the world’s greatest brutalities, as its critics claim. And, they are right to remind liberals of this. But this doesn’t mean liberalism can’t be separated from fascist and colonial violence. Even in liberal philosophy, to tolerate may not be only to ignore. Tolerance might also be an active coming together of three men of different backgrounds to uphold the common good. It is tempting, anyway, to tell that story when thinking of Namkai-Meche, Best, and Fletcher on the train. Of course, that event was more than the unfolding of a pre-determined political philosophy.

Like the spontaneous protests at airports after the Trump administration released its executive order on immigration, the acts of these courageous men were a demonstration that the political exists not in the halls of Congress, the White House, or the writings of theorists. Politics unfold in spaces of transfer and traffic, where people come together for discrete moments. In such transits, new and shared understandings emerge, sustained by the collective desire to continue moving together.

Namkai-Meche’s last words—reported by a woman who pulled off her shirt to tourniquet his wound—were, “Tell everyone on this train that I love them.” We love you, too.

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Sam Kigar
Samuel Kigar is a Ph.D. candidate in the Islamic studies track of Duke University's Graduate Program in Religion. His research areas include Islam in the Maghreb, modern Muslim thought, pre-modern Muslim political philosophy, and religion and law. He is currently writing a dissertation entitled, "Islamic Land: Muslim Genealogies of Territorial Sovereignty in Modern Morocco, 1930-1990.” He tweets at @sam_kigar