Blog

Field Notes article

Total Diplomacy, Cash Diplomacy, and the Fate of “Moderate Islam”

Photo Credit: James Hoesterey. “Indonesian foreign minister Retno Marsudi (front row, third from left) with BDF delegates from Europe, Africa, Asia, and the Middle East.”

In December 2016, Indonesia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs hosted the 9th annual Bali Democracy Forum (BDF). Founded in 2008 during the presidency of Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, the BDF has been central to Indonesia’s diplomatic strategy to assert its role as an important regional power on the global stage. Former Minister of Foreign Affairs, Dr. Hassan J. Wirajuda, envisioned the BDF as a diplomatic platform in which Indonesia could promote democracy by sharing Indonesia’s own lessons from its democratic transition. The BDF’s implementing agency, the Institute for Peace and Democracy (IPD), has now become the legacy of what Wirajuda refers to as “total diplomacy”—a combination of formal government-to-government diplomacy and person-to-person public diplomacy. Indeed, Yudhoyono heralded his foreign policy in terms of “a million friends, zero enemies.”

The theme for the 2016 BDF, “Religion, Democracy, and Pluralism”, is in keeping with the IPD’s goal to use the forum to showcase Indonesia’s form of “moderate Islam.” However, at the time that current Indonesian President Joko Widodo (Jokowi) gave the BDF opening address, he was contending with Islamic State-inspired terror at home, a contentious blasphemy trial of Jakarta’s Chinese-Christian governor, and frequent mass rallies to “defend Islam” —one of which was held at the doorstep of the state palace. The looming question at the parallel media and civil society forum was whether Indonesia can still tout itself as the shining example of “moderate Islam.”

Domestic challenges to religious tolerance and pluralism notwithstanding, Indonesia’s foreign ministry was nonetheless intent on promoting the image of Indonesia as the home of religious pluralism. On the second day of the BDF, Indonesia’s foreign minister, Retno Marsudi, escorted representatives from nearly 100 countries to the Bina Insani Islamic school located in the heart of the Hindu-majority island of Bali. As delegates descended from luxury tour buses, they were welcomed by an ensemble of Balinese music and dance, and they took their seats of honor in the front rows of an outdoor covered stage with a huge red banner welcoming BDF delegates.

Photo Credit: James Hoesterey. “Musicians playing Balinese gamelan greet BDF delegates. The image on the instruments is Barong, the king of spirits in Balinese mythology who represents goodness and order.”

A young female student began the program with a Qur’anic verse, recited in eloquent Arabic, about ethnic and religious pluralism. After government officials welcomed BDF delegates, a Hindu woman who taught at the school shared her personal testimony about feeling welcomed into this community. Next, schoolgirls recited moving poems about tolerance and pluralism–one in English, the other in Arabic: a linguistic showcase of an Indonesian Muslim cosmopolitanism at ease with both the West and the Arab world. (At the most esteemed Islamic schools in Indonesia students must learn both Arabic and English.) Finally, the school’s director shared stories about his childhood in Bali, his education at the state Islamic school in Jakarta, and his return to found this school as one way to promote Indonesia’s national motto Bhinneka Tunggal Ika, “unity in diversity.”

As the program concluded, the Saudi Arabian ambassador to Indonesia, Osama Mohammad Abdullah Alshuaibi, leapt to his feet and loudly proclaimed how impressed he was that this Islamic school reflected the Qur’anic notion that Islam came as a “blessing for all humankind and the universe.” With no small dose of national pride, the Saudi ambassador pledged his kingdom’s donation of $50,000 to the school. For decades, Saudi’s cash diplomacy in Indonesia has offered free hajj pilgrimages, funded the teaching of Arabic in Indonesia, and provided scholarships for religious study in Saudi Arabia.

Scanning the diverse audience of government officials, Islamic school teachers, and foreign diplomats, I observed reactions ranging from awestruck jubilation to horror and disappointment. One phrase from the cacophony of voices was especially memorable: duit boleh, asal jangan guru, or “your money is OK, as long as it’s not your religion teachers.” Following the festive announcement, the school director gave the delegates a personal tour of the campus, with Indonesia’s Director of Public Diplomacy walking side-by-side with the Saudi ambassador. A couple diplomats from Western Europe trailed behind, murmuring about the audacity and excessiveness of Saudi diplomacy.

Photo Credit: James Hoesterey. “The Saudi ambassador praises the Islamic school and pledges $50,000 to the school.”

This combination of awe and horror is perhaps the best way to characterize Indonesia’s complex diplomatic ties, religious lineages, and cultural fascination with Saudi Arabia. Despite Indonesia’s rich heritage of globally-learned religious scholars, Indonesians have shown little interest in exporting these scholars. Whereas the works of Arab scholars are often translated into Indonesian, the reverse is seldom the case. Saudi Arabia thus enjoys an aura of religious authenticity in some sectors of Indonesia’s popular imagination. As suggested by the current visit of King Salman bin Abdulaziz al Saud, some Indonesian politicians and religious leaders jockey for Saudi praise, while others bemoan Saudi Arabia as a kingdom which has gone astray from Islam’s true religious principles, whose exported Wahhabi theology threatens Indonesian national integrity, and whose wealthy citizens have been accused of torturing their Indonesian housemaids. Whereas some seek to emulate versions of Islam espoused as “Arab,” others fear the Arabization of Indonesian Islam. Indonesians returning from pilgrimage often recount stories of gruff, impolite, and unrefined Saudis who sharply contrast with the refinement of most Indonesian Muslims. Jakarta taxi drivers relish stories about Arab tourists who venture to Indonesia for sin-ridden excursions.

The machinations of “total diplomacy” become ever more complicated in light of King Salman’s expected announcement that Saudi Arabia plans to partner with Indonesia to combat the Islamic State and to promote “moderate Islam.” Indonesian foreign policy finds itself at a crossroads. Whereas the promotion of “moderate Islam” plays well with Western parties, it can further complicate bilateral relations between Indonesia and, for example, Turkey, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. Partnerships to promote “moderate Islam” do not necessarily imply that each country perceives the other’s practice of Islam as authentic or rooted in authoritative tradition.

When I conversed with the Saudi ambassador on the bus back to the BDF, he told me that Indonesians had yet to practice “authentic Islam” and lamented the use of music and mixing of genders at the Islamic school. “But it would be rude to publicly declare such things,” he proceeded. “We must realize that this is their culture and how they understand Islam. Remember, Islam has only been here for a few centuries.” His remark combined the linguistic finesse of a diplomat with the inexorable scorn of a colonial officer. Despite the rhetoric of cultural variety within Islam, it would seem unthinkable for the Saudi king to visit the Indonesian state palace and laud the concept of Islam Nusantara, the “Islam of the Archipelago”, that has served as a mantra of authentic, yet regionally distinct Islam for which Indonesians should feel a sense of pride, not inferiority, vis-a-vis Arab articulations of Islam.

The predicaments of Saudi’s cash diplomacy and Indonesia’s “moderate Islam” have implications for how we understand issues of authority, identity, and community in relation to multiple visions of Muslim modernity. Whereas public affirmations of an inspired allegiance to a global Islamic umma play well in certain circles, persistent questions about religious authority and political legitimacy, informed by actual bilateral relations and reported human rights violations of Indonesian domestic laborers in Saudi Arabia, strain the bonds of religious solidarity. At the same time, voices critical of the Indonesian state’s response to a major blasphemy case look approvingly to the Wahhabis as the true defenders of Islam. The pleasantries of public diplomacy are not always compatible with the realities of real politik. Ultimately, the Indonesian state’s most important task will be to successfully ensure merciful and compassionate Islam at home, not just “moderate Islam” abroad.

As Marcel Mauss has observed, gifts are always given in relations of power, and there are no unencumbered gifts among friends. President Jokowi has already displayed a willingness to depart from Yudhoyono’s foreign policy of “a million friends, zero enemies.” Indeed, one need not make enemies in order to keep some friends at a safer distance. “Your money is OK, just not your religion teachers.”

James Hoesterey
Jim Hoesterey is a cultural anthropologist and assistant professor in the Department of Religion at Emory University whose research and teaching interests include Islam, media, and politics. His recent book, Rebranding Islam: Piety, Prosperity, and a Self-Help Guru (Stanford University Press, November 2016), chronicles the rise, fall, and rebranding of Indonesian celebrity televangelist Kyai Haji Abdullah Gymnastiar. Hoesterey’s current book project focuses on the cultural politics of diplomacy, foreign policy, and the making of “moderate Islam.”
Theorizing Modernities article

Action as Prayer: Lessons from Oceti Sakowin

Photo Credit: Jessie Palatucci. “Rise with Standing Rock. United Church of Christ. Washington, DC. March 10, 2017.”

Within the Christian context, I argue there are three common ways in which prayer relates to action. Here I broadly conceive of prayer as an attempt to connect to the divine. Action refers broadly to attempts to influence society beyond the Christian community. Prayer instead of action, prayer as action, and prayer in support of action. None of these common conceptions, however, fit the way prayer and action seemed to be related at the Standing Rock camp. The best explanation, using the above language, would be action as prayer.

Upon arriving at the camp visitors were taken through an orientation based on the seven Lakota values. The first value was prayer. The orientation explained, “This is a ceremonial camp. Act accordingly.” It went on: “Remember why we came here: to stop the pipeline as a ceremonial camp.” The camp itself (both the physical encampment and the community within the camp) was both an act of resistance to the pipeline and a place of ceremonial prayer. Within the camp there were many different forms of prayer ceremonies. Every meeting began and ended with a prayer from any faith tradition who wanted to share, the diversity bound by a common goal. There were sacred fires, water ceremonies, and prayer songs among other forms of prayer. Even direct actions such as marches were considered a form of prayer.

The direct action training led by Indigenous Peoples Power Project employed twelve principles for direct action. The list begins: “We are Protectors not Protesters. We are Peaceful and Prayerful.”[1] This was not mere sentiment. Before people participated in direct actions they were reminded that those actions were a form of prayer, and that they should go with a prayerful attitude, remembering that their ancestors were watching, and that they were participating not only for their own grandchildren, but for the grandchildren of the police and DAPL employees too. The actions were seen as one of the forms of prayer. Those taking action were reminded of the spiritual aspects of their work.

Photo Credit: Shane Balkowitsch. “Dakota Access Pipeline Native American protest site, on Highway 1806 near Cannonball, North Dakota, August 15th, 2016.”

The prayer practices at Oceti Sakowin camp offered a holistic and positive relationship between prayer and action, a relationship not often found between prayer and action within Christianity.

The practice of praying without taking political action, or prayer instead of action, is founded on the belief that the Godly realm and the earthly (political) realm are separate and in conflict. Therefore, rather than appealing to “earthly powers” one is best served by appealing to God as the greatest power. In the positive sense this offers hope to those in a state of complete despair. If people feel there are no other acceptable actions available to them or that political powers have irreconcilably harmed them, prayer offers a form of hope in the divine. The suggestion “just take it to God” comes to mind.

However, this can lead prayer to have a negative (oppositional rather than complementary) relationship with action. The understanding has led to a reluctance toward engaging in political action, as the latter is seen as futile, or worse, as appealing to a “false idol.” For example, a Mennonite bishop during the U.S. Civil War extolled his congregants to pray to God rather than petition the president, stating, “What is the president? But a poor dying mortal like ourselves.”[2] Today, there are still some in the Christian tradition who will disparage political action as unfaithful, or even idolatrous, because it appeals to society rather than to God. This understanding is more common in Mennonite circles than in most other forms of Christianity.

The second relationship is that of prayer as a form of political action. This is perhaps the most common relationship. It includes prayer for political leaders, prayer for faith based organizations, or prayers of petition regarding social and political issues. When faith based organizations speak to churches about ways congregants can partake in their work, prayer is almost always mentioned as a way for the church to be involved. In the positive sense this offers congregants a way to connect their faith deeply with the action that is happening. It also connects the work of the organization to the work of the church.

But this can also establish a negative relationship between prayer and action. It can excuse churches from offering more direct support for changes they would like to see. Prayer becomes a substitute for political or social action. Rather than becoming active, congregants are offered a form of ‘involvement’ that demands no real commitment of resources, time, or money. You can hear a critique of this way of thinking in a quote attributed to Pope Francis: “You pray for the hungry, then you feed them. That’s how prayer works.” What he offers instead is prayer as a call to action. This is a form of the third relationship.

Photo Credit: Tony Webster. “Dakota Access Pipeline protest at the Sacred Stone Camp near Cannon Ball, North Dakota. 25 August 2016.”

The third relationship is that of prayer in support of political action. In this understanding prayer can help catalyze political action, help orient political action, or help rejuvenate political actors. This may include prayers of discernment, meditations, prayer retreats, or centering prayers. The concept is that times of prayer help committed spiritual individuals do their work better. This concept connects prayer to action in a complementary relationship.

While the relationship here may be complementary, it nonetheless suggests a strong dichotomy between prayer and action. Prayer is no longer a way of promoting social change, like in the other concepts, but a support to those who are acting for social change. There is a time of prayer, then there is a time of action. To use Pope Francis’ statement as an example, one prays for the hungry, then stops prayer and starts feeding the hungry. The prayer and the action are distinct. None of these three understandings hold prayer and action together positively and holistically, in the way shown at Standing Rock.

I do not have the expertise or experience to comment on Native American spirituality, but I did recognize the Standing Rock organizers viewed the relationship between prayer and action in a way that is not often expressed in Christianity. Action as a form of prayer. Though it is not a commonly expressed conception in Christianity, that does not mean it would not fit within the Christian tradition. In fact, there are some scriptural passages that may support it. For example, the command to pray without ceasing implies that prayer is part of every action, including political actions. More directly, the suggestion that, “in everything you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him,” seems to suggest one should conceive of actions as a form of prayer. Or to paraphrase Pope Francis, by feeding the hungry you pray for them.

Reflecting on the Native American traditions expressed at Standing Rock offers a critique of common Christian understandings of the interplay between prayer and action. It also offers an alternative understanding which has not been widely entertained. It is time we Christians more deeply engage the indivisibility of prayer and action offered by conceiving of action as a form of prayer.

 

[1] Indigenous Peoples Power Project, “Direct Action Training,” (Standing Rock North Dakota, December 1, 2016).

[2]John M Brenneman, “Cover Letter to Petition”, Mennonite Historical Bulletin 34 (October 1973), 3.

Jonathan Brenneman
Jonathan Brenneman is an alumni of the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies at Notre Dame. He is currently the Coordinator of "Israel/Palestine Partners in Peacemaking" for Mennonite Church USA coordinating educational opportunities about Israel-Palestine. He spent a week in December 2016 with water protectors in Standing Rock North Dakota.
Theorizing Modernities article

Prayer, Peace, and the Imagination: A Catholic Sacramental Perspective

Photo Credit: Steve Evans, “Ukraine Conflict”. Women pray on March 31st, 2014.

In Catholic spirituality, ritual and ceremony are cornerstones of prayer. In the context of peacebuilding, this form of prayer can be powerful. I would like to reflect on this style of prayer in Catholic tradition as a complement to Dr. Tanya Schwartz’s presentation on the role of prayer in Faith-Based Organizations (FBOs) working on peacebuilding. In Schwartz’s lecture, prayer was presented as largely therapeutic or as something to define organizational identity. In the three FBOs she studied, prayer functioned mostly as a means of spiritual sustenance for the organizations and their members, something that strengthened them to do their work and provided relief for the high stress of working in conflict situations. Or it served to define a special identity that bolstered common commitment to the organization’s mission. While therapeutic prayer is a definite part of Catholic spirituality, and prayer in many forms is a powerful identity marker in Catholicism, the ritual forms of Catholic prayer demonstrate a different role that prayer can play in peacebuilding contexts.

In Catholic thought, the ritual sacraments are very poignant expressions of prayer. These seven ceremonial rights are, according to Catholic tradition, defined by the life and teaching of Christ. The belief is that when these rites are performed with the valid materials, actions, and words as defined by Catholic tradition, and with sincerity and intention by the minister and the participants, that God’s sanctifying grace is made directly manifest. And while the stereotypical image of prayer may be something more extemporaneous, and typically geared toward petition or requesting something of God, ceremonially defined sacraments, like the Eucharist, give Catholics expressions of prayer that are more complex. Whatever one might ask of God, one is asking in some form for God’s grace. And the sacraments are symbols of God’s grace given for the salvation of humanity, but ones that, Catholic theology claims, actually effect that which they signify. That is, the sacraments are taught to actually make God’s grace present. And wrapped up in the ceremonial form that brings about this manifestation of God’s grace are expressions of worship and thanksgiving, which are other powerful intentions of prayer besides petition. So, while one might commonly imagine prayer as a person or a group beseeching God for forgiveness or strength or help, the sacraments are prescribed ways in which Catholics invoke those things directly, even automatically, within a ceremonial rite that simultaneously expresses the apt gratitude and praise for the granting of that grace.

Photo Credit: Alan Creech. “This is My Body”.

The significance of this grace-granting cannot be overstated in terms of Catholic theology. The ultimate human end is salvation, and one requires grace to get salvation, so the grace of the sacraments is quite simply in Catholic understanding absolutely necessary to the final end of human life. Catholic anthropology presumes the marring of Original Sin, a principle by which human beings are destined to fall short of goodness if they do not receive divine assistance. This theology has much to say to peacebuilding. It says that one variable that must be dealt with in any situation of violence and conflict is the pervasiveness of sin, and the inability to overcome it without God’s grace. Prayer in this paradigm is indispensable for peacebuilding because it invokes the divine help without which stable peace could not be realistically hoped for.

However, there is another more functional and pragmatic way in which ritual and ceremonial prayer can benefit peacebuilding. Ritual and sacrament can serve as powerful vehicles for social transformation. Catholic rituals, such as the Eucharist, can provide a space in which conflicting sides can meet to pursue reconciliation and transformation and in which community can be restored. Robert Schreiter, in reflecting on the Eucharist, notes that it has particular power to aid reconciliation because it invites all parties, on both sides of conflict, to be transformed and healed in light of God’s mercy, but with an insistence on accountability and truthfulness that are vital parts of genuine reconciliation, (Peacebuilding, 230-2). For Schreiter, rituals model “alternative social formations,” and he describes the place of rituals in post-conflict efforts at reconstruction and reconciliation this way: “Sometimes all these rituals can say is that there is an intention to live differently in the future, and that the resentment about what happened in the past will not be allowed to dominate the future” (227-8).

Ritual prayer, then, can stimulate the moral imagination and make it a potentially powerful catalyst of peace. Paul Ricoeur referred to the utopian dimension of the imagination, whereby the imagination has an eschatological force that creates new possibilities (Lectures on Ideology and Utopia, 265-6). Those new possibilities cannot come to be without the imagination’s provocation, and part of what makes that provocation operational is that it can work from a shared base of understanding and comprehensibility. In ritual prayer, actors in conflict can draw on shared religious beliefs, and within the prayerful space of the ritual, model and project new possibilities.

This view obviously presumes a shared point of religious heritage and identity across lines of conflict, meaning this dynamic may be harder to apply in situations where this is not the case. In contexts where common religion is not present there are legitimate concerns about the use of prayer and ritual. In Schwartz’s lecture, she noted how non-faith based agencies worry about prayer representing proselytization, and sensitivity to such a worry must be recognized.  But still, inter-religious action work by Catholic Relief Services, as highlighted in a series of articles for Contending Modernities, demonstrates the value and importance of shared action for bridging inter-religious divides and enhancing cooperation for development. The commentary by Nell Bolton of CRS emphasizes carefully respecting the boundaries of traditional religious authority, while “creatively orient[ing] it towards collaborative ends.” Indeed respecting the integrity of religious identities is crucial, but even in pluralistic religious contexts, shared ritual action has the potential to be a bridging activity that can help transform possibilities for interaction between different religious groups. Atalia Omer, observing inter-religious action in Bosnia and Herzgovina, notes that inter-religious action has imperfections that can leave in place or even accent ethno-religious divides, but acknowledges the value to inter-group collaboration for peacebuilding. Crafting shared rituals respectful of individual traditions, or sharing in rituals where appropriate, can foster engagement between narrative spaces and cultivate empathy, which Omer describes as necessary elements for successful inter-religious action for peacebuilding.

The therapeutic functions of prayer are not to be ignored. The empowerment and assurance that workers in FBOs can feel from prayer are doubtlessly valuable. However, ritual prayer can provide an even more valuable asset. FBOs and Catholic Church actors must not abdicate the responsibility to address conflict and violence in concrete ways beyond prayer, ensuring that it serves as a catalyst to real action for the sake of development and social cooperation, as well as advocacy and effort for structural change. But ritual prayer is able to be such a catalyst by creating the chance to imagine different ways of existing beyond the strife of conflict, making such peaceful alternatives into more realistic possibilities.

Caesar Montevecchio
Caesar Montevecchio holds his Ph.D. in systematic theology from Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, PA, where his doctoral research focused on the development of doctrine. He is currently a Research Associate with the Catholic Peacebuilding Network in the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies at the University of Notre Dame. Prior to joining the Catholic Peacebuilding Network, Montevecchio spent nine years as an Instructor of Religious Studies at Mercyhurst University in Erie, PA, and five years before that teaching at the secondary level in Pennsylvania and Massachusetts.
Field Notes article

Inter-Religious Literacy Among Young People in Indonesia: Contrasting Locales

Photo Credit: Nick Adams. Research Team.

How do young people, of around university age, think and speak about inter-religious encounter in Indonesia? And what, if anything, leads them to change their minds about religious traditions other than their own? These are the questions that we are asking in Java in two contrasting sites: Salatiga and Yogyakarta. Our motivating assumption is that questions of this kind are posed in Indonesia using categories (and in the light of histories) that are distinct from those that have developed in European and North American contexts. This approach suggested itself early on, when familiar European systems of classification (involving ‘exclusivism’, ‘inclusivism’ and ‘pluralism’ for example) failed to do justice to the descriptions of inter-religious engagement given by Indonesian colleagues.

Eckhard Zemmrich (Humboldt University, Berlin) and Nicholas Adams (University of Birmingham, England) are leading a small team of five researchers to investigate these questions. Our team includes local research partners Percik (in Salatiga) and Interfidei (in Yogyakarta). Our local partner institutions arguably have as much experience leading inter-religious engagement in Indonesia as any in Indonesia, having been set up before the fall of Suharto in 1998, and being key actors in the response to the religious violence that erupted at that time.

For young people aged between 16 and 20, the violence of 1998 occurred before they were born or when they were very small. While stories and memories are very much alive in their communities, they themselves did not witness the violence. Further back, the atrocities of the anti-Communist purge of 1965 are deeply etched in those communities, but for young people these events are known only second-hand through the memories of their grand-parents or through such films as The Act of Killing or The Look of Silence. It is likely that for everyone, regardless of age, flare-ups of religious violence today are generally made sense of against the backdrop of the events of 1965 and 1998. However, we have not yet identified a clear pattern in how young people (as opposed to the older community leaders) refer to this historical context, nor is it clear, yet, how deep their knowledge of it is. This is certainly one of the focal questions in our fieldwork.

Our research engages two contrasting groups: university students in Yogyakarta, and young people from villages near Salatiga. We aim to discover how they respond to local inter-religious initiatives and to ask whether these initiatives are relevant only to these local situations or if their approach might be extended to other situations in other countries.

The two locations themselves offer strong contrasts. The Yogyakarta setting is urban, intellectual and relatively affluent: its participants are university students and the political context is for the most part stable. The Salatiga setting is rural and less affluent: the participants are either at school or have just left school, and the political context is more charged. Many of the villages surrounding Salatiga are periodically targeted by outside groups of Muslim hard-liners who encourage local Muslims to sever ties with neighbours from other religious traditions, placing strains on relationships of mutual dependence that may have taken families years to build up. We plan to report on whether the young people in these contrasting locales give similar or different answers to our questions, and–if the answers are different–we consider whether these differences can plausibly be explained by the difference of context, and if so, which differences seem to matter more.

Our primary goal is a before-and-after assessment. What do young people say before they engage with local inter-religious initiatives, and what do they say afterwards? What difference do the local initiatives make? We are also interested to hear how participants have learned about religious traditions other than their own, especially because Indonesian school-children are typically educated with their co-religionists. Muslim children attend Muslim schools, Christian children attend Christian schools, and so on. Digging a little deeper, we want to find out whether young people change their minds (or at least change what they say), and if so we want to make reasonable guesses at the forces which shape these changes: is it related to the kind of information available (or not available); is it conversation with peers from other religious traditions; is it inspiring leadership from inter-religious activists; is it shared study of texts? And at the same time, we are attentive to those cases where young people might not change their minds or might be critical of activities which bring them into conversation with members of other religious traditions.

Our research focuses on three initiatives, two in Yogyakarta and one in Salatiga. In Yogyakarta, we are looking at an undergraduate religion course hosted by Interfidei, in which students from four universities elect to study questions of contemporary religious significance (these change from year to year), and during which trips are arranged to visit sites representative of a variety of local religious traditions. We will also report on a now-annual Peace Camp organised by and for students at Gadjah Mada University, which takes place over two days in the summer, and which includes a variety of inter-religious activities including Scriptural Reasoning. In Salatiga we are researching ‘sobat’ programmes (sobat is Indonesian for ‘friend’) arranged by Percik for young people in neighbouring villages, at which participants from different religious traditions mingle, eat, discuss and consider local challenges. These often take place in the evening, with some including late-night discussions and overnight camping.

Photo Credit: Nick Adams

It has been suggested to us in conversation with our research partners that the ‘religious question’ (i.e. the question ‘what is your religion?’) is largely a post-1974 issue arising from the legal requirement that official documents name one’s religious tradition. One is unable to receive such documents unless one declares a religious tradition, and so this declaration is largely an ‘administrative matter’. This contrasts strongly with Western contexts: there are administrative cases in European contexts where there is an opportunity to declare one’s religious affiliation (e.g. when being admitted to hospital, to ensure correct dietary or chaplaincy provision), but these are relatively rare, and one is free to name any religious tradition one chooses—even ‘Jedi’, for example. ‘Jedi’ is most certainly not an option on official Indonesian documents. It is possible, in principle, to leave the declaration blank on the official identity card, but in practice it seems few dare to do that.

A recent visit to Thekelan, another village close to Salatiga, revealed that in one prominent family the husband and wife had both become Muslims at the time of their marriage: the groom had been a Buddhist, and the bride a Christian. The reason given for this was ‘to avoid family disagreements’, with a strong impression that this was a pragmatic decision made, perhaps, with comparable seriousness to Western discussions about whether a wife will take her husband’s name, or whether the couple will take a new double-barrelled name. One might test the hypothesis that to take a religious tradition here is like taking a name: it is necessary for documentation, and is arguably something consciously chosen after due deliberation more than being something handed down through generations. This is a central concern for us, and we will explore it in a little more detail in our next blog.

 


Featured Image Credit: Asian Development Bank. Indonesia: Education. Flickr.com.

Nicholas Adams
Nicholas Adams is Professor of Philosophical Theology at the Department of Theology and Religion, University of Birmingham. His principal areas of research are the impact of German Idealism on Christian theology together with the investigation of philosophical problems in inter-religious engagement.
Eckhard Zemmrich
Dr. Eckhard Zemmrich is a Research Fellow of Religious Sciences and Intercultural Theology at the Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. Prior to that, he served as a Theological Advisor for the Evangelische Landeskirche Berlin-Brandenburg-schlesische Oberlausitz, as a parish pastor in Germany, and as scientific Co-Worker for the Council of Churches in Indonesia, in Jakarta.
Theorizing Modernities article

“To Be Absolutely Fair and Impartial”: Religious Instruction and Near East Relief’s Turn to Development

By Unknown – http://www.lapl.org/collections-resources/blogs/central-library/america-we-thank-you, Public Domain

“There ought to be a rule, strictly enforced,” Walter George Smith wrote in 1921, “that where a Gregorian, Jewish, Catholic or Protestant Institution is caring for orphans of its own faith, that equal subsidies per capital be paid to them, and that was the rule as I remember it . . .” Smith, a Catholic lawyer from Philadelphia in the employ of the Protestant-dominated American aid organization Near East Relief (NER), sent the letter to NER’s director advocating on behalf of Franciscan Sisters operating an orphanage in Urfa, in modern-day Turkey. Amidst rising tensions between Protestant staff in the field and local Catholics concerning aid distribution and religious instruction, the letter was indicative of the quandary relief organizations in the Near and Middle East found themselves in after World War I: how to adjust their practices within a changing environment marked by religious pluralism and state secularism. For his part, Smith acknowledged devout Protestants could not be expected to easily smooth over tensions with Catholics but that such a policy should be publicly proclaimed and enforced, “both because it [is] right and because it [is] expedient to be absolutely fair and impartial.”[1]

Indeed, a year later, victories by the forces of Kemal Atatürk paved the way for the emergence of Turkey as a new nation-state from the ashes of the Ottoman Empire. Led by Atatürk, the new Turkish authorities advanced a secular nationalist domestic agenda which further complicated NER’s relief efforts as they expanded to increasingly diverse populations across the region.

Formed during WWI, NER was a marriage of American philanthropic and Protestant missionary entities which administered primarily to Armenian refugees in the wake of Ottoman-led massacres and forced-displacements. With a special emphasis on caring for Armenian orphans, the needs of these children—most notably religious care and long-term employment or means of self-support—drove NER’s turn in the 1920s from a relief organization to a development organization primarily focused on raising standards of living in rural farming villages. However, as Smith’s letter illustrates, NER’s expansion into development was preceded by and continued to grapple with the question of working within pluralistic contexts and secular state policies. NER officials in support of the organization’s new orientation favored a holistic, human resources-based approach to development that integrated cultural-revival with nation-building. They focused on technical training, small-scale adjustments to existing practices, and, above all, the expansion of education adapted to local contexts and rural needs. Many officials being devout Christians, religious instruction remained central to such a development agenda, primarily in crafting a new generation of local leadership marked by strong moral character.

At a time of such change and uncertainty in the region as the 1920s, many within NER saw their goal as building prosperous, harmonious nations with responsive states. Pragmatically, therefore, the push was to work within new host-country guidelines and policies, many of which, like Turkey, feared inviting Western colonial influence and thus forbade proselytism or non-Islamic religious instruction. NER had concrete evidence: missionary schools within Turkey were forced to adjust, move, or close their doors; otherwise, as some missionary personnel found, they faced arrest. In order to simply maintain an ongoing presence, accommodation to the new secularized environments was necessary. Moreover, given the increasing challenges of pluralism that Smith’s letter demonstrates—with NER juggling a coalition at home and working with diverse partners in the field—overt proselytism was jettisoned in favor of what became called a “non-sectarian” approach to development and education.

Photo Credit: Unknown – U.S. National Archives and Records Administration, Public Domain

The more optimistic among NER staff hoped their approach would set a positive example of Christianity-in-action, a Christ-like model whose wisdom and tolerance would eventually win converts. In this regard, NER officials were able to draw on contemporary trends in missiology that, recognizing God’s ongoing presence in all peoples and faiths, emphasized tolerance and the superior effectiveness of a non-sectarian approach to evangelism. Christian missionaries were not to displace other faiths, but to offer education and services to all as a way of demonstrating Christianity’s superiority. The path was clear for NER to engage in development work among not only Christians but also Muslims in the region. The paternalism of earlier missionary work, therefore, lived on in altered form and a consequential tradeoff was a handicapped ability to advocate on behalf of victims of state oppression, as NER had done during the genocide (see Watenpaugh 2015).

So what does all this mean for how we understand purportedly secular development practices today? NER’s adjustment to pluralistic and secular contexts—namely, in adopting a non-sectarian stance—can be viewed within the vein of religiously-neutral service organizations such as Rotary International (p. 228) and the Rockefeller Foundation adopting the humanitarian and service orientation of missionaries while emptying them of Christian symbolism and content. However, the NER move—culminating in the formation of Near East Foundation—was largely a pragmatic adjustment that enabled continued provision of spiritual support. To be a non-sectarian organization, therefore, cannot be conflated with being a secular organization. Nonetheless, it was the non-sectarian orientation that set the example “religiously-affiliated” non-governmental organizations (NGOs) would follow in the wake of World War II.

Contemporary NGOs continue to grapple with the paradox this move created: working within certain structures and guidelines in return for a seat at the table—a chance to continue to serve. The task for those engaged in development work is to be reflexive about the sources of their current practices and the lingering traces of historical biases that work against multi-perspectival orientations and remain inadequately attuned to local power hierarchies.

[1] Letter from Walter George Smith to Charles Vickery, February 5, 1921, Rockefeller Archives Center, AC.2010.002, Box 1, NER Minutes 1920-1921.

 


Featured Image Credit: Boy Scouts of America – Boy Scouts of AmericaSource site: CC BY-SA 3.0. “Jackie Coogan. The Boy Scouts and child actor Jackie Coogan helped fill a «million-dollar milk ship» for Near East Relief in August 1924. During the campaign, the admission price to any Jackie Coogan movie was a can of milk.”

Francis Bonenfant-Juwong
Francis Bonenfant-Juwong is a PhD Candidate in History and Peace Studies at the University of Notre Dame. Bonenfant-Juwong has conducted research on U.S. non-state actors and their role in the international system and peacebuilding, particularly in the Middle East. His research interests also include public-private interactions and the cultural foundations of U.S. foreign policy. His dissertation "Ever-Widening Circles” analyzes U.S. Private Voluntary Development in Palestine/Israel and Jordan from 1930-1967.
Theorizing Modernities article

Is Prayer Proselytism? Examining the Ethics of Religious Practices in Transnational Faith-Based Organizations

Photo Credit: Feed My Starving Children. “FMSC MobilePack event – Minnesota”

By and large, proselytism—the act of attempting to convert someone to one’s own faith tradition—is frowned upon in sectors of transnational development, humanitarianism, peacebuilding, and human rights. However, in such contexts what constitutes a proselytizing activity is not fully fleshed out. While requiring an aid recipient to convert in order for her to receive goods and services is an obvious breach of international norms against proselytizing, it is less clear whether other FBO practices also violate those norms. As a result of these ambiguities, so-called “religious” activities like prayer have become a site of ethical contestation. My research with transnational faith-based service-advocacy organizations (FBOs) reveals the internal tensions surrounding the inclusion of prayer in service-advocacy. FBOs acknowledge the merits of including prayer in their work; FBOs and their representatives strive to adhere to their own religious values—which may or may not prohibit proselytism in service and advocacy settings. However, at the same time, FBOs also strive to abide by broader international norms of liberal self-determination and cultural and religious respect.

Transnational service and advocacy projects entail specific relations of power between aid-giver and aid-recipient that make proselytism ethically problematic given liberal attachments to individual choice. An aid-recipient might feel that she must convert in order to receive aid, for instance. Thus, while many scholars and policymakers portray FBOs as important international actors, concerns about the extent to which religious practices should be used in such contexts remain. Such concerns are expressed through, in part, the International Red Cross and Red Crescent’s Code of Conduct and USAID’s Rule for Participation by Religious Organizations, which outline the ethics of engaging in traditional service and advocacy. In the latter, religious practices like prayer are treated as inherently problematic in such settings. Yet, the extent to which prayer constitutes a proselytizing act remains unclear.

According to the Oxford English Dictionary, to proselytize is “to convert or attempt to convert from one opinion, religion, or party, etc., to another.” To “attempt” something implies intentional effort; one knowingly is trying to do something. Does the inclusion of prayer in transnational service and advocacy constitute an attempt to convert? While my research with FBOs emphasizes the critical role of prayer in their work, it also reveals the problems of determining whether or not prayer is a proselytizing act.

Photo Credit: Feed My Starving Children. “FMSC MobilePack event–Nappanee, IN.”

For the past five years, I have conducted interviews with and observed a number of (primarily Christian) FBOs, including International Justice Mission, the Taizé Community, World Vision, Catholic Relief Services, Lutheran World Relief, Religions for Peace and others. All of these organizations strive to “do good” in the world through peacebuilding, human rights, reconciliation, humanitarian, or development projects. Many of these groups also include prayer in their work, though the contexts vary widely. FBO representatives acknowledge the critical importance of prayer for their organizations. For instance, one of my interviewees described how prayer facilitated the reintegration of divided communities in the aftermath of the civil war in Sierra Leone. Others indicated that prayer is an important tool of religious education in interreligious contexts—showing how the “religious Other” practices his or her faith. My interviewees also argued that prayer is essential for maintaining the spiritual and mental health of FBO representatives themselves, particularly those who work on traumatic human rights issues. These and other examples highlight the centrality of prayer to FBO work. However, the FBO representatives I interviewed are also clearly aware of the ethical issues surrounding their work—especially as relates to the issue of proselytism. In some cases, these issues spill over into decisions about when and how to use prayer.

For instance, many of the FBO representatives I spoke with expressed caution about when and how to include prayer as they want to avoid the possibility of offending or harming the communities they work with. In some cases, this attention to the ethics of prayer stems from the organizations’ broader religious values, which discourage proselytism. In other cases, organizational representatives are more concerned about maintaining access to their work sites, or respecting the religious identities of others, given international norms that discourage proselytism in certain contexts. But whatever the reasons for these concerns, FBOs are questioning whether the employment of prayer in service advocacy settings constitutes a violation of norms against proselytism. However, the content of these debates and discussions reveal some substantial differences in the way policymakers and scholars discuss issues of proselytism and the way FBOs approach such issues themselves.

For agencies like USAID, including a practice like prayer in a USAID-funded project can constitute a violation of development norms (as well as particular interpretations of the Establishment Clause of the U.S. Constitution). However, for FBOs, the relationship between religious practice and proselytism is more nuanced. Two issues are important to note. First, FBOs do not necessarily make the same kinds of religious-secular distinctions that scholars and policymakers do. As Andrea Paras has noted, some religious organizations view other activities, like the digging of a well, to be a religious act, making it more difficult to distinguish those “explicitly religious activities” like prayer from other FBO activities. Second, as Cecelia Lynch and I have argued elsewhere, what constitutes proselytism (or “evangelism”) is contested and debated within and among (Christian) FBOs. Thus, for some organizations, merely living as a “Christian” can constitute “witness” or what Erica Bornstein calls “lifestyle evangelism.” In this context, the immediate goal of a prayer could have nothing to do with proselytism or evangelism. Still, the broader goals of the individual or organization might be to “share one’s faith” through prayer.

Ultimately, there is no clear answer to the question of whether prayer constitutes proselytism, or whether the practice is necessarily harmful in service and advocacy settings. In fact, FBOs themselves are struggling with such questions. However, for most of these organizations, the solution to the prayer-proselytism tension does not lie in excising prayer from FBO work, but in an ongoing discussion and renegotiation about the benefits and drawbacks of including prayer in certain settings.

What is clear is that treating prayer as inherently problematic is unhelpful if the broader goal is to engage with questions of self-determination and cultural and religious dignity. Not only are there many different ways to employ prayer in transnational service-advocacy settings, but what constitutes an act of proselytism is contested. In addition, as Lynch and I argue, focusing on the role of religion in transnational service-advocacy can lead scholars and others to neglect the ways that so-called “secular” practices can also harm local populations. For instance, neoliberal approaches to aid that emphasize objective measurement and capacity building can have detrimental effects on the cultural and religious practices of local populations. Thus, if scholars and practitioners are concerned about the ethics of doing ‘good’ across borders, we must strive to look beyond our own assumptions about the religious and the secular to examine the ways that a variety of practices are interpreted and employed in such contexts.

Tanya Schwarz
Tanya B. Schwarz is a Visiting Research Fellow at the Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies at the University of Notre Dame. She has published pieces on proselytism and humanitarianism, religion and international relations, and is currently finishing a book examining the meanings and roles of religious phenomena in transnational peacebuilding.
Field Notes article

The Pastor as Sexual Object

Photo Credit: Dr Chris Okafor. https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/drchrisokafor

At the core of my ongoing study of Pentecostal pastors and changing forms of authority in Africa are two related premises.

First, due to a variety of factors, partly socio-economic, but also cultural as well as political, the landscape of authority across a majority of African states has altered radically over the last three decades. For example: if one effect of the combined militarization of the state and ‘Structural Adjustment’ of the economies of many African countries in the 1980s was the impoverishment of the academy, its logic has been the delegitimizing of universities themselves as authoritative centers of knowledge production.

With the entire system of tertiary education more or less stripped of its epistemological raison d’être, growing numbers of the African intelligentsia have had to look elsewhere for intellectual fulfillment and compensation that is commensurate with their status and skills. Hence my claim: that for all that this exodus has bequeathed a social and intellectual void, Pentecostal pastors have been the indirect beneficiaries, purveyors of a new kind of authoritative clerical speech-act which tends to be valorized over and above secular law or normativity.

The Pentecostal pastor is no mere direct substitute for the intellectual though. True, he (or in far fewer cases, she) now occupies what once was the academic’s spotlight as authority on economic, political, and cultural matters, to such an extent that today, even the academic tends to genuflect to his (i.e. the pastor’s) authority. But that is where, seemingly, the comparison ends. At the peak of his influence, the African intellectual was a mere defender of the public good, in which capacity he defined and contributed to public debates, built bridges with popular organizations like trade unions, resisted military and other forms of dictatorial rule, and generally aligned with efforts to hold the state accountable. In short, the intellectual was a crucial cog in an emergent postcolonial public sphere.

In terms of his authority, the modern-day Pentecostal pastor is a different beast. Contra his predecessor the intellectual, his power and influence project over a wider range of social life, including the most intimate. He is a widely sought after existential micromanager: a blend of spiritual guide, financial coach, marriage counselor, fashion icon, travel advisor, all-purpose celebrity, and last but not least, and as we are beginning to see from a stream of media reports from across the continent, center of an erotic economy.

He is the one with the power either to command female congregants to come to church without their underwear so that they can ‘more easily receive the spirit of Jesus Christ,’ as was reportedly the case with Reverend Pastor Njohi of the Lord’s Propeller Redemption Church, Nairobi, Kenya; or, as we saw more recently with Kumasi-based pastor ‘Bishop’ Daniel Obinim, the one with the license to openly massage the penises of male congregants with erectile anxiety.

Whilst the political sociology of the pastor is a well-trodden ground, the idea of the pastor as an object of erotic fascination, part sexual healer, part sex symbol, the throbbing center of an intense Pentecostal sexual economy, is comparatively less frequented. Yet, this is something that my research has persistently thrust on me, and one I would argue holds immense riches.

For one thing, it furnishes a radical approach to the study of African Pentecostalism by allowing us to corral and cross-fertilize issues and subjects typically allocated in separate intellectual compartments. Foremost amongst these are: masculinity, gender, patriarchy, femininity, studies of affect, crowd engineering and crowd control, the religious spectacle, media studies, emotions, pornography, sex and sexuality, and ethics.

For another, it allows us, taking provocation from theorists Niklaus Largier, Birgit Meyer, and Nimi Wariboko’s respective works on the religious sensorium, to approach the physical space of the church as a sensual space, a place where people go to find pleasure, and where sounds, ululations, music, dance, bodies in motion, bodies flailing and sprawling, bodies in collision [whether casually or intentionally], bodies sometimes literally thrown at or surrendered to the mercy of the pastor; all combine to produce ecstatic worship.

Photo Credit: Ebenezer Obadare. Lagos, Nigeria.

Accepting the Pentecostal church as sensual space frees us to imagine the altar as a special stage repurposed, if not in fact designed, for the pastor’s hypersexual posturing. On this altar—increasingly, the ritualistic center of worship in many mega churches—the sexualized pastor channels masculine performances that bristle with erotic intimations. Through him, female congregants may lay a vicarious claim to ‘spiritual impregnation;’ often times, and as vindicated by countless examples across African Pentecostal churches, it goes beyond that.

Thus, to place the pastor at the center of a Pentecostal libidinal economy is, in essence, to put the persona of the pastor under a completely different analytic light. What my study appears to mandate, and what I am proposing here, is a critical shift from the idea of the pastor as the one who dictates sexual mores, who gives counsel on sex and proper sexual conduct, the physical symbol of heteronormativity whose stable (sexually and otherwise) domestic life is invoked as an example to the congregation; to the idea of the (body of) the pastor as an object of desire whose sexual energy comes from a strategic choreography of dress, mode of preaching and performance on the pulpit, aesthetics, personal ‘tone,’ automobile, travel, and ‘connections’ (either proven or suggested) to transnational networks.

Suffice to say, the backdrop to all this is extremely complex. It involves—and is in part enabled by—the rise of the celebrity pastor in Africa; the rise of pastoral ‘calling’ as the quickest route to social prestige, critical in a context in which the need to ‘be somebody’ has become very acute; and its corollary, the emergence of pastoring as a virtually automatic guarantor of social mobility.

But perhaps of utmost importance is what appears to be Pentecostalism’s theological project of producing a new man, which tends to translate all too literally into a man shorn of his masculine properties, i.e. highly domesticated, abjuring the company of ‘sinful’ former friends, and most important, sexually ‘tamed.’ A ‘demasculinized’ man, in short. The consequence, I would argue, is that often times, the only ‘man’ left standing in the Pentecostal church is the pastor occupying the altar. Cherished, beloved, and, dare I suggest, eroticized.

Ebenezer Obadare
Ebenezer Obadare is Douglas Dillon Senior Fellow for Africa Studies at the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), Washington, D.C.; a fellow at the University of South Africa’s Institute of Theology, and contributing editor of Current History. Author and editor of numerous books on religion and politics and state and civil society in Africa, Obadare’s most recent work is Pastoral Power, Clerical State: Pentecostalism, Gender and Sexuality in Nigeria (Notre Dame Press, 2022). He is editor of Journal of Modern African Studies, published by Cambridge University Press.  
Theorizing Modernities article

Brand Islam: Response to Reviewers

Photo Credit: Khashayar Elyassi. “Heejab.” Iran.

International and national brands have understood the potential profits that Muslim consumer markets present. For example, in London, the annual Harrods Hajj (“Ramadan rush”) is an annual shopping event to purchase gifts for Eid (one of the annual celebrations in the Muslim calendar honoring the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his son as an act of submission to God’s command). Many secular people, and especially religious people brought up in different religious traditions, may be fearful of religions encroaching on daily life, while conservative Muslims fear that Islam is becoming watered down by commercialism.

Designer clothing brands that cater to Muslim consumers in the Middle East have mushroomed (even though some of this clothing is manufactured in Muslim-unfriendly countries). Among these brands are DKNY, Oscar de la Renta, and Tommy Hilfiger, whose companies manufacture modest wear designed exclusively for Middle Eastern markets. Of the four reviews to Brand Islam, none raised the issue of opportunist companies, located in extremely anti-Muslim nations, making products for Muslims. However, the point about opportunism is arguably enfolded into especially George Gonzalez’s engagement with commodity fetishism and neoliberalism. New evidence for such opportunism is the Nike sportswear line’s recent move to capture a new market. Just two days before the International Women’s Day (2017), Nike announced its “Nike Pro hijab” line publically with several series of advertisements targeting Muslim women, using known Muslim hijabi athletes for the ads. In my book, I have spoken about various lesser known, smaller sports hijab manufacturers already in this business as early as 2002. However, Nike, as a big brand name, has now introduced its latest product incorporating the word “hijab” a familiar term associated with Muslim women in its products focusing on Muslims. There is no doubt that this major brand will capture the attention of Muslim women and likely bring in large profits on their investment. This is another clear example of how a name associated with Islam (in this case the word “hijab”) is used to generate business.

I have attempted to address the key points mentioned by each reviewer although, given limited space, I cannot entertain all comments. I appreciate the reviewers’ thoughts and the time spent on a critical reading of my manuscript.

 

 Neslihan Cevik writes that: “most companies that operate within the Islamic clothing industry were quick to recognize the potential but have failed to understand what the actual need or problem is, what that problem means and what socio-political factors drive it.” However, economic predictions and statistics point to a different story, as evidenced by reports that Muslims spend about $230bn just on clothing and the amount is projected to be $327bn by 2019. The market value is “larger than the current combined clothing markets of the UK ($107bn), Germany ($99bn) and India ($96bn).”

This booming industry is not only evident in Muslim designers who create modest clothing for Muslim consumers, but also in the numerous European fashion houses catering to Muslim tastes, a phenomenon that did not exist 20 years ago. The most recent Global Islamic Economy Summit in Dubai (2015) and the Saverah Expo in London (2016) point to a healthy Islamic fashion industry. Cevik also critiques “the erroneous belief that entry to halal markets requires just a simple step: take an item, as mundane as it can be, market it as ‘Islamic’—as if Islamic is generically and mechanically defined— and voila.”

An entire chapter from my book (chapter 2) deals in detail with the principle of halal as applied to a single item, from farm to table as it were, and the stages in between in the process of creating and defining a halal product. Relatedly, I believe the book provides a clear view and examples of the issue of fraudulent, contaminated, adulterated, and bogusly-labeled halal products. Cevik’s comment about Islamic fashion (her focus is Turkey, her area of expertise) being about self-identity as well as religious identity are correct. Muslim youth are rejecting “authoritarian religious communalism, and [redefining the] Umma…” Of course, my book is not exclusively about Turkey; my focus is on the global increase and interest in products and services marketed and branded as Islamic.

 

George González comments on how I used “brand” terminology. This book is not a marketing or business text, thus the reader should not be looking for how a brand in the world of marketing is established. Rather, my use of the term conforms to two well known theories of consumerism (TRA, and TPB theories, pp.8-9) which demonstrate how descriptors, such as Islam/Muslim, transmute into brand identity which, in this case, consumers relate to piety. George González also comments that “…women’s bodies stand as literal crossroads for the crisscrossing of historical forces. From the burkini controversy to the religiously imposed strictures against an Islamic fashion industry in Iran to the displaced patriarchy played out in controversies regarding the modesty and piety of girls’ dolls, the rise of ‘brand Islam’ (and both fundamentalist and Islamophobic resistance to it).” This is a very correct observation and I reemphasize that the majority of cases in my study relate to gender dynamics as it relates to production of materials that are mostly applicable to women (although hygiene products such as halal soap, shampoo, toothpaste etc., or halal leather goods such as shoes, belts, bags, etc., are not exclusive to women).  It is always interesting to observe and evaluate how the woman’s body is always at the center of consumerism and marketing products and how advertisement companies engage the woman in selling products. In Brand Islam, the range of products for women is higher than those created for men. For example, men in general do not consume any form of cosmetics, but women do, thus the segment of the halal industry focused on women’s halal cosmetics has proven to be very lucrative. For men, the rules of Islamic dress are much less restrictive, but no less important. Men are attracted to several aspects of a woman’s body. Even her legs and thighs are considered sex objects or awrah. But the same is not true for men. Men are required to cover the awrah, which for a man is from his navel to his knees but not his head, hair or even the chest (although the chest is normally covered). Women require more types of clothing and, in general, women’s clothing styles are much trendier compared to men, allowing women to buy more varied clothing items, which opens the way to not only more seasonal types of clothing, but also numerous styles within the same categories.

These points should make it clear why in a global Islamic market, there are more product offerings for women than men.

 

Slavica Jakelić writes thatBrand Islam is a welcome addition to the growing number of books that attempt to move us beyond the primary focus on Islam as a political phenomenon or a platform for yet another critique of secularism…” This point is well taken and appreciated, as there are many other things in life important to Muslims which should be recognized beyond the stereotyping argument that all Muslims think and behave in the same way. Muslims, like any other group, live in societies surrounded by consumer goods and are influenced by marketing and advertising that appeal to them. Further, Slavica Jakelić comments that “while Muslims as believers might focus on halal in the context of the global market as the realm that enables them to exert theological, cultural, and political agency and do so against Western modernity, the impulses that shape their theological orientations and religious acts related to halal seem quite aligned with some aspects of that modernity.” Slavica Jakelić observation about modernity is correct. Muslims do not think of themselves as being trapped in 7th century Arabia with limited material commodities. The devout Muslim appreciates modernity, its conveniences, and the variety of choices that the global market offers including products prepared and packaged under the auspicious of Islam. In other words, “consuming Islam” is another way to look at the consumption of Islamic goods. Slavica Jakelić raises a good question about the “…religious authorities in ascertaining the halal /haram distinctions and how the logic of the market influences the market in the Western countries.” One must understand that even the religious authorities are still bound to governmental regulations; otherwise, they are not able to function. For example, as regards matters of halal product certification, the religious authorities operate under government regulations or they are connected to some branch of government. I have offered the example of caviar, i.e., eggs from beluga fish in the Caspian Sea (p. 49). Caviar’s status changed from mashbooh (“doubtful” or “suspect”) to halal when the Islamic Republic of Iran was established in 1979. I believe that caviar gaining halal status in Iran was based on its economic gain in local consumption in addition to its already established status as an expensive commodity for export. This decision regarding the change from mashbooh to halal was made under the watchful eyes of the religious authorities, who created an item of consumption for Muslim Iranians who would not buy caviar otherwise. Another example from the book (pp. 53-54) concerns Barbican’s nonalcoholic beer, which’s status was changed from haram to halal by the Malaysian Islamic Development Department (JAKIM). The most important aspect in this case is that the halal logo can only be issued by JAKIM, which is supported by the Malaysian Government. “Since its inception until today, the Chairman of the Islamic Religious Affairs Council has always been the Prime Minister of Malaysia…”

 

Vincent Miller comments that “[a]nti-sharia activists organize boycotts of major brands that cater to halal needs, but the bar is set much higher than the political sphere.” It is true that “recognition continues via market segmentation.” However, when one group strives to dominate and voice their anti-Islamic/Sharia-driven sentiments, running such establishments is hard and at times dangerous. I have observed that at times more brouhaha about a disputed commodity based on its connection to Islam makes the product more successful and eventually accepted. One good example is Aheda Zanetti,’s burqini/burkini. Aheda is the Muslim Lebanese Australian inventor of this full-body swimsuit. She was interviewed by CCTV (China Central Television) on August 26, 2016 regarding the controversy surrounding her design, which was banned in France because it was deemed to be “a militant act and a provocation.”  According to the interview, the controversy caused a 500% increase in sales of the product and, ironically, 60% of customers were not Muslim. 

Miller also states that “[i]n the commercial sphere, to be successful, a boycott must result in the removal of the halal options from the market. The mere voicing of dissent does not undo the material presence of halal options on the market; their direct hailing of Muslim consumers continues in advertising and commerce.” I totally agree that a boycott would perhaps result in the removal of the halal option from the market. But, the halal products would find their way back into the market in a different manner. I offered good examples from France and Germany: while halal slaughter (zabiha) and Jewish kosher slaughter are banned there, halal and kosher meet are instead coming from neighboring European countries (such as England).

In response to Miller’s question: “How does the use of halal by large brands impact Muslims’ religious identities and practices?  Is this a homogenizing and assimilating force? Or does it deepen and differentiate identity?” In my writing I have clearly stated that for most Muslims (particularly the young ones) who are living in non-Muslim majority places, Islam is a sign of identity and much of the consumption of the Islamic halal commodities is part of this identity.

Photo Credit: lam_chihang. Mango Ad in Abu Dhabi.

At the end of his response Miller remarks that “[c]onsumer goods seldom function to convey the importance of abstaining from anything. In this regard, it would be interesting to consider the interplay of halal marketing with the practice of the Ramadan fast.” Miller has brought out an interesting point regarding the Ramadan fast. Although I did not directly address this important aspect of marketing Islam and the Ramadan fast, I must add that there is much sale and advertisement that goes into this annual Muslim ritual, almost equal to the consumerism that goes into Christmas-oriented commodities.

In fact, the Egyptian government implemented a new initiative to control goods prices during Ramadan. At the same time, a large number of companies, particularly those companies that manufacture upper and medium price women’s wear, such as the Donna Karan clothing line, look for opportunities such as Ramadan to sell to Muslim women. Other established fashion designers, such as Giorgio Armani, also manufacture halal chocolate. “Giorgio Armani puts out his limited-edition range of chocolates, dates and pralines – all alcohol-free, gold paper-wrapped and expensive. A box of 16 retails online and across the Middle East, New York and Milan for R600 ($45). Mango, (a clothing manufacturer) launches a special online clothing collection for Eid, ranging from R300 ($23) for a scarf to R3 000 ($225) for a modest maxidress.”

Faegheh Shirazi
Faegheh Shirazi [fshirazi@austin.utexas.edu] is professor, Department of Middle Eastern Studies, the Islamic Studies program at the University of Texas at Austin. She is the author of numerous academic articles in diverse journals and contributor of book chapters and encyclopedia articles. Prof. Shirazi is author of four published books, including an edited volume: The Veil Unveiled: Hijab in Modern Culture, Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2001 (second printing, 2003); Velvet Jihad: Muslim Women’s Quiet Resistance to Islamic Fundamentalism, Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2009 (second printing 2011); Muslim Women in War and Crisis: From Reality to Representation (edited), Austin: The University of Texas Press (2010); and Brand Islam: The Commodification of Piety, Austin: University of Texas Press, (2016). Prof. Shirazi’s research interests focus on the Islamic popular religious practices; rituals and their influence on gender identity and discourse in Muslim societies with a primary focus on Iran, Islamic veiling, material culture, textile and clothing. She also serves on a number of academic editorial boards nationally and internationally for various journals and book publications.
In addition to being a painter, three of her books use her original art work for covers, while two other pieces of her artwork are depicted on the covers of Persian of Iran Today An Introduction Course Vol.1, and Persian of Iran Today, An Intermediate Course, Vol. 2 (both University of Texas Press).
Theorizing Modernities article

“Material Fatwas” and the Politics of Recognition

Photo Credit: Fuzzy Gerdes. Flickr.com. “Halal Chicken Chili” in Chicago, Illinois.

In Brand Islam Faegheh Shirazi investigates many dimensions of the interplay of Islamic halal guidelines and marketing. As a Christian theologian who has written on the impact of consumer culture upon religious belief, I learned much from Shirazi’s study of halal marketing in a tradition very different from my own. This is interesting terrain where producers and consumers, driven by very different incentives, interact in complex and surprising ways. Here I will focus on two elements of the realities discussed by the book: halal marketing as an intervention into the politics of recognition and halal marketing as an intervention into religious authority. I offer my own analysis of the material Shirazi presents; hopefully in a manner that complements the goals of the book.

 

Halal Marketing and the Politics of Recognition:

It is easy enough to establish the interests of many corporate producers in catering to the halal market. Shirazi cites the significant size and growth in this market segment globally; by some measures up to 17% of the food market (57-59). Add to this the price premium that halal goods can demand, and one sees the obvious profit motive to serve this market. That said, it is clear that such a marketing move has risks for large, broadly marketed brands. While some opposition to halal foods is based on slaughter practices, opposition to popular food brands that seek halal certification even for their vegetarian food offerings manifest the deeper Islamophobic roots of such opposition.

Shirazi documents halal marketing among many different kinds of producers from small proprietors to transnational corporations. In the evaluation of these various halal marketing attempts, frequent mention is made of the desire for profit. The same examples provide many opportunities to discuss the cultural effects that accompany for-profit marketing.

Corporate halal marketing has consequences beyond profits and brand curation. When broadly marketed brands offer halal products, they also offer cultural recognition to Muslim consumers in the marketplace. This recognition is active even if mass market goods have difficulty complying with strict halal interpretations (see the discussion of KFC in the UK, 44).

All of the efforts that brand curators put into associating their products with security, care, beauty, and integrity give them profound cultural power. Even when driven only by profits, corporate producers of consumer goods inevitably deploy the cultural power of their brands to offer recognition to minority consumers. This results in the construction of a commercial cosmopolitan sphere that honors the concerns of minority groups.

Photo Credit: Tokyofoodcast. Flickr.com. Tokyo Halal Foods in Roppongi, Tokyo, Japan.

This commercial cosmopolitan recognition in some way rivals that of the political sphere.  Politics is marked by public consensus and open dissent; the commercial sphere by market segmentation. Anti-sharia activists organize boycotts of major brands that cater to halal needs, but the bar is set much higher than the political sphere. In the commercial sphere, to be successful, a boycott must result in the removal of the halal options from the market. The mere public voicing of dissent does not undo the material presence of halal options on the market; these products’ direct hailing of Muslim consumers continues in advertising and commerce. To give but one example, KFC defused the tension through market differentiation: halal offerings in highly Muslim areas of the UK, non-halal chicken and pork options in others. Rejection of halal chicken in one neighborhood is complemented by its presence in another. The lack of public consensus does not impede commercial recognition, which continues via market segmentation.

One particularly interesting question involves the effects of major brand halal marketing. Here recognition meets homogenization. How do the use of halal by large brands impact Muslims’ religious identities and practices?  Is this a homogenizing and assimilating force?  Or does it deepen and differentiate identity?

 

Halal Marketing and Religious Authority:

In addition to its political effects, halal marketing has consequences for religious authority as well. In her discussion of cosmetics, Shirazi cites a religious authority dismissive of concerns about the presence of alcohol in cosmetics and personal care products. Since such products are not “consumed” in a manner relevant to traditional notions of halal, their alcohol content is not a matter of halal restrictions (140). But attention to the permissibility of ingredients in cosmetics has consequences for ongoing debates among the ulama concerning whether such personal adornments are haram or halal. One could argue that scrupulous attention to halal ingredients by producers brings a broader range of Qur’anic passages and other authorities into play and can thus function as a “material fatwa” legitimating their use. These are more than covert arguments for allowing cosmetics; they move the debate into the material realm of commodity marketing.

It is in Shirazi’s descriptions of hijab and women’s sportswear that the function of commodities as material religious arguments or judgements becomes most explicit. Women face profoundly limited opportunities to participate in sports in “some sharia-controlled countries” (178).  Many of the arguments given against women’s’ participation involve dress. Thus, the producers of sportswear designed to conform to hijab requirements are making a powerful intervention by eliminating a major objection to female sports practices. There is more here than merely eliminating objections, however. The existence of hijab-conforming sportswear functions as a material argument that actively associates the virtues of wearing hijab with women’s athletics.

My argument here is not about the deregulation of religion through the emergence of alternative experts and the expansion of personal choice. Yes, the activists, entrepreneurs and large corporations that lobby for and produce such gear are actively intervening in the traditional realm of judgements of the ulama. But they do so through the material medium of the commodity of sportswear. Sports hijab suggest that it is appropriate for Muslim women to be athletes.

Although these effects cannot be reduced to the deregulation of religion, they still have a profound impact on religious authority. Such “material fatwas” have a decidedly pro-consumption bias; as is evidenced in the example of halal cosmetics. Traditional judgements by the ulama can rule some goods and actions outside the realm of consumption and practice. Consumer goods seldom function to convey the importance of abstaining from anything. In this regard, it would be interesting to consider the interplay of halal marketing with Muslim practices outside the realm of consumption choices, such as the practice of the Ramadan fast.

Vincent Miller
Vincent J. Miller, the Gudorf Chair in Catholic Theology and Culture at the University of Dayton, is the author of Consuming Religion: Christian Faith and Practice in a Consumer Culture (Continuum) and editor of The Theological and Ecological Vision of Laudato Si’: Everything Is Connected (Bloomsbury). He is currently at work on a book entitled The Church and Neoliberal Globalization: Solidarity in a World Made Indifferent.
Theorizing Modernities article

From Politics of Piety to Islamic Commodification: Asymmetry and Agency in the Studies of Islam

Photo Credit: Adam Jones. “NBC Islamic Banking–Billboard in Kiponda District, Stone Town, Zanzibar, Tanzania”

Faegheh Shirazi’s Brand Islam is a welcome addition to the growing number of books that attempt to move us beyond the primary focus on Islam as a political phenomenon or a platform for yet another critique of secularism, toward the more complicated—and possibly analytically and normatively more promising—intersections of theological, cultural, political, and economic aspects of life of contemporary Muslims.

This shift in the studies of Islam ought not to be surprising: it indicates that scholars have finally started to take notice of the rise of a global market of halal products and the significant implications that the encounter between Islam and the late modern capitalist economy can have on both. Some scholars see the Islamic markets as a result of the market forces’ recognition that Muslims are consumers with a great economic power, which will only increase in the coming decades; others explore the rise of Muslim consumers as a result of and an impetus for deeper cultural and theological transformations of Islam. Still others, such as a scholar and adviser to the Obama administration Vali Nasr, argue that market capitalism, rather than religion, will be the field of “‘the great battle for the soul of the Muslim world’” (3). Shirazi wants to “provide an original intervention in the Muslim cultural studies” by looking at Brand Islam as the marketing of “a wide range of commodities from food products to children’s toys” as Islamic, “in the West as well as in Muslim-majority nations” (1). She is interested, she writes, in how Muslim consumers fetishize halal products by attaching “mystical and religious significance to what might otherwise be considered inutile and mundane objects” (7). Her descriptive focus and especially her normative critique of the Brand Islam, however, suggest that Shirazi’s principal concern is less with the motivations of Muslim consumers and more with the ways in which their piety is being exploited and commodified—a point to which I’ll turn in more detail shortly.

Shirazi begins her discussion by explaining that halal, which indicates objects or actions that are permissible according to Sharia, has always been central to Islam as a theological, legal, and lived tradition. But while once primarily referring to food and drink, the notion of halal is today applied in every sphere of the daily life of Muslims—in “medical services, banking and financial services, insurance and real state providers, hotels, the tourism industry, commercial aspects of popular pilgrimages and shrines, music industry products, sportswear, lingerie, fragrances, cosmetics, hair and skin care products, and a shot of other accoutrements” (8). In the chapters that especially explore food, cosmetic, and fashion industries, Shirazi shows how modern technologies and science further complicate the determination of the meanings of halal in so many arenas of life: even when developing new methods to address the Muslims’ growing concern with sustaining their halal lifestyle, the new technologies can in fact conceal the layers of production of halal commodities.

There are two main sides to the rise of Brand Islam, as Shirazi tells the story. On the one hand are Muslims, especially those living in non-Muslim-majority societies—from Canada to Belgium to Australia—for whom halal is a way to establish the boundaries of their identity. Rigorous commitment to halal, especially among the younger diaspora Muslims, Shirazi thus suggests, helps ensure their connectedness to the global umma and their constructive response to Islamophobia and pressure that they conform to the dominant Western style of life. On the other hand, the rise of Brand Islam results from advertisers and corporations’ realization that there is much profit hidden in the world of halal. And, here begins Shirazi’s main critique: she sees Brand Islam as “a clever tool” of the entrepreneurs and corporations, as a “profit-driven” endeavor that exploits “the rise of a new Islamic economic paradigm,” a project “not necessarily created with the objective of honoring religious practice and sentiment” (1), with consumers whose absolute commitments to pious practices makes them “highly subject to manipulation” (4).

The outcome of Shirazi’s focus on the economic exploitation of Muslim spirituality is a volume that contains wonderfully detailed accounts of various halal industries and a strong critique of the ways in which the global capitalism of late modernity appropriates and distorts even the most sincere of religious commitments—of the individual Muslim consumers as well as of the religious bodies responsible for determining what halal is or is not. This primary preoccupation with exploitation of piety and fetishization of halal products brings important insights for the study of Islam as a lived, contemporary tradition. Yet, this perspective might also carry analytical and normative asymmetries that can all too quickly turn Muslims into objects of exploitation rather than subjects fully participating in, and capable of questioning, the modes of global economy.

Photo Credit: Justin Hall. “This ‘Razanne’ doll is a clear Barbie alternative for Islamic children –
according to the sticker on the package, ‘New Razanne Builds Character.'”

The question of agency is a complicated one, to be sure, and the spaces of agency might be uncovered in the least expected spaces. In my reading, Shirazi argues that contemporary Muslims—in the Western as well as in predominantly Muslim societies—tend to see their own agency in the acts through which they ascribe daily life with sacred meanings, in the processes in which the focus on halal turns their mundane life “into powerful symbols of religious correctness and piety” (7). In other words, to Muslims themselves, the global halal market emerges as a productive space of identity-boundary work, which does address socio-political contexts of the 21st century but is centrally theological in character. The problem, Shirazi maintains from within her cultural studies perspective, is that Brand Islam is the economic arena that turns even pure theological impulses, strict religious practices, and desire to belong to a community into “a commodity for the purpose of economic gain” (7). There is, according to her, “an unmistakable trend…emerging in all religious arenas” and that is “the proliferation of strategies that ensure the profitable marketing and sale” of religious symbols (199).

Shirazi’s points are valuable and her perspective on commodification drives home the reality of the extreme power of the global capitalist economy. At the same time, it seems to me that focusing on the motivations and acts of contemporary Muslims as believers—rather than the ways in which their piety is being exploited and commodified—could reveal an even greater paradox related to their agency. It is, I would propose, the very theological acts and practices of articulating halal(permissible)/haram(forbidden) distinctions that most profoundly problematize the scope of their agency. That is to say, by insisting on meticulous, often absolute, deeply sincere commitment to halal in every aspect of life—by asserting what Daromir Rudnyckyj highlights in the Indonesian context as “an ethic of individual self-policing based in Islamic practice”  through which “the worshiper consciously acknowledges and engages … oneness of goal, purpose and will” (8-9)—do Muslim believers reject and critique the Western modern lifestyle and neoliberalism, or do they reaffirm drives so constitutive of the modern project? One such drive is what scholars from Charles Taylor to Adam Seligman to Robert Orsi see as the drive to uniformity and order; the other is an attempt to sacralize all aspects of life. The former impulse constrains our capacity to address the spaces of liminality in individual and social life (and, as a result, the contemporary obsession with ‘haramness’ of cosmetics can befuddle even Muslims scholars, as noted on page 140). At the same time, the attempt at sacralization of all domains of life, as Max Weber showed long ago, not only led toward secularization; it was also a religious drive built into the very foundations of modernity and capitalism. In other words, while Muslims as believers might focus on halal in the context of the global market as the realm that enables them to exert theological, cultural, and political agency and do so against Western modernity, the impulses that shape their theological orientations and religious acts related to halal seem quite aligned with some aspects of that modernity.

Let me end on a slightly provocative note: Shirazi discusses in great detail the role of certified religious authorities—ayatollahs, ulama, and muftis—in ascertaining the halal/haram distinctions, and shows convincingly how the logic of the market influences and affects such bodies in Western countries such as the United States or Muslim societies such as Iran or Indonesia. I wonder, however, whether a more explicit comparison of the motivations and practices of Muslim authoritative bodies in such very different settings could reveal something surprising: the possibility that a powerful normative critique of global capitalism could emerge not from the focus on universal religious community but from the link between the theological focus on halal, the Muslim self-understanding as bounded by the framework of national identity, and the commitment to applying the Islamic understanding of social justice in one’s national society.

Slavica Jakelić
Slavica Jakelić is the Richard P. Baepler Distinguished Professor in the Humanities at Valporaisio University. Her scholarly interests and publications center on religion and nationalism, religious and secular humanisms, theories of religion and secularism, theories of modernity, and interreligious conflict and dialogue. Jakelić has worked at or was a fellow of a number of interdisciplinary institutes in Europe and the United States—the Erasmus Institute for the Culture of Democracy in Croatia; the Institute for the Study of Economic Culture at Boston University; the Institut für die Wissenschaften vom Menschen in Vienna; the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago; the Notre Dame Institute for Advanced Study; the Erasmus Institute at the University of Notre Dame; and the Kroc Institute at the University of Notre Dame’s Keough School. She is a Senior Fellow of the national project “Religion & Its Publics,” placed at the University of Virginia, where she was a faculty member and co-director at the UVA’s Institute for Advanced Studies in Culture for several years. She is also a Senior Fellow of the international project "Orthodoxy and Human Rights," placed at Fordham University.

Jakelić 's writings have appeared in journals such as the Journal of the American Academy of ReligionJournal of Religious EthicsPolitical TheologyThe Hedgehog ReviewThe Review of Faith &International AffairsStudies in Religion, Sciences Religieuses, and Commonweal. She co-edited three volumes: The Future of the Study of Religion, Crossing Boundaries: From Syria to Slovakia, and The Hedgehog Review’s issue "After Secularization." Jakelić is the author of Collectivistic Religions: Religion, Choice, and Identity in Late Modernity (Routledge, 2010) and is currently working on two books, Pluralizing Humanism (under contract with Routledge) and Ethical Nationalisms.