Knowledge of Knowledge

I dread having to write this post, or what I have called it in my mind as an open letter to the related persons. My dread is based on the fear that this post will compromise the sincerity in my heart to reach my goal. After all, I have always believed that you can never please everyone, and that you cannot control what others think of you. However, I am nudged to finally write this open letter after reading and listening to a few scholars and realizing the severity of the situation than I first comprehended.

A few months before I graduated from the University of Pittsburgh, I went to meet a trusted professor of mine. We talked about my future plans, and the ways forward. I articulated my doubts of doing a PhD directly after my three years at Pitt and my ability to become an academician. Therefore, he advised me to do a Master for a year while I figure out what I want to do for the rest of my life. I did as advised, went to a prestigious university to obtain my Master’s degree while I contemplated my future. Being who I am, I have always put my trust in God. Bit by bit, God showed me while I was in London that opportunities for me in academic seem brighter. After praying for the best direction, my heart finally decides that I am ready for a life in academic.

That’s when it started.

I started getting comments on how I’m going to be a “lecturer je” (just a lecturer), from family members, no less. It went on for a while, getting the same comments from different people. But I make up excuses for them in my head. I told myself that their ignorance is not their fault. They grew up in a society that looks up to doctors, lawyers, accountants, and engineers, while failing to realize that before there were doctors or lawyers, there were university lecturers under the tutelage whom they studied under. It thus baffles me when they say I’m going to be just a lecturer. How can you admire the head without the neck or shoulder? I understand that I may not be teaching important courses, but knowledge is knowledge, regardless of our limited human appreciation of them.

The second excuse I make up for them may sound a bit arrogant, but it is nonetheless an excuse I can think of to wrap my head around their comment. Most of these people who said I’m going to be a “lecturer je” graduated from Malaysian universities, and I’m not even talking about University of Malaya or the National University of Malaysia. What is my point of bringing this up? If you went to a university where most of the lecturers only had a Master’s degree, and their job appears to revolve around teaching in class, you may put them on a lesser pedestal than they really deserve. But I have been to two amazing research universities. The professors that I’ve had are amazingly knowledgeable and are respected with awe by their students, including me. These are people who don’t only take what’s in the textbook and projected them on a wall, they are the ones who wrote the textbooks. They write books, articles, present at conferences, and many more.

How did I come to this seemingly spurious conclusion? The only direct support I have gotten from an extended family member is from an uncle whom himself graduated from a foreign university. He understands the value of committing your life to knowledge. When I first told him of my plan post-LSE, his was the only positive response I received. Not only was he supportive in the sense that stroke my ego, but he also shared with me ways to reach my full potential. He didn’t say I’m going to waste my time as just a lecturer; he actually encourages me to write books, and become a professor one day, inshAllah. He is someone who understands that besides revealed knowledge, the whole universe is open to discovery, and the people who make those discoveries deserve our utmost respect and gratitude, not because of some imaginary hierarchy, but because without these people we would still think that the atom is the smallest particle and that Communism is the future. Where do you think these people are? Do you think the Nobel laureates sit at home constantly working out some mathematics equation? No, their research is usually funded by a university!

When I met a few professors from the local universities here, discussing my future in the respective university, my first question was always, “How much research can I expect to do here?” In the end, that is what I aspire to do. I want to dedicate my life to learning. I want to become a social scientist. But most people don’t understand the value of that because the only value they see is money. The only measure of success to a modern man is how big his house is and how many cars he own. This is a very sad predicament for us. During a recent Islamic conference I attended, the speaker mentioned how when we ask our kids today their aspiration, their answer is usually the typical “doctor, lawyer, engineer” mix. Nothing wrong with that, except that we don’t hear our future generation says they aspire to become the best Muslims in order to enter Jannah.

Now this is the hardest part for my write. To those who actually care enough to sit with me and to talk to me, rather than talk of me, would know that my specialization has always been on political Islam. I pray to God that my work, how insignificant they are, may have a tiny impact on the general perception people have on Islam’s role in politics. It may not be a big deal to those who have to work 9-5 to provide for their family, but it is a passion I’ve had for a while. As a Muslim, I can’t stand the misconceptions (including by Muslims) on Islam and politics. I wish to be part of a group of academicians that would one day rectify this. My plan is bigger than success in this dunya. I don’t wish to work to accumulate as much wealth as possible; instead, I wish that my work would count for the progress of the ummah, and as my key to enter Jannah. On a separate note, the idea of just a lecturer is ludicrous to me because I have a few friends whose parents are lecturers, and they live in big mansions, travelling the whole world, every year. I can vouch that the same persons who said I will be a ”lecturer je” don’t even have half the assets of these professors, even though that is beside the point. Why is this difficult for me to write? Because I never want others to know my heart’s desire. I have always said that the reason I want to become a political scientist is to gain God’s grace. For me, it is good enough for God to know my intention. At the end of the day, I want my niyah to be that of fi-lil-Allah-i-taala.

Undeniably, it breaks my heart a little when they say I’m going to be just a lecturer. But they also brought up the point that I had big dreams when I was younger. The funny thing is, those dreams are still with me, but they never bother to ask me how I want to achieve those dreams. See, I am someone who believes it is important to walk the talk. What is the point of having dreams without a concrete plan to achieve them? You can’t just wish something and expect one day to find yourself owning a private island. If you want something bad enough, you work for it. And working for it is what I am doing right now. Believe me, all those wishes I had plastered on the walls of my childhood bedroom, they’re still plastered in my heart. The difference between the older and younger Syaza is that I now see my future clearer than ever. But the one thing that has stayed constant in my life is that when others doubt me, it drives me crazy to prove them wrong. Not because of some egoistic desire, but because I believe—I know—that the ummah would be better off if we change our perception and aspiration, just a little bit, inshAllah.

Syaza

It feels good to finally be able to breathe

It feels good to finally be able to breathe.

In the midst of going through life’s routine, I have failed my voice and myself. Only in the past few days was I reminded of the reason I have written religiously in an online journal since ten years ago—this is the only place where I am afforded my own space without being cut mid-sentence and ridiculed for having a personal opinion.

All my life I have been stifled. They make me think as if I’ve been allowed to speak up when I wasn’t. Should I dare to have a slightly non-conformist idea, it would be made known loud and clear that my opinion doesn’t count because it is simply wrong. Maybe when I was younger I ate up their lies because it was the only reality I am made aware of, but now I know better. I’ve seen the world. I’ve experienced different dynamics. There are people out there who value differences of opinion; more importantly, there are people out there who value my opinion. I’ve realized that the reason I seek a life in academic is because my thoughts—however juvenile or misguided—are always respected and taken into consideration in an academic setting. How do I know this? I have just graduated from one of the world’s best universities, and even if I don’t make sense in class sometimes, never once was I put in the awkward position of questioning my own worth, or worse, my ability to express myself.  For those who find it difficult to accept another person's point of view, maybe consider doing what all my teachers in the US and the UK used to do, and start your reply with, "You have a good point, but maybe also consider..." Being in class was my safe haven. School and this blog are the only recourse I have when it comes to articulating my ideas.

Sometimes it feels surreal that I seldom say anything to those around me regarding matters that are close to my heart. For example, I have massive passion for the Middle East, politics in Islamic countries, Shariah law, racial politics, religious issues affecting Muslims, etc. But when they discuss these subjects, I choose to stay silent. Sometimes I feel stupid, because I obviously have an opinion on each of these topics, but I know if I say anything I will be opening a can of worms. It would be too much to expect a civilized discussion from these people. They would raise their voice and that’s it. I’m not a fan of heated discussion. If you can’t converse in a civilized manner, you’re not worth conversing with. When someone is angry for being challenged, you know they don’t have enough meat to back their ideas. I am not trying  to convert people to my way of thinking, but making things worse, never once did they ask for my opinion when ironically, there are people halfway across the world who would tweet me asking for my reaction to current world events. So when I sense these people are not ready for an open discussion, I withdraw and keep silent. Because a wise man once said, "Sometimes silence is the best response." In my case, silence—and the aid of food in front of me—is the best response every time. It is not worth my energy to debate with people who have not master the method as taught by the people before us.

It also boggles my mind when these are the same people who claim to be better Muslims than others. One becomes a Muslim when one takes the shahadah, or the proclamation that “There is no other god but God, and Muhammad is a messenger of God.” They can repeat the shahadah multiple times a day, but if they do not internalize it, it makes it difficult for me to respect the things that come out of their mouths. When you say, “There is no other god but God,” this should be enough to put you in your place in the grander scheme of things. We are nothing but one of the many, many, creation of the Creator. Saying—no, internalizing—the shahadah should make one humble, including in forming an opinion. If only you realize that you are but a blip in God’s bigger plan, you would realize that there are many things out there that are out of your grasp and understanding. Thus, there is a chance that you might be wrong. It does not matter how many books you’ve read or own; you would not be able to even sniff the scent of Truth, because it is far beyond the capability of any human being. I’m not just talking about religion. Even when you’re talking about science, was it not the brightest of minds who once thought that the earth is flat? Nobody knows the Truth, and that is the truth. So, your arrogance to not allow your opinion challenged goes against the shahadah that you proclaim every day and night.

Internalization of the second part of the shahadah, “And Muhammad is the messenger of God,” should also make one humble, and patient, because that was how the Messenger of God led his life. If you believe in Muhammad, then you would want to lead a life as taught by him. It is easy to say “I heart Rasullullah”, but to practice his sunnah? I’m not talking about keeping beards and eating with two fingers—those are easy because it involves our exhibition of faith to others. When we feel others are judging us, it is easier to keep the Prophet’s sunnah. But I’m talking of those which you cannot externalize to your friends and neighbours, such as being patient and grateful. It is not about saying Alhamdulillah, but it is about showing your gratitude by not complaining over the tiniest little thing. Remember that there are others worse off than us. So the waiter mistakenly takes the wrong order, so the doctor is ten minutes late, so there's a traffic jam right before your exit—why can’t we take a more positive approach and think that it might be a blessing in disguise? Why can’t we show a little gratitude by saying/thinking, “Better late than never.” I have been ridiculed by some acquaintances over my discipline to follow these rules of men, but the way I see it is, if you can’t even abide by man-made regulations, how do you want me to believe that you are able to abide by GOD’s rules and regulations? Everything that God asks of us requires not just faith, but also discipline. How can you be disciplined in your prayers but not when it comes to traffic rules? It’s a contradiction that you cannot see but is an embarrassment to other Muslims. After all, “The best dawah is your manners, and the best naseeha is your example.” (Imam Osama [not bin Laden])

What is the point of all this rambling? As much as it is my own form of PSA, it is also a gentle reminder to myself. I am about to be a mother. In six months, I will no longer just be responsible to my husband and my parents, but there will be this little person whose views of this world will very much depend on how my husband and I raise him or her. When my baby is big enough to talk and to question everything around him or her, I hope that I will remember this post. I hope that I will teach my child to have faith in others, and especially in God. Sometimes—most of the times, actually—neither my husband nor I will have all the answers, but I think that the most courageous thing a parent can do is to say, “I honestly don’t know, baby, but mummy will try to find out about it and we can learn together.” There is no harm and humiliation in admitting that despite the age gap, there are things that my child may have more knowledge on, because he or she may have thought of something that never crosses my mind. Rather than berating my child for a different opinion, I will try my best to be a parent who will embrace his or her unique ideas about the world, because their future will be different from when I was a little kid—it would be immature for me to expect him or her to agree with everything I believe in. I pray with all my heart to Almighty God that I will be a force of positivity in my child’s life so that he or she won’t be as timid as I am, afraid to speak up in fear of being mocked. I pray that the home that we’re making for ourselves—the one we are moving to in a week—will be a safe space for my children to express themselves, because if their home is not safe, I dare not think of the world outside.

Syaza

Yusuf al-Qaradawi’s Approach to Shia-Sunni Dialogue

Yusuf al-Qaradawi’s Approach to Shia-Sunni Dialogue

Yusuf al-Qaradawi’s Approach to Shia-Sunni Dialogue

The Qatar-based Shaikh Yusuf al-Qaradawi is considered to be one of the world’s leading Islamic scholars. Author of numerous books, he is known for his open-minded attitude and for his willingness to address of vital contemporary concern in a spirit of genuine dialogue. One issue on which the Shaikh has written extensively relates to relations between different Islamic groups, sects and movements. He decries extremist interpretations of the faith that readily brand all other Muslims as infidels and outside the pale of Islam. Instead, he pleads for moderation and dialogue among Muslims, seeing this as mandated by the Quran and the Prophetic example.

Relations between Shias and Sunnis have been strained for much of Muslim history. Many Shias and Sunnis see each other as apostates or even as ‘enemies’ of Islam. In some countries, such as in parts of Pakistan today, Shia-Sunni conflict has taken seriously violent forms. Although in many cases there are crucial political and economic factors that fuel this conflict, the sectarian dimension acts as a powerful factor in further exacerbating Shia-Sunni differences. Halting efforts have been made in the past, and continue to be made today, to promote Shia-Sunni dialogue. However, on the whole, it can be safely said, most conservative and ‘traditional’ ulema have been reluctant, if not openly hostile, to any suggestion of genuine Shia-Sunni dialogue. Literature branding the sectarian ‘other’ as inveterate foes of Islam continues to be produced and distributed, mostly, although not entirely, penned by conservative ulema. Although such literature has been in existence for centuries, in recent years it appears to have been given a major boost through active sponsoring by certain states in order to promote their own interests. This, for instance, is the case with the vast amount of anti-Shia literature produced in or funded by Saudi Arabia in order to counter anti-monarchical and anti-imperialist interpretations of Islam emerging from out of Iran following the Islamic Revolution in that country.

Given the vehement opposition to the Shias among many, if not most, Sunni ‘ulema, Shaikh Yusuf al-Qaradawi’s attitude towards Shias is particularly remarkable. Two fatwas recently issued by him relating to the Shias (accessible on the website www.islam-online.net ) suggest his serious willingness to engage in genuine dialogue with Shias and to tolerate differences, within broad limits, among Muslims. The first of these fatwas deals with the issue of intermarriage between Shias and Sunnis. The Shaikh responds to the question by explaining the conditions for an ideal marriage. ‘Matrimonial life’, he says, ‘should be based on mutual understanding between the spouses’. ‘[H]eated arguments and continuous debates’, he says, would threaten to ruin the marriage, leading to ‘battle between the spouses’. One possible cause of serious conflict between spouses could be, the Shaikh says, if one of the partners, being a Sunni (here the Shaikh does not identify the person as such) ‘supports Abu Bakr’ and the other (presumably a Shia) ‘defends Ali’. The Shaikh clearly says that he does not regard such a marriage as forbidden (haram) but, yet, he states, ‘I don’t prefer it’. This is because it would inevitably lead to conflict and eventual martial breakdown. He says that just a Muslim man is allowed to marry a Christian woman, he could also marry a Shia woman. Yet, although he considers it legally permissible for a Sunni man to marry a Shia woman, he argues that such a marriage is ‘not the ideal one’. However, he further qualifies his statement by stressing that if the Shia woman is a ‘moderate Shi’ite’, prays in the mosque along with Sunnis and ‘does not support conflict with the Sunnis’, a Sunni man can marry her if he ‘really wants to’. Interestingly, he adds in conclusion, ‘It goes without saying that the above fatwa is also applicable in case the man is a Shi’ite and the woman is a Sunni’.

The Shaikh’s second fatwa deals in greater detail with Shia-Sunni relations, particularly addressing the question of dialogue between the two groups. The fatwa, issued in March 2004 in reply to a question put to the Shaikh by a certain Husain from Iraq, bears the revealing title, ‘Overlooking Differences Between Sunni and Shi’ite Muslims’. In reply to the question, the Shaikh begins by highlighting the importance that Islam places on Muslim brotherhood. This, he suggests, points to the urgent need for Shia-Sunni dialogue. He then lays down certain broad rules for Sunnis to follow in dialoguing with Shias. The most important rule, he says, is to ‘concentrate on the points of agreement’, not on areas of difference. Of the former, the most salient are those that deal with ‘the fundamental issues of religion’. On the other hand, he suggests, most of the points of difference between Shias and Sunni have to do with ‘minor’ issues, and hence must not be allowed to become an obstacle in the process of dialogue.

The Shaikh then discusses in detail the areas of broad agreement between Shias and Sunnis, which he suggests must form the basis of meaningful dialogue and efforts to build unity between the two. He argues that both Shias as well as Sunnis share many fundamental beliefs, such as faith in one God, in Muhammad as the ‘Seal of the Prophets’, in all the heavenly scriptures and prophets, and in the Quran as God’s word. Shias as well as Sunnis agree in the matter of the ‘five pillars’ of Islam-the testimony to the oneness of God’s and to the Prophet Muhammad as being God’s messenger, the specified prayers, zakat, haj and fasting in the month of Ramadan. The Shaikh admits that Shias and Sunnis differ with regard to some rulings related to these ‘pillars’, but then adds that such difference of opinion is ‘something that is quite normal’. In contrast to several other Sunni scholars, he refrains from magnifying real or imaginary differences between the Shias and Sunnis. Instead, he goes so far as to argue that the differences between Shias and Sunnis in the ways in which the ‘five pillars’ are understood are ‘like the scholarly difference in opinion among the Sunni schools themselves, such as the Hanbali, Hanafi and Maliki schools’.

In his effort to bring Shias and Sunnis closer the Shaikh approvingly refers to the well-known Sunni scholar Imam Ash-Shawakani, who, he writes, ‘referred to eminent scholars of jurisprudence among the Sunnis and Shi’ites on equal footing’. The Shaikh maintains that in matters of jurisprudence, on issues concerning both ‘worship’ and ‘transactions’,
there is probably no ‘crucial difference’ between Shias and Sunnis. He admits that Shias do not recognize the Sunni books of Hadith or traditions attributed to the Prophet. Yet, he also claims that most of the ‘authentic’ traditions contained in these books are, in fact, considered as authentic by Shias, either as reports narrated by sources they consider trustworthy or else as points of view of their Imams, whom they regard as infallible. On the whole, then, he concludes, ‘there is a great deal of agreement’ between Shia and Sunni jurisprudence, and this he considers as ‘the most important point’ to be kept in mind when approaching the question of Shia-Sunni dialogue and unity. Both forms of jurisprudence, he says, depend on the same sources, the Quran and the practice (sunnah) of the Prophet, and both are said to share the common aim of ‘establishing Allah’s justice and mercy among people’.

The Shaikh is not unmindful of the differences, on certain issues, between the Sunnis and most Shias, although he considers them relatively insignificant, at least compared to what they share in common. In highlighting the commonalities between the two he also argues against a widely held view in some Sunni circles of all Shias as believing in certain doctrines that are not accepted by the Sunnis. Thus, he writes, ‘some Shi’ite views that seem eccentric to use have been also adopted by some Sunni scholars’. For instance, he says, while most Shias approve of ‘temporary marriage’ (mu’tah), Sunni scholars in general forbid it. Nevertheless, he notes, a companion of the Prophet, Hazrat ibn Abbas regarded this form of marriage as ‘lawful’ and that ‘although he changed his mind later’ on the issue, some of his followers in Mecca and Yemen, such as Said ibn Jubair and Tawus continued ‘holding such marriage lawful’.

Overall, then, the Shaikh’s relatively open-minded approach to the vexed issue of Shia-Sunni relations is in sharp contrast to that of many conservative Sunni ‘ulama, particularly the so-called ‘Wahhabi’ scholars, who insist that the Shias are heretics and are outside the fold of Islam. The Shaikh appears to vehemently disagree with this position, and, instead, explicitly recognizes most Shias as fellow Muslims. In one of his statements he clearly announces, ‘Let it be known to all that the Shi’a are Muslims who believe in the Oneness of Allah and the Prophethood of Muhammad (peace be upon him)’. The term ‘Shia’, he explains, refers to ‘a group of people who are the followers of Imam Ali’. They also ‘show full fidelity’ to the Ahl-i Bayt, the family of the Prophet. This is not a wrongful or un-Islamic innovation, and nor are those who are commonly referred to as Shias the only one who do so. In fact, the Shaikh argues, ‘such fidelity is required of all Muslims’, and proceeds to provide Quranic evidence for this. He admits that the Shias ‘have their own dogmas’, which Sunnis ‘condemn as heresy’, but argues that ‘this doesn’t make them into non-Muslims’. However, he makes a careful distinction between those Shia groups who he considers may legitimately be regarded as Muslims, and those whose beliefs and practices are for him clearly aberrant, even to the majority of the Shias themselves. The latter include groups who deify Ali or claim that he was meant to have been the last prophet, in place of the Prophet Muhammad.

As the Shaikh sees it, intra-Muslim rivalry, particularly between Shias and Sunnis, only plays into the hands of forces that are inimical to Muslims. All Muslims should be alert’, he warns, ‘against the schemes and plots planned by the enemies of Islam’. ‘They.want us to disagree and fight each other in the name of belief’, he says, and appeals to Shias and Sunnis ‘not to give them this chance’.

Given the nature of the institution of the fatwa, the Shaikh does not deal at length with the theological (as opposed to simply jurisprudential) differences between Shias and Sunnis, but instead, simply provides an opinion in response to specific questions put to him. Naturally, for a meaningful dialogue between Shias and Sunnis, issues of theology as well as history cannot be ignored. Yet, the Shaikh’s fatwas make clear, dialogue can only take off when both partners are willing to recognize what they share in common. As the Shaikh points out, there is much that Sunnis and most Shia share, and this must form the basis for developing a genuine Islamic ecumenism.

Originally published on Yoginder Sikand’s website at http://www.islaminterfaith.org/archives.html and reprinted with permission of the author.

I Am Muslim

Before you read any further, I would like to firstly apologize if anyone is to be offended by this post. But I feel very passionately about this topic and so I need to write what is in my heart. More importantly, this is an issue that has caused so much sorrow in me.

As some may know, I recently went back to Malaysia for Ramadhan, and among the many issues that are being ‘discussed’ (a nice term to describe what is actually going on), is that of Shiism. I would again like to acknowledge that I am not the right person to come to regarding the different beliefs and practices between Sunnis and Shiites, but I can say that compared to most Malaysians I have met, I can confidently say that I know more (because of my general interest in Islam that is not limited to any sect), and especially on the (unbiased) history of Islamic sectarianism as learned at college. Words could not describe the heavy feeling in my chest every time I hear someone spread ignorance about Shiism because I feel as if I am witnessing the real-time unravelling of the Muslim ummah right in front of my eyes. From family members, to friends, to the salesperson at a department store, I have heard the same conversation, but I know better than to interject. I held my tongue because I believe it is not worth it to argue with people who are unwilling to admit that there is a small probability that they might be wrong.

I am not going to write a whole entry on the many similarities between Sunnis and Shiites; instead I would like to stress my frustration over how people are handling this issue. They say that it is in the name of Islam that they are trying to stop Shiites from spreading their beliefs in Malaysia, but as a Muslim, I just could not find justification in the Quran or Hadith for people to pass judgment on whose Islam is right or wrong. Don’t we all agree that only God knows eternal truth? Don’t we all agree that only God can judge whether one is righteous? Isn’t God the only person who can decide if a person is a believer or not? We are all humans similar in every way to the person we are judging. We are on the same hierarchical level. Does that not seem funny that we still somehow feel the right to call others kuffars?

The history of Islamic sectarianism started after the death of our beloved Prophet over the issue of his successor. Sunnis agree that Abu Bakr was the rightful successor whereas Shiites believe that Ali and his descendants were the rightful successor. Why is it important to point this out? It is to show that the Sunni-Shia split started as a political conflict. I would rather not go into detail, but surely it evolved into differences in religious jurisprudence. But may I friendly remind that even among Sunnis we have different madhabs, and our differences lie in religious practices, not in theology. Some may point to the concept of the imamate as curious. But not all Shiites believe in the infallibility of the imams. The bottom line is, all of us believe in the oneness of God (which is the cornerstone of our religion), the prophethood of Muhammad, the Quran, and Qiyamah. A relative of mine pointed out that Shiites have a different Quran than ours. I admitted that I had no knowledge of such thing, so I went to do my research and found out that the difference lies in the tafseer. Do you know that there are many tafseers of the Quran out there? But the Quran, in its Arabic form, has never changed since it was first revealed to Prophet Muhammad.

As a political science student, when I approach this subject people like to ask me to elaborate on the sectarian violence going on in the Middle East. I don’t care for the tone of their voice, which while seemingly condemns sectarianism also has a layer of prejudice that is feeding the violence. Nobody in my family knows that on Eid, my heart broke into hundreds of tiny pieces when I saw the number of people that had died in bomb attacks targeting mosques in Iraq. This is what we, Muslims, have come to. It is not the Christians, the Jews, or the Hindus who are killing Muslims, but Muslims are killing their own brothers over sectarian differences. Is it worth it? That’s a stupid question; of course it is not. We are killing people who profess in the oneness of God and the prophethood of Muhammad.

Sure, Malaysians have not fall to sectarian violence...yet. But it would not surprise me if we do in the near future based on what I saw and heard during my month-long stay in Malaysia. It always starts as harmless finger-pointing, but soon the fingers would turn into guns. People might argue that we are preventing the outbreak of destructive sectarianism by banning Shiism in Malaysia. These are the same people who cry foul over the military coup in Egypt. Believe me, it is all the same. When you suppress people based on ideology, you are only pushing them toward the brink of violent rebellion. Yes, I said ideology, because this is not an issue of religion. We are all Muslims.

“All believers are but brethren. Hence, [whenever they are at odds,] make peace between your two brethren, and remain conscious of God, so that you might be graced with His mercy.” (Quran 49: 10)

"The differences of opinion among the learned within my community are [a sign of] God's grace" (The Prophet's Hadith as quoted by Imam Suyuti in Al-Jami as-Saghir)

May God have mercy on my arrogance in this post.

Allahualam.

Syaza

A difference of opinion does not spell the doom of us

I have studied the Middle East for the good part of the last four years. This far from makes me an expert, but I believe I have an advanced understanding of the region at an introductory level. Unfortunately, I feel like my opinion is less appreciated in Malaysia because of my refusal to engage in dramatic accounts on the present unfolding of events. In simpler terms, I refuse to fall prey to conspiracy theories and the pointing of fingers toward those with a different ideology. It is funny that at the LSE, I am known by my classmates as the defender of Islamists (Ikhwan, AKP, even of Iran’s theocracy), but back home nobody wants to listen to me because they feel I am a ‘liberal’ (which I don’t deny, but only because my conception of liberalism is different and not antithetical to Islam). The point is that I believe I have succeeded at being impartial precisely because of this.

Firstly, I am studying democracy, and my focus is on Islamists (or Political Islam). If nothing else, these two facts about me already show that I am a staunch believer that Islam and democracy are complementary. It is sad that I feel the need to put this out first in order to avoid being called an anti-Islamist.

This is my opinion on Egypt:

Max Weber wrote in the Protestant Ethic that “The appeal to national character is generally a mere confession of ignorance.” I believe the same applies to the current view on Egypt held by certain quarters of the Muslim population. The simple compartmentalization of the belligerents as Islamists (pro-Mursi) and secularists (anti-Mursi) only proves one’s misunderstanding of the situation. It shows that one does not recognize the unique history, demography, expectations, and leadership in Egypt. It is far more complicated than what the media is making it out to be. If Western media is accused of being the mouthpiece of the anti-Mursi, the same can be said of Islamist media. Now, I am not going to debate on the role of the media; instead, what I wish to put out there is the recognition that it is difficult to be objective by depending on the media because they have their own agendas.

So what exactly is my take on the army’s takeover of power?

Personally, I believe that since Mursi was elected in a free and fair election, he should be able to finish his presidential mandate. It is unfair to expect him to turn the country around in just over a year. Democracy is about having a long time perspective on politics. Nevertheless, with democracy being in its infancy, it is not irrational for Egyptians to want immediate changes after years of inflation and unemployment. On the other hand, protest movements are rarely sustained by bread and butter issues alone. What was expected was for the men and women in Egypt to be a part of the wider nation-building process, which Mursi failed to acknowledge in Egypt’s exclusive constitution-writing process.

Of course I find it unfortunate that the army is currently holding leaders of Ikhwan in custody. I truly hope the Algerian Civil War would be enough of a reminder to the effects of brutal suppression on a party that legitimately won a free and fair election. Deep in my heart, however, I have faith in Ikhwan. The party has not advocated violence since the middle of last century, and I doubt they will start now. They have been suppressed and persecuted under Nasser, Sadat, and Mubarak, and yet they have not called for an armed insurrection. This time, it would not be different. Moreover, since the army quickly handed power over to an interim president and government, I believe Egypt is on the right track toward democracy and away from violence. If time is what the anti-Mursi was demanding, this is their opportunity to prove they could, if ever, build a coalition stronger than the Ikhwan.

(Disclaimer: I am neither an Egyptian nor do I live in Egypt. This is only the personal opinion of a budding academic observer.)

Syaza