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The Muslim
world is larger than we think
By Shelina Zahra Janmohamed
The Muslim world is made up of more than
just people from the Middle East and the Subcontinent
and drawing on our wider heritage and perspectives could
help us address the pressing questions of Islam and
modernity
It would probably come as a surprise to most people to
know that the largest ethnic group within the world’s
billion or so Muslims are not in fact, Arab. Nor are
they Pakistani, or even Bangladeshi for that matter.
Even the entire Muslim populations of Europe and America
do not feature at the top of this list, and neither does
China.
In Britain, our perceptions of Muslims - and thus of
Islam - are shaped by the fact that the media shows us
coverage of the Arab world as ‘Islam’ and also because
the majority of Muslims in this country are of Pakistani
and Bangladeshi origin. The issues and challenges that
raise themselves in the Muslim community, and which
spill over into the national discourse about Muslims and
Islam, therefore naturally stem from our Arabic and
Sub-continental-shaped spectacles. Even within the
Muslim communities the problems we see and the solutions
we propose continually hark back to world-views and
religious paradigms based in Arab and Sub-continental
perspectives on history and modernity. British Islam
tastes of korma curry with a side-serving of hummus. In
the global political arena too, the Sub-continent and
the Middle East (read ‘Arab’) are also front and centre
when it comes to ‘The Muslim World’.
With this restrictive bi-focal approach, we try to
address the big questions facing Muslims today. We ask
in this context, how do we get to a meaningful
understanding of Islam and governance in the modern
world order of nation-states? Should we choose to
interact (or not) in democratic processes, and if so,
what methods should we use? What should our identity and
role be in this globalized world? Is there a dichotomy
between nation and ummah, and if so, how do we reconcile
them?
The biggest challenge out of all of these for Muslims,
is to find meaningful proposals to create a framework
for participation with positivity and integrity in this
new world order. Muslims constantly hark back to a
‘better time’ of Islamic empires and Caliphates, which
were the spiritual home of Muslims, and for the most
part were their physical homes too. However, such an
empire, or a universal ‘home’ state no longer exists. In
many cases Muslims live as minorities within non-Muslim
majority countries. There is no option - and in many
cases no desire - to ‘go home’. Muslims should already
feel respected and at home, and should not be treated as
aliens. In the context of such a relationship, it is
timely for Muslims to construct a robust place within
the national community that they are part of and
establish very clearly the contribution that they will
make.
This desperately needed enterprise is being subverted by
a small minority who wish to hijack this process of
development and change. Their desire is to return to a
‘better time’ and to ‘Islamicize’. But they created
these false notions through Arab-Sub-continental lenses.
The neo-conservatives who have created their empty
identities and standing in opposition to this so-called
‘Islamist’ political ideology also see the world in
these two blinkered dimensions.
So here is the surprise. Large swathes of Muslims are
asking the above-mentioned first set of positive
questions about this new globalized world that we live
in. The groundswell is to participate and contribute, to
explore traditional notions of Islamic governance and to
advance new ideas of engagement and civic participation.
By no means are they getting it all right but, as
Confucius says, a journey of a thousand miles begins
with a single step.
The most significant and flourishing example of this is
Indonesia. This is a country of 221 million people, of
which 88% are Muslim. This makes Indonesia the world’s
largest Muslim population, a fact unknown and overlooked
by most people. The country stretches from Thailand to
Australia, punctuated by lush rain-forests and epic
lively volcanoes. Its spirituality is understated but
intricately and gently woven throughout the fabric of
society. Mosques are plentiful (as are other places of
worship), almost on every street corner, but they are
softly tucked in, little oases in the hubbub of day to
day life. Scattered liberally amongst the emerald green
rice fields are small huts, used to protect workers from
the tropical rain storms, and offer an accessible place
for prayer.
The country is founded on five principles, the first of
which is the ‘belief in the one and only God.’ For a
country with an overwhelming Muslim majority, its
political principles define it not as Islamic, but as
theistic. There is concern to ensure that the huge
variety of ethnicities that make up the nation, as well
as its six official religions, share a sense of cohesion
which is expressed in another of its founding
principles: ‘Unity in diversity’. It also envisions a
just and civilized humanity, social justice for the
whole of Indonesia and finally, and perhaps most
significantly democracy guided by the inner wisdom in
the unanimity arising out of deliberations amongst
representatives. It is this fusion of democracy and
faith that makes the physical, spiritual and social
landscape of Indonesia so fascinating.
Ten years after the overthrow of a totalitarian
government, the country is racing through a reformasi,
and asking piercing questions about nationhood and
faith. Whilst travelling there, I was constantly
surprised by the strength of feeling amongst all the
people I met about driving their country forward.
How did the fact that I am both British and Muslim
manifest itself, and how did I relate to my nation, I
was constantly asked. Instead of simplistic shock at the
existence of Muslims in the UK, the Indonesians greeted
my fusion of British Islam with thoughtfulness. They
reflected on what they could learn from the experience
of British Muslims, to create a cohesive nation state
that could respect faith, benefit from it, and use it as
a force to create unity - a slippery and elusive goal
for a country of its huge geography, variation and
population. They wanted to learn about how minorities
were treated, and apply positive experiences to their
own nation.
There was no possible question of not participating in
political and civic processes. Faith - whether Muslim or
otherwise - was a natural part of civic life. There was
no need to make a headline fuss of it. It did not
dictate the political agenda. Instead, it offered fresh
perspectives on dealing with social, political and
economic issues. None of this is to say that Indonesia
is not dealing with pockets of extremist activity like
we are in the UK. Indonesia has many human rights and
security issues of its own to deal with. Despite the
challenges it is facing, it was refreshing to be in a
Muslim majority country, amongst politically and
civically active Muslims, for whom Islam was not the
only item on the agenda - if in fact it was on the
agenda at all. Creating a society where faith is woven
into nationhood, and exists happily under its banner
were of greater concern to people on the street.
I came away thinking that as British Muslims we had many
things we could learn from them. Indonesia sits very
firmly as part of the Muslim world, and sees itself as a
key player amongst Muslim nations. It is attempting to
deal with some of the questions that face both Islam and
faith in general in this new millennium. And like a
child learning to sit up and survey the world around it,
their experience can offer Muslims fresh eyes onto our
modern day challenges. Muslims speak with pride about
sharing the joy and pain of a global ummah. But
sometimes we forget that the ummah stretches much
further not only in geography, but also much further in
culture, politics and creativity than we might think.
courtesy: Shelina Zahra Janmohamed's |