Farish A. Noor: Azahari: Death of an Extremist, Not a Martyr

Though some were sceptical at the beginning, it now seems increasingly clear that the Malaysian academic-turned-militant Dr Azahari Husin has been killed in a shoot-out with Indonesian security forces in the East Javanese town of Malang. Azahari’s death, we have been warned, does not signify the end of terrorism in Southeast Asia – if anything, it is just as likely to prompt other martyr-wannabes to come to the fore to sacrifice their lives and the lives of others for their own exclusive sectarian ends. The ‘moderate’ Muslims in the region may rejoice at his passing, but their celebrations are hasty and laced with a touch of dread: the dreadful thought that in the months and years to come there will be other Azaharis creeping out of the woodwork to carry out their bloody labours in broad daylight. One question, however, remains: Why is it that the moderate Muslims of the region were so evidently impotent in the face of this threat?

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Azahari: Death of an Extremist, Not a Martyr

By Farish A. Noor


Though some were sceptical at the beginning, it now seems increasingly clear that the Malaysian academic-turned-militant Dr Azahari Husin has been killed in a shoot-out with Indonesian security forces in the East Javanese town of Malang. Azahari’s death, we have been warned, does not signify the end of terrorism in Southeast Asia – if anything, it is just as likely to prompt other martyr-wannabes to come to the fore to sacrifice their lives and the lives of others for their own exclusive sectarian ends. The ‘moderate’ Muslims in the region may rejoice at his passing, but their celebrations are hasty and laced with a touch of dread: the dreadful thought that in the months and years to come there will be other Azaharis creeping out of the woodwork to carry out their bloody labours in broad daylight.

One question, however, remains: Why is it that the moderate Muslims of the region were so evidently impotent in the face of this threat? After all, Azahari was not merely a threat to the security of ordinary civilians in Indonesia, but to the image of Islam and all Muslims in general. Why were the heads of state of so many Southeast Asian countries so slow in condemning the man and his deeds; why were the famed religious scholars of ASEAN so slow to denounce his actions; and why were the moderates of the region so lame in their critiques?

Perhaps the reason for this lies in the fact that Azahari was seen as ‘one of us’. He was, despite everything, a Muslim, a Malaysian and a citizen of an increasingly wired-up and connected ASEAN region. In this regard, he was almost a proto-ASEAN citizen whose identity was not shored up by parochial bonds of nationality and local belonging. He had a vision for ASEAN, however twisted that vision may have been. The moderate intellectuals, leaders, scholars and activists of ASEAN, however, lacked the same all-encompassing global vision that drove Azahari to the heights and depths that he reached.

But before we get carried away with these observations, a few cautionary qualifications are called for:

Despite his aim to create a singular, united ASEAN region, Azahari’s vision of a Pan-Islamic ASEAN state was a limited one. His was a view of the world that did not recognise the difference between nation-states, but one that merely replaced territorial divisions with an even more repressive authoritarian model of a sectarian religious state that favoured one faith community – Muslims – above others. No, Azahari was not an advocate of a pluralist, multicultural ASEAN that celebrated its religious, cultural, ethnic and linguistic difference. He envisaged a singular ASEAN state that was homogenous, uniform, conformist and modelled after a narrow interpretation of Islam that hailed from the drier climes of the Arab world instead. Azahari did not celebrate the historical inter-connectedness of ASEAN and its rich legacy of cross-cultural borrowing with and from India and China: If anything, he denounced the region’s pre-Islamic Hindu-Buddhist past as something archaic, corrupted and un-Islamic.

Despite his violent tirades against the authoritarian political culture and repressive regimes of ASEAN, Azahari was not a democrat or a friend of democracy. Like many of his ilk, his chaffing at the yoke of political repression did not lead to a cry from more freedom and equality. He did not preach or believe in the equality of the sexes, races, or religious communities; nor did he militate for more pluralism and diversity. Azahari sought and fought to replace the political authoritarianism of ASEAN today with an even more repressive form of religious dictatorship instead, one where power was even more centralised though less arbitrary, bound as it was by the dictates of religious orthodoxy that was based on a non-negotiable discourse of absolutes. The man was no freedom fighter or democratic revolutionary; Che Guevara he certainly wasn’t. His vision of order and stability was rather underpinned by a fear of political contestation and the overwhelming desire to tame that political ‘chaos’ with the stamp of religious dogma instead.

And despite his claims to have laboured and sacrificed for the sake of Muslims, the man was hardly a friend and ally of Islam or Muslims himself. If anything, his actions have only sedimented even further the stereotypical view that Islam is a religion of violence and that all Muslims – even those like him who were the product of secular education at Western universities – are essentially irrational, violent demagogues and tyrants. Azahari was no friend to Indonesia either, for he cared little about the damage that he was doing to the image of Indonesia in the wake of the 1997-98 economic crisis. Here lies the greatest irony of all: while countless Indonesian workers have come to Malaysia to help in the construction of the Malaysian economic miracle, Azahari was a Malaysian who had come to Indonesia to do precisely the opposite: stir up chaos and strife and to complicate life for millions of ordinary Indonesians instead.

In short, Azahari was exactly the opposite of the ASEAN dream of creating an ASEAN by, for and of the peoples of Southeast Asia themselves. He lived and died at the most extreme antipode of ASEAN’s collective dreams and imaginings. If his ghost is to be remembered, it should be as the alterior face of ASEAN itself, not what we want to be, but what we need to avoid at all costs. ASEAN may not know where it is heading and what it wishes to be in the future, but at least now we are a tad wiser and we know what we should not be and where we should not be heading. Anything but that, anything but another monster like Azahari.

Those who call themselves ‘moderate Muslims’ must now pause and take a good, close look at themselves. Azahari was the bugbear that haunted our conscience while he was alive, and with his death his followers and admirers will undoubtedly praise his efforts and sacrifices as laudatory. Yet we all knew that the man was a radically contingent factor who placed himself outside the equation of Islamic social dialectics and represented something far more extreme and radical that most of us would care to admit. This was the man who did not hesitate to label the moderates ‘kafirs’, ‘traitors’ and ‘hypocrites’, and for whom the killing of ‘moderate Muslims’ and ‘non-Muslims’ went hand-in-hand. Lest we miss the opportunity and allow his passing to be transformed into a modern myth by the die-hard extremists, we have to speak up now and condemn the man for what he was: a murderer, a fanatic and an extremist, plain and simple.

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Noor Huda Ismail: Is Ngruki a terrorism school?

The Jakarta Post on Feb. 28, 2005 released a report on a Ngruki alumni involved in terrorism activity. As a graduate of that school, I understand how such people think. In this brief report, I (Noor Huda Ismail, the writer) would like to share my experiences studying there and investigate why a fringe of Ngruki alumni are involved in terrorism activities but the majority are not. What does he say about Ngruki?

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Ngruki: It is a terrorism school?

By Noor Huda Ismail


The Jakarta Post on Feb. 28, 2005 released a report on a Ngruki alumni involved in terrorism activity. As a graduate of that school, I understand how such people think. In this brief report, I would like to share my experiences studying there and investigate why a fringe of Ngruki alumni are involved in terrorism activities but the majority are not.

From age 12 to 17 I attended the now-famous Islamic boarding school. A simple plastic mattress served as my bed in a dingy student dormitory together with about 20 other students and a volunteer resident assistant named Fadlullah Hasan, who was three years older than me. Hasan had a perpetual blue bruise on his forehead from bowing his head to the floor as the result of his five prayers per day.

Despite his zealous attitude and my more moderate beliefs, Hasan and I developed a tight bond, mostly rooted in the fact that we both hailed from the outskirts of Yogyakarta, a two-hour bus ride from Ngruki.

At 4.am. Hasan habitually rose without an alarm clock and promptly woke us up by gently tapping our backs. After morning prayers in the adjacent mosque, we read the Koran and consumed Hasan's encouraging words that reminded us to study and to proselytize Islam.

After two months at Ngruki I realized Hasan used an alias. Like many Ngruki students, Hasan rejected his given name, Utomo Pamungkas, because it sounded too Javanese, and not Islamic enough. Hasan, as I always called him, vanished from Ngruki the following year, and I wouldn't learn his whereabouts until we had a rather ironic encounter 15 years later.

Ngruki wasn't always famous. It is merely one of thousands of Islamic boarding schools across Indonesia. But it has emerged as the most notorious of such schools because dozens of convicted Bali bombers are Ngruki alumni and its co-founder is Abu Bakar Ba'asyir. Security analysts and police investigators insist Ngruki's activities are linked with the three major bombings in Indonesia and at least two dozen smaller explosions, mostly targeting churches.

Sidney Jones, the director of the Indonesian branch of the International Crisis Group, has dubbed Ngruki the "Ivy League" of JI members who are recruited clandestinely.

Jones has a point. Days before my graduation, Ngruki's faith teacher, Abdurrohim alias Abu Husna, called me and five other students -- all of whom had high academic achievements or zealous attitudes -- into his poorly-lit home. He said, "A Muslim should join the Islamic group called Jamaah Islamiyah," he said. He explained how this movement aimed to establish an Islamic state.

I was a 17-year-old, and wise enough to refuse his proposal. In fact, my days at Ngruki were a misfit from the beginning. My secular father worked as a parole officer who was mainly responsible for handling Islamic militants that opposed former president and dictator Soeharto. As a means for him to find out more about the group, he enrolled me in Ngruki.

"You make it easy for me to enter and observe the school," my father told me.

One of his targets of observation was Ngruki's co-founder, Abu Bakar Ba'asyir, an alleged terrorist leader who I interviewed for my current job as a reporter for The Washington Post, just a few days before an Indonesian prosecutor reopened the case against him. In a 65-page indictment, the prosecutor charged him for being the amir, or leader, of Jamaah Islamiyah (JI) and declared him responsible for the Marriott Hotel and Bali bombings.

Abu Bakar Basyir, 65, approached me in the crowded and poorly maintained jail hall wearing a white shirt, a white, boxed Islamic cap, and faded white-framed eyeglasses. The stocky prisoner by his side was convicted of blowing up the residence of the Philippines ambassador in 2000. His unofficial job was to coordinate six prisoners who provide Baasyir daily assistance with food and laundry.

Baasyir, a self-proclaimed admirer of Osama bin Laden, spewed out his usual rhetoric, portraying himself as a victim of the infidel Bush's America. Then he quoted the Koran "The infidels will never stop fighting us until we follow their way."

I know this verse all too well because various teachers drilled it into my brain by day and night some 14 years ago, when I studied in the sweltering classrooms that taught nothing but Islam. The only music blasting from Ngruki's speakers was Nasyid, an Arabic song about Jihad. Painted Arabic calligraphy covered the dormitory walls. One of them read "Die as a noble man or die as a martyr."

Inside Ngruki's brick walls, anti-Semitism was rampant. On Thursday night public speaking classes, the most popular topic was the threats facing Islam. Global Jewish power and Indonesia's Christian-controlled economy fueled our fears. We, the students, delivered impassioned speeches quoting the verse of the Koran that reads "the infidels and Jews will never stop fighting us until we follow their religion." I was no different, and my words received warm praise and injected me with pride and genuine satisfaction.

There is no doubt that all the teachers were fiercely for an Islamic state and the implementation of sharia law. They regarded the existing secular national law as illegitimate. They refused the fly Indonesia's red and white flag, and shunned Pancasila -- Indonesia's national philosophy. Their motivation was once again a Koranic verse that reads, "Whoever doesn't follow God's law is an infidel."

This anti-nationalism led Ngruki's co-founders, Ba'asyir and Abdullah Sungkar, to flee into exile in neighboring Malaysia, where they avoided imprisonment for subversion by Soeharto.

My father did, in fact, find out a lot about life in Ngruki. He learned that Ngruki, despite its radical slant, produced a handful of moderate Indonesian Muslims like me. I pray five times a day, study the Koran and wish to visit Mecca. I work for the American media, host Jewish-American friends in my home, and spend Friday nights at a local bar. Most of my fellow graduates may not be open-minded by Western standards, but they don't support violence in the name of Islam either. And despite their occasional narrow vision, many are likely to have succeeded in the secular, business world.

Why did only some Ngruki alumni take the road to terrorism?

Ngruki teachings proved unrealistic in the real world, especially the emphasis on the strict interpretation of Islam that was at complete odds with the environment where we ended up working. After graduation, I had to obtain a personal ID card from the government, the same government I was taught to disregard. I choose to further my study at two government-run universities, where I had to sing the national anthem and respect the national flag. All of this was necessary to start a successful career.

According to my interviews in Arabic and Indonesian with convinced terrorists from Ngruki, most received military academy training in the Dar Al Ittihad Al Islamy camp in Afghanistan or in Camp Hudaibiyah in Moro, the Philippines. They went in the name of JI and candidly discussed how they killed in the name of God. They justified their jihad as a revenge for the butchering of Muslims by infidels such as the U.S. and its allies.

Hasan was among them. When I met with him again last year, the setting was not a run-down dormitory, but instead an equally dilapidated Jakarta jail. Hasan's jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he first saw me. It looked like he wanted to hug me, but he hesitated and awkwardly opted for a handshake. Other prisoners must have informed him that his long-lost roommate was now a special correspondent for the Washington Post journalist, a position he would deem an extension of the infidels. Hasan is now a convict, jailed for his involvement in the Bali blast.

We engaged in small talk in Arabic until his comfort level increased. However, took many meetings spanning two months for us to return to our previous rapport.

Hasan is the fifth of seven children from a simple peasant family in a remote Java village. His father sent him to Ngruki from 1986 to 1989 expecting him to become his village's religious teacher.

"I have disappointed my father," he said in a solemn voice. "Instead of being a religious teacher, I'm a terrorist. Now, I am locked here."

In 1990, under the influence of the emir of JI, Abdullah Sungkar, he went to Malaysia, Pakistan, Afghanistan and the Philippines to study a radical strain of Islam and to wage Jihad as a missionary in Malaysia and Indonesia. Hasan met Sungkar at Ngruki before Sungkar fled to Malaysia. "He was like a father to me," said Hasan, who later became a senior JI member.

He was instructed to establish the Hudaibiyah Camp and train Moro Independent Liberation Front members and JI members.

Sitting cross-legged on his black mattress, Hasan talked sadly about his wife and his two children who live in an Islamic boarding school in East Java.

"Each time I think of them, I feel so sad," he said. Hasan also lived in this school in 2000, and it was there that he met the Bali bombers, most of whom were Ngruki graduates from different years. But Hasan sensed the police on his tail, and he fled on a two-day boat ride to faraway Kalimantan.

Hasan wasn't in jail alone -- he was with other former Ngruki students; Muhammad Saefudin and Muhammad Rais. Along with Saefudin and Rais, he met Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan in 2001.

Rais relayed Osama bin Laden's message to Ba'asyir and was arrested for storing explosive materials used for the Marriott Hotel bombing, while Saefudin was groomed by JI as its future leader.

I wondered. If it weren't for my secular roots, would I too have been with my former classmates behind bars?

*The writer is a journalist, Jakarta

Source: The Jakarta Post, March 14-15, 2005.

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Editorial: 'Mudik' and tolerance

The fasting month of Ramadhan will soon be over, and Islamic peoples all over the world reflect on the values of their religion as they prepare to celebrate Idul Fitri.

For most Jakartans, particularly Muslims, Idul Fitri is a special day set aside for reunions with relatives and old friends. Residents of the capital want nothing more than to be in their hometowns for the holiday and are prepared to pay extra for bus, train, plane or ferry tickets. From year to year, the mass departure of residents grows in number. It is a phenomenon locally called mudik. The Jakarta Transportation Agency estimates that some 2.5 million people will travel to their hometowns this year, 60 percent higher than last year's figure. Why are they so eager to 'mudik'?

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'Mudik' and tolerance

Opinion and Editorial - October 29, 2005


The fasting month of Ramadhan will soon be over, and Islamic peoples all over the world reflect on the values of their religion as they prepare to celebrate Idul Fitri.

For most Jakartans, particularly Muslims, Idul Fitri is a special day set aside for reunions with relatives and old friends.

Residents of the capital want nothing more than to be in their hometowns for the holiday and are prepared to pay extra for bus, train, plane or ferry tickets.

From year to year, the mass departure of residents grows in number. It is a phenomenon locally called mudik. The Jakarta Transportation Agency estimates that some 2.5 million people will travel to their hometowns this year, 60 percent higher than last year's figure.

While Islam does not explicitly recommend mudik, it encourages people to come together, to love and know one another, to forgive one another. Idul Fitri is a day for reflection, devotion, self-control and also a time to share joy and happiness.

For some, Idul Fitri is a chance to relax or break with routine. For others, it is a matter of pride. To arrive home laden with gifts is a sign of success, though spreading good deeds would perhaps be more fitting.

It is not uncommon for a year's savings to be spent on Idul Fitri. On presents -- including cash for relatives -- food and the journey home.

According to the transportation agency around 1.6 billion people will return home via train, bus or private car. And, as happens every year, the government is busy making infrastructure and security preparations.

As the annual exodus has proved unstoppable the government has no other choice but to improve roads and other services to ensure a safe and secure journey for all.

Mudik is the right of each and every person. However, considering their absence over a number of days, the matter of home security is worthy of attention.

Those going home by car or motorcycle (usually in large groups) must abide by the traffic regulations and respect other road users. That they return safely to their homes is more important than the speed of their journey. Life goes on after the festivities.

Celebrating holidays at home means big spending, and therefore, from an economic point of view mudik benefits the villages. While visitors' money rarely lasts until the end of the holiday, injecting cash into the villages improves the purchasing power of residents.

People should refrain, however, from buying unnecessary things. Good intention should be encouraged, including renouncing any feelings of superiority. They should guide the misled and assist the needy -- perhaps even their neighbors who cannot enjoy the festivities even in a modest way.

People have been experiencing hardships due to the increase in the prices of fuel and other commodities. Thus, it is somewhat indifferent to celebrate Idul Fitri in a joyous and prodigal way while thousands of people have been left disheartened after lining up for -- or missing out on -- cash aid distributed under a government scheme to offset the effects of the fuel price increases.

To live without discrimination or distinction is easier said than done. Just look at the members of the House of Representatives as they demand an additional monthly allowance of Rp 10 million (US$1,000) while the people struggle to make ends meet. Considering these bitter realities, Muslims must use Idul Fitri as a time to embrace the good aims of their religion and to set examples of tolerance, patience and justice as taught by Islam.

Wishing all our readers a peaceful and prosperous Idul Fitri.

Minal aidin walfaidzin.

Source: The Jakarta Post

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Farish A. Noor: After Bali, can we still live with our modern Myths?

Writing against the current of popular opinion these days is an
unceasing struggle against the current of stale cliches and
platitudes. Immediately after the recent bombings on the Indonesian
island of Bali the familiar refrains were heard: `destruction of the
paradise island', `loss of a tourist haven', etc, etc. While it is
true that Bali has indeed been seen (and sold) as a tourists'
paradise, we forget that the island has a darker side to its history.
The Question: Why is it in Bali?

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After Bali, can we still live with our modern Myths?

By Farish A. Noor


Writing against the current of popular opinion these days is an
unceasing struggle against the current of stale cliches and
platitudes. Immediately after the recent bombings on the Indonesian
island of Bali the familiar refrains were heard: `destruction of the
paradise island', `loss of a tourist haven', etc, etc. While it is
true that Bali has indeed been seen (and sold) as a tourists'
paradise, we forget that the island has a darker side to its history.

Bali, like the rest of Southeast Asia, inherits at best a troubled
past. The 1950s and 1960s witnessed some of the bloodiest conflict
ever seen in Southeast Asia. The Vietnam war led to the deaths of
millions, and contributed to the destabilisation of the region as a
whole. The capitals of Southeast Asian countries like Bangkok and
Manila became known as flesh pots where brothels and bars flourished
to keep America's soldiers entertained while they were on leave. The
support of Western governments also meant that pro-Western dictators
including Ferdinand Marcos of the Philippines and General Soeharto of
Indonesia were allowed to rule the roost with impunity.

Indonesia was one country where the battle for the hearts and minds
of the people was fought in earnest. Following a failed coup by the
Indonesian communists in 1965, the right-wing nationalists of the
country, with the active support of the Indonesian army, began a
nation-wide purge that led to the massacre of hundreds of thousands.
Bali, the island paradise visited by millions of tourists every year,
was not spared. Across the island right-wing mobs, with the support
of the army and local officials, went hunting for leftists to maim
and murder.

Bali was later sold as a tourist paradise; an idyllic retreat that
was a sanctuary from the troubles of the world, like some modern-day
consumerist Shangri-La of infinite promise. But the myth of Bali
rings hollow when contrasted to the realities of Indonesia and the
rest of Southeast Asia.

Which brings us to the present. And life in present-day Indonesia is
depressingly hard for many.

Should it be proven that religious militants were indeed responsible
for last week's attack on Bali, it would certainly not come as news
to the Indonesians themselves. Indonesia's brush with religiously
inspired militants goes all the way back to the 1960s. During the
anti-Communist purge of 1965, right-wing religious movements –
including Muslim, Christian and even Hindu ones – were allowed to
destroy the offices and homes of leftist sympathisers. The mobs that
burned down the offices of the Indonesian Communist party, and who
killed suspected Communists all over the country, were given a free
hand by the security forces who conveniently looked the other way. No-
one raised questions about the potential danger of politicised
religion then.

In the late 1970s a mysterious group calling itself the Komando Jihad
appeared. The Komando Jihad was the first group of its kind. Its
members were from the disaffected youth of the big cities, notably
Jakarta. In 1981 it staged the country's first ever hijacking of a
plane when it took control of a Garuda Airlines DC-9. The hijackers
were caught and many of them killed by the Indonesian security
forces, but word soon got out that the very same group had been under
the control of maverick elements within the Indonesian army itself.

Two decades on, the spectre of clandestine militant groups still
haunts the country. In the late 1990s groups like Laskar Jihad
emerged, making the headlines when they sent their hot-headed members
to fight a holy war against the Christians in Ambon in the Moluccan
islands. Following Washington's declaration of the global `war on
terror' the Indonesian government felt compelled to come down hard on
groups like Laskar Jihad, but not before its leader embarrassed the
government by stating to the press that his organisation had been
supported by elements in the Indonesian army all along...

So Indonesians can be forgiven if they seem less than convinced about
the stories they hear and read about the Jama'ah Islamiyah and the
Bali bombings. For a nation brought low by the East Asian economic
crisis of 1997, the Bali bombing of 2002, the Jakarta bombings of
2003 and 2004, and the tsunami of last year; there are other bread-
and-butter issues to consider.

The violence we see in Indonesia today is the culmination of a grand
experiment that has gone disastrously wrong. For nearly three decades
the dictators of Southeast Asia were supported by their Western
allies as long as they remained on the right side: the Western bloc.
Tarted up as she was, Bali was and remained a painted mask for many.
For carefree foreign tourists with money and time to spend, a trip to
Indonesia meant a holiday in Bali, with perhaps a few hours of
waiting in the Jakarta airport lobby along the way. The realities of
life in other parts of the country: from the terrible atrocities that
were being conducted in East Timor and West Papua, to the crackdown
on democratic opposition groups in the country's universities and
inner cities were kept at bay. Bali was not merely a tranquil oasis
in Indonesia; it became an asylum from the realities of Indonesia
under military law as well.

The blasts in Bali have tore off that mask and laid bare the
realities of this country of two hundred and forty million souls.
Indonesia remains a country in search of its destiny and its struggle
towards democracy remains a difficult and painful one. The myth of
Bali was a distraction that averted our eyes from the complexities
and painful realities of the country itself, and for too long it
served as a convenient diversion for those who preferred to entertain
the polite fiction that life is a bed of roses.

Can we, living in the turbulent world we live in today, still
entertain the myth of a tropical paradise that is removed from the
rest of the world? If we have grown wise enough to know that `free
trade' is never free; that `holy causes' have been used to justify
the unholiest of crimes; and that fantasies are just a form of
escapism; then perhaps we should all grow up and see through the mask
of Bali, to realise that behind the smile of the Balinese waiter is
the simple desire to live a dignified life, without remaining forever
on his knees to serve the whims of rich tourists with too much money
on their hands. Perhaps in the wake of the Bali bombing the ones who
should really be asking these questions are the tourists themselves.

If the myth of Bali has been irreparably shattered, then whose myth
was it in the first place? No, there are no safe havens in this world
of ours, and perhaps the human race is not entitled to a little piece
of paradise on earth after all.

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Ali: Interfaith dialog vital for religious harmony

The writer recently received from a friend a gift of a video tape of a meeting between Muslim and Christian religious experts in Indonesia. It was described as a "debate between two religions", with the subtitle, "Islam versus Christianity" as if it was a boxing match. My friend presented it to me as though it would provide interesting viewing. This, though, was not the case for me at all.

Instead of seeing this debate as interesting, the writer was left feeling disappointed and saddened. The "two sides" in the debate were not really listening to each other; they were in fact trying to "score points" off each other and "win" the argument. This is not really the kind of communication we need between faiths. What is the better way, though?

***


Interfaith dialog vital for religious harmony

By Ali


I recently received from a friend a gift of a video tape of a meeting between Muslim and Christian religious experts in Indonesia. It was described as a "debate between two religions", with the subtitle, "Islam versus Christianity" as if it was a boxing match. My friend presented it to me as though it would provide interesting viewing. This, though, was not the case for me at all.

Instead of seeing this debate as interesting, I was left feeling disappointed and saddened. The "two sides" in the debate were not really listening to each other; they were in fact trying to "score points" off each other and "win" the argument. This is not really the kind of communication we need between faiths.

A debate format really does little more than reinforce ideas of opposition and the foolish notion that one party (or here, religion) may emerge "victorious". This is not useful communication and discourse between peoples. For communication to be useful it needs to be a shared and respectful dialog in which both parties speak and listen, and ultimately become wiser for having spoken and listened.

Many times people claim to be entering into useful discussions when in fact all they are really doing is seeking ways in which to promote and even impose their own ideals and agendas. But ultimately this approach is neither useful in the pursuit of their goals nor generally fruitful.

Those that seek to "succeed" or "prevail" through their arguments are doing little more then waging war. True, their war is a war with words and not bullets or bombs, but these kinds of words can and do lead to the use of bullets and bombs.

When religion is "debated" in this kind of confrontational way it is quite easy to see the debating parties as fundamentalists who want to attack their supposed "infidel" opponents or convert the "heathens" so their opponents will come to share their faith and vision of the world. This kind of thinking is nothing short of the ideals of empire and the imposition of imperialism.

In the manner of imperialism, there are those that see the process of communication as a way of bringing their singular truth to a plural world. For them the aim of communication is to conquer and convert, but this kind of thinking has never been successful for the "conqueror" particularly or the "conquered" generally.

A faith that is coerced is not really a faith at all; to do or accept something just because you are told to is neither satisfying nor of lasting worth. Communication, likewise, to be truly satisfying and possessing anything remotely resembling lasting worth, needs to be more than occasionally staged debates that are inappropriately founded on notions of determining superiority.

Our communication has to be a process centered on generating understanding. This means that it needs to be based around the sharing of ideas and the sharing of ways in which we can mutually come to terms with what it is to have a human existence and be part of human society.

Communication, then, needs to be stable, consistent and peacefully orientated toward wanting to participate in understanding others; not just engaging in confrontation and making your voice heard, expecting others to listen and being in denial of their voice.

This means that we have to live and cooperate together so that we may gradually achieve the habit of cooperation and the realm of trust that is so critical for us to live together. In turn it requires that our process of communication is a process of association; wherein we actually interact with others, even if those "others" are fundamentally different from us.

Though there may be fundamental differences between us, these do not have to lead to a fundamentalist abuse and attacking of each other. We can, it must be hoped, recognize and appreciate our differences and ultimately accept, if not plainly concede, that we all stand before God irrespective of our differing routes to God.

People of faith can surely accept this truth. After all, true faith exalts, enriches and empowers the human heart; why should such a great attribute be wasted on destructive extremes?

Perhaps the reason why is that we too often fail to truly communicate and interact with and thus understand others. In our towns and cities we are prone to live in segregated communities.

This has been (too, too often) exemplified in Jakarta, where clashes between neighboring communities have for years been the flash points of ugly violence.

Trust needs to be built up but if we live separated from each other there is very little hope for the building of trust. Instead we live in ignorance of the "other" and this leaves us prone to the suggestion that the "other" is a threat to us; and yet quite the opposite is likely to be the case -- if only we knew.

True and lasting dialog is needed for the benefit of all. All should be involved - not just "religious experts". From talking to each other and, vitally important but so often and so easily forgotten, listening to each other, we can reach across the boundaries that separate us.

Boundaries of faith, race and income can and will remain, but dialog will help us to understand and value them and so truly make space for them in both our cognitive and our physical worlds.

Debates and argumentation may be intellectually challenging and even entertaining, but constructive outcomes from dialog that builds understanding and trust are more vital to us now. We must speak and be heard, but we must also listen. Our listening will inform our speech and help us kill ignorance and revive trust.

The author is a senior researcher at the Cunningham Research Centre in Manchester, UK.

(Jakarta Post, 7/2/2005)

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Dadi Darmadi: Spiritual materialism in the haj pilgrimage

This year, again, more than 200,000 Indonesian pilgrims are going to Saudi Arabia. What is the biggest challenge facing many Indonesian pilgrims as they head to Mecca: Severe desert weather? Terrorism? Poor transportation and accommodation? Or the government's ongoing mismanagement of the haj?

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Spiritual materialism in the haj pilgrimage

By Dadi Darmadi


This year, again, more than 200,000 Indonesian pilgrims are going to Saudi Arabia. What is the biggest challenge facing many Indonesian pilgrims as they head to Mecca: Severe desert weather? Terrorism? Poor transportation and accommodation? Or the government's ongoing mismanagement of the haj?

Every single factor above could be equally challenging. In fact, most of these problems still likely haunt Indonesian pilgrims. But nothing seems so difficult that it cannot be slowly but surely overcome.

The biggest challenge is, as has been in the past, how the pilgrims liberate themselves from spiritual materialism. That sounds like a contradiction in terms, but that is how the pilgrims triumph over the strenuous challenge and stay true to the arduous commitment of the pilgrimage, which is all about equality and self-effacing humility. That said, to say the least, the pilgrims will not be able to spend as much money as they wanted.

By the way, what do pilgrims actually do? "

Indeed, those are dreadfully wonderful rejoinders. However, those are regrettably normative ones. The actual phenomenon is often deeper than what it may seem. When it comes to the pilgrimage, it seems there is no sign of economic crisis among Indonesians. If each pilgrim spends at least 250 riyals each for souvenirs, that means annually Indonesian pilgrims spend no less than 50 million riyals (approximately Rp 125 billion).

That figure is far less than the annual spending of roughly 400 million riyals, the equivalent of Rp 1 trillion, for 200,000 Indonesians during the haj pilgrimage in Saudi Arabia. A friend of mine jokingly told me that pilgrims often spend more money than anyone in the world.

They buy things from religious iconography to toys, as well as other non-religious things. Some pilgrims even buy teapots, mugs and trays, not to mention other bigger and heavier merchandise like electronics, bedspreads and rugs. It is not surprising, after all, Indonesian pilgrims have long been known for being "bargain hunters" and some really do shop "till you drop" in the pilgrim way!

They even have to satisfy their desire to hand out gifts for their beloved relatives and friends by buying things from, hilariously, the Tanah Abang market. But, probably the most amusing of all, people know it, keep doing it and look happy with it. How can you make sense of this? Why does this hunger for candid spirituality feed spiritual materialism?

Religion surprisingly blends pretty well with tourism and consumerism. Such a case is true, for instance, in the contemporary practice of the pilgrimage among American Jews to Israel and Poland. Or look closely at the practice of umrah, the Islamic lesser pilgrimage to the city of Mecca, among some well-off Indonesian Muslims. Luxurious packages offer pilgrims different routes from Jakarta to Jeddah. Afterwards, they can visit Istanbul, Cairo or Jerusalem.

In this voyage, they are plunged into transnational linkages brought to them by this tightly knit endeavor of religion and tourism. By visiting some Islamic historical sites they are invited to religious imagination of the splendid Islamic civilization and to reconstruct the memory of the golden age of the Islamic past.

This without a doubt allures the more wealthy pilgrims to extend their reach in a merely "religious duty". If this is not enough, you can also be accompanied by Indonesian celebrities. On this package, where everything is provided, pilgrims cannot help but quit the arduous obligations of the ritual.

The pilgrimage becomes a ritual departure from the routine and workaday world in luxurious hotels, shockingly scattered all over the shrines. That spiritual materialism is a real blend of religion and consumerism. Religious shrines often become a contested space, where Islam, as a global religion, cannot avoid the global culture of capitalism.

When pilgrims are also tourists, the pilgrimage is not a religious phenomenon anymore. The ritual carries a banner of religion, commercialism and even class identity. They want their Islam to be "comfortable" enough for their lifestyle, as well as suitable for their class identity so that they can stay put and feel "at home" with the religion.

Seen in this way, however, religious observation not only reaffirms religious and cultural identity but also, and more importantly, class identity. Moeslim Abdurrahman, a respected Indonesian anthropologist, said the Indonesian haj tours in the 1990s were "divided" rituals along social class lines.

Mind you, this is not my effort suddenly to consider those respected "guests of God" as being haji mardud, the rejected pilgrims, as some people in the village mockingly point the finger at particular shoddily behaved pilgrims upon their return. God forbid, the pilgrims themselves surely know better than I do. However, if we want the pilgrims to keep away from becoming rejected ones, we had better get used to self-criticism. If, for some reason, that brings up predicaments about new religious reformism, so be it. We are going to be called reformers for whatever changes we make.

*The writer is a research fellow at the Center for the Study of Islam and Society at Jakarta's State Islamic University. He is currently a Fulbright PhD student in social anthropology at Harvard University.

(The Jakarta post, 23/12/2004)

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Ahmad Najib Burhani: 'Puritan' Muhammadiyah and indigenous culture

Muhammadiyah has for a long time been associated with the "puritan" Islamic movement. This is a style of religiosity based on the view that the Koran and the hadith (the collection of narratives describing the actions and sayings of the Prophet Muhammad) are the only proper basis of any religious authority. These purists are against any acculturation or inclusion in the religion of external elements such as local culture. Is it a correct view about Muhammadiyah?

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'Puritan' Muhammadiyah and indigenous culture

By Ahmad Najib Burhani


Muhammadiyah held a national meeting from Thursday to Sunday in Mataram, West Nusa Tenggara. One of the most important issues discussed during the meeting was the organization's stance toward indigenous culture.

Muhammadiyah has for a long time been associated with the "

Muhammadiyah, in its early years after its establishment in the 1920s, was known for its ambiguous attitude toward politics. Despite the fact its political sentiments were as anti-Dutch as those of other nationalist movements, the Dutch colonial government regarded the group as safe.

In the cultural field, the Muhammadiyah also wrestled with a similar ambiguous attitude toward Javanese culture. No attempt was made to deny that almost all of the founding fathers of this movement were servants of the kraton (Javanese royal palace). Moreover, the leaders of the movement preserved an intimate relationship with the kraton.

Yet, this organization proclaimed that its objective was to rationalize traditional practices and to modernize the social system. Logically, this would imply that Muhammadiyah had an agenda for reforming syncretic customs and making inroads into the feudal, aristocratic social structure that prevailed in Javanese society and that had the kraton squarely as its axis.

Ahmad Dahlan, the founder of the movement, provides the best portrait of the ambiguity of this movement toward Javanese culture. He remained an obedient and loyal servant of the kraton of Yogyakarta until his death.

Ahmad decision to maintain this ambiguity was apparently aimed at ensuring the growth and survival of his new organization.

Another factor that caused the Muhammadiyah to appear to entertain an ambiguous attitude toward Javanese culture was the history behind its establishment. Among the main supporters for the founding of Muhammadiyah were devout Muslim priyayi (Javanese aristocracy) and non-devout priyayi. The other main supporters were traders.

Cogently, in line with the interests of its main supporters and its dominant members, the Muhammadiyah paid serious attention to social welfare and educational activities by founding schools and hospitals. The agenda for modernizing and rationalizing religious beliefs was regarded as a secondary project.

Why then did Muhammadiyah change and become a puritanical movement? Why did Muhammadiyah change its cultural character? The influence of several prominent members from Sumatra and the victory of Wahhabism for control of Mecca and Medina in 1924 forced Muhammadiyah to pay more attention to religious beliefs and behavior than it had done before.

The Sumatrans, especially West Sumatrans, were more puritanical than the members from Java. Although the official objectives of the foundation of the Majlis Tarjih (law making council) in 1927 were to protect the unity of the movement and to resolve any disputes over religious and legal questions, it cannot be denied that the council also marked the beginning of the shift in the Muhammadiyah's attitude toward Javanese culture. Certainly, after the creation of the council, Muhammadiyah was more concerned with religious matters and the behavior of its members.

In politics, in the 1930s Muhammadiyah also tended to associate itself with other religious movements. One of the effects of these new trends in Muhammadiyah was the decline in its attraction for non-devout priyayi. Their interests no longer tallied with the programs of Muhammadiyah.

The more dominant devout-priyayi and traders became in Muhammadiyah, the greater the loss of interest of the non-devout priyayi, and finally the Muhammadiyah was less inclined to Javanese-ness.

This marked one sequence in the story of the development of Muhammadiyah. After this, Muhammadiyah became a purely Islamic movement. The non-devout priyayi preferred to leave Muhammadiyah and attach themselves to nationalist or cultural movements. Furthermore, after the 1930s, Muhammadiyah's role as a puritan movement was more obvious than before. In this period, Muhammadiyah theology was systematized and codified.

On the eve of the 21st century, two contrasting trends emerged in Muhammadiyah. There were several groups within Muhammadiyah who regarded the group's move toward puritanism to be inconsequential and superficial, making it too slow and soft in forcing a puritan agenda. They demanded the movement strengthen the puritan agenda in its activities. In the opposing camp were Muhammadiyah members who regarded the movement as showing extreme rightist tendencies. They believed Muhammadiyah was too puritanical.

Over the last several years, the tug-of-war between these two opposing groups became a serious problem in Muhammadiyah. Each group tried to drag Muhammadiyah in opposite directions, reflecting their own interests; the liberal-cultural versus puritan.

The struggle between the liberal-cultural group, led by current Muhamamdiyah chairman Syafii Maarif, Amin Abdullah and Munir Mulkhan, and the puritan group, Muhammadiyah Members Who care about Sharia, was intense from 1999 to 2003. Their conflict spread to Muhammadiyah universities and its supporting organizations.

The spread and growth in the numbers of kaum berjenggot (people who wear beards as a symbol of religiosity) and radical Muslims at some Muhammadiyah universities was countered by the Muhammadiyah Student Association with the introduction of Sufism, pluralism and liberalism.

Fortunately, the face of Muhammadiyah today is still dominated by moderate and pluralistic Muslims, such as Syafii Maarif. This is the reason why the movement is considered moderate, modern and pluralistic.

Of course, it would be counterproductive for the organization if the radical and puritanical wing took the lead and disseminated their teachings. This would change the face of Muhammadiyah and Islam in Indonesia from the smiling and tolerant Islam to a more puritanical Islam. The national meeting in Mataram was a very important moment for determining the future of Muhammadiyah and Islam in Indonesia.

*The writer is a lecturer at Paramadina University in Jakarta and a Pemuda Muhammadiyah activist.

(The Jakarta Post, 6/11/2004)

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Rizqon Khamami: The NU convention and nonconventional Islam

The convention (Muktamar) of Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) which will be held from Nov. 28 to Dec. 2 in Donohudan, Surakarta is a focal point for the future of progressive Islam in Indonesia. The very fact that Indonesia is the world's most populous Muslim nation, and the NU is the biggest Islamic organization in the country, leads to the assumption that progressive Islam, which is the main characteristic of Indonesian Islam, would be at stake, if the views of progressive Islam are rejected during the convention. So, how to solve the problem?

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The NU convention and nonconventional Islam

By Rizqon Khamami


The convention (Muktamar) of Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) which will be held from Nov. 28 to Dec. 2 in Donohudan, Surakarta is a focal point for the future of progressive Islam in Indonesia. The very fact that Indonesia is the world's most populous Muslim nation, and the NU is the biggest Islamic organization in the country, leads to the assumption that progressive Islam, which is the main characteristic of Indonesian Islam, would be at stake, if the views of progressive Islam are rejected during the convention.

Within the NU, the idea of progressive Islam is held by several young intellectuals.

For instance, Liberal Islam is upheld by Ulil Abshar Abdalla and Moqsith Ghozali through the Liberal Islam Network (JIL). Other elements of progressive Islam are included, but not limited to, Islam Emansipatopry (P3M), Islam Leftist (LKiS), Islam Indigenous (Khamami Zada), Islam International (Nadirsyah Hosen), Post-Traditional Islam (ICIS) and Islam Post Religion (Rumadi).

It can be safely stated that their views represent a new wave of emerging young intellectual Muslims during the last 10 years within NU. Despite their different approaches, they share a similar view that Islam should be reinterpreted in a moderate, contextual and progressive way.

However, all the discourses are not without hindrance. The idea of progressive Islam has been criticized by several conservative ulema. These ulema are of the opinion that discourse on progressive Islam is not only based on Western secular views but is also against the fundamental concept of NU's teachings in terms of its theology and legal interpretation.

By contrast, the conservative group interprets Islamic teachings in a textual and traditional way. They use the sources, opinions and methodology that have been issued by the ulema for centuries. They do not consider the fact that such views are unsuited to the current situation.

How will the upcoming convention be deemed a definitive moment? Thus far, the public have paid more attention to the struggle between the incumbent NU chairman Hasyim Muzadi and Abdurrahman "Gus Dur" Wahid, former Indonesian president and former NU chairman, as a continuation of recent conflict between them during the presidential race.

Little attention has been drawn to the real challenge faced by the largest Muslim organization of whether to adopt a progressive line or to accommodate conservative views. The struggle between these two camps is more important than the personal conflict between Hasyim and Gus Dur. The failure of the progressive group to take a role in the NU would seriously damage the future of Islam in Indonesia.

In this sense, the most important issue which must be addressed during the Muktamar is the renewal of Islamic legal methodology, which it is argued should constitute a fresh and highly promising theoretical construct and represent a new holistic and contextual approach to legal language and legal interpretation.

The NU will need to reduce their dependence on the old methodology, which is a product of the sociological structure of classical and medieval Muslim societies. In other words, they need to develop new interpretations of original sources while studying the interpretations of the past, both to learn from their insights and to understand them as products of their historical environment.

Above all, the course of progressive Islam basically is dependent on Syuriah (the advisory council within NU). This is the real powerful structure of NU. It consists of the most prominent ulema. During several decades, particularly during the tenure of Gus Dur and of Hasyim Muzadi, this board had been trespassed by Tanfidziyah (the executive body). The proponents of progressive Islam suggest that restructuring the relationship between Syuriah and Tanfiziyah should strengthen the role of Syuriah. This is particularly important since Hasyim Muzadi allegedly used the NU for his own political interests during the 2004 presidential election. He was the running mate of former president Megawati Soekarnoputri in the election.

The appointment of Masdar F. Mas'udi as an acting executive chairperson of NU during the non-active tenure of Hasyim was to empower Syuriah. It is akin to the structure of the hierarchy of the pesantren (Islamic boarding school), in which the real leader is the kyai pengasuh pesantren (the owner of a pesantren), and Tanfidziyah is on par with lurah pondok (head of a pesantren) which are mostly taken from the most senior santri, rather than making an effort to 'modernize' the organization. Interestingly, the appointment indicates that the current Syuriah accepted the idea of progressive Islam since Masdar is widely known as one of the progressive Muslim thinkers.

During Musyawarah Besar (conference) of NU members in Ciwaringin, Cirebon, several young intellectuals of NU also decided to bring back the power to Syuriah. The intention, surely, is a means to bar Hasyim Muzadi or any politically leaning person from holding a key position in the executive board. It is also suggested that the upcoming election for the Tanfidziyah will be in the hands of the elected Syuriah. If the suggestion is accepted, NU will be able to stay away from political temptation as long as the Syuriah is able to ensure this. Does it suffice?

However, the young intellectuals are unaware of an immediate obstacle if the Syuriah holds back its power. In part, there is no guarantee that a progressive ulema such as K.H. Sahal Mahfudz will be reelected.

In the community of NU, every nodding of an ulema's head is very important, especially toward any new Islamic discourses, no matter how strange. So, whoever is elected as chairperson of the Syuriah board is the main person who will lead the organization and determine the future stream of Islam in regard to modernity and the wave of globalization.

So, the emerging voice of restlessness of young NU and their efforts to modernize Islam would not be smooth. It depends on whom the elected Syuriah will be. The young NU requires support of kyai who have a liberal vision of Islam.

*The writer is a student of Islamic studies at Jamia Millia Islamia (JMI) New Delhi, India.

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