Why Muslims must guard against the satisfactions of complaint
At the second Guardian forum, a pervasive, and understandable, sense of frustration was lifted by words of tough love
Madeleine Bunting
Monday November 21, 2005
The Guardian
At the second Guardian forum, a pervasive, and understandable, sense of frustration was lifted by words of tough love
Madeleine Bunting
Monday November 21, 2005
The Guardian
A year on from the Guardian’s first experiment in bringing together young Muslims for an evening of discussion, we did it again. The mood of the forum, held last week, had shifted in unexpected ways; there was less anger from the 60-odd participants from across the UK, but what had replaced it was, perhaps, even more worrying – a pervasive sense of frustration. Much of it is targeted at the government, but some is also directed at the Muslim community itself – why can’t it make itself heard? Why can’t it address its problems of poverty and educational underachievement? And the persistent questions about representation: who claims to speak for “the community” and why? The self-criticism among this group of largely university-educated Muslims is never far from the surface.
The problem is that the frustration – and its close relative, defensiveness – threaten to drown out all other discussions. It leaves little room these days for the outrage and horror one might have still expected in comments on the atrocities of 7/7. That’s troubling. In one exchange, participants pondered the respective responsibilities of Tony Blair and the bombers for the July attacks: 50/50, said one; 80/20 Blair, said another; while the last concluded that the attacks were Blair’s fault alone. The impulse to apportion blame very simply on Iraq and Blair has overwhelmed the soul searching widely apparent back in July; yes, Iraq was a major factor, but there were others. Some things, however repetitive, still need to be said; namely, that the July attacks were a terrible misuse of Islam. They were, as the Islamic scholar Tariq Ramadan told the forum participants, not just “un-Islamic, they were anti-Islamic”.
It’s not that the frustration and the defensiveness are not understandable. They are. At every turn, there is a sense of vague definitions spewing from the machinery of government policymaking – what is meant by “glorifying terrorism”, “extremism”, “radicalism”? And then there are the thinly concealed intentions; for example, the government’s current proposals to regulate “places of worship” aimed at mosques is an unprecedented intrusion of the state into the affairs of a religious institution that could take Muslim alienation to a whole new level. The widely held perception is of a community under siege, and such is the bankruptcy of trust in relations with government that the efforts of the Home Office minister Paul Goggins made little headway with his interlocutors in the forum last week.
And there are other causes of that defensiveness in the development of British Muslim identity, which we are still only beginning to grasp – some are well below the radar of headline news. As ever, eavesdropping on a community talking to itself, as we did last week, throws up new insights: for example, non-Muslim Britain hasn’t begun to grasp how big an obstacle alcohol is to Muslims’ participation. As alcohol consumption has soared in the past two decades, Muslims have been left to negotiate its centrality in British social life – at work, school or university, or as neighbours – with great difficulty. Alcohol is probably now one of the most effective and unquestioned forms of exclusion practised in the UK, affecting every kind of social network.
So there are very good reasons for the defensiveness and frustration; the problem is if they overwhelm a more positive, imaginative engagement with Britain. The glimpses one sees of the latter are fascinating; for example, Dilwar Hussain, one of a new generation of young British Islamic scholars, talked last week of how British law enshrines the five principles of sharia more closely than many Muslim-majority countries. He opened up the possibility of a British Islam which could find easy translation into a language of human rights, social justice and democracy.
But this positive vision has to turn round the political energy among many Muslims that is currently framed around what they oppose. Ramadan warned: “It’s easier to be against something than for something.” The temptations of an emotionally satisfying culture of complaint are clearly evident, and where they were most striking last week was in discussions about British political life.
The problems stem back to 2003 when the mobilisation of the Muslim community into mainstream politics was initially celebrated as an unexpected windfall of the international crisis over Iraq. But what we misread was how profound would be the ensuing disillusionment. “We got hundreds and thousands out on the streets and it had no impact whatsoever,” runs the argument, and the conclusion drawn is apathy (“What’s the point?”) or active disengagement (“There is no point”).
That disillusionment is fed by specific Muslim dilemmas; for starters, in a democracy the political priorities of a minority, however passionately held, will never make much headway. The welfare of Chechnya and Kashmir, even Palestine, is never going to be the guiding principle of British foreign policy. Plus there is an awkward alignment between key Muslim concerns and the traditions of all three main parties. Many Muslims might tend towards the Conservatives on morality issues, Labour on social justice and Liberal Democrats on foreign policy, while Respect too often seems like a wasted vote.
These are some of the reasons why Hizb ut-Tahrir, with its bizarre ideology advocating an Islamic caliphate, continues to attract clever, idealistic young Muslims. Much like many of their non-Muslim peers, they think they can’t get their views heard in British politics and democracy doesn’t work. They only differ from their non-Muslim contemporaries in the solution they propose.
These particular Muslim predicaments are underscored by a problem endemic in British political culture – a weak tradition of citizenship. In place of a powerful concept of citizen’s rights and responsibilities, we are still subjects of a hereditary monarchy. We use nationalism not citizenship to generate a sense of belonging and entitlement; that disables an immigrant minority.
And this is where Ramadan’s move to the UK could be so important. Steeped in a French republican tradition of strong citizenship, he is remarkably challenging of his Muslim audiences. Who else can talk about the passivity and victim mentality of the Muslim community, as he did in the forum last week, and still get spontaneous applause? Who else challenges the community to stop complaining about not being consulted by the government, but organise themselves so effectively that the government has no choice but to listen? Who else argues that if Muslims want British-trained imams, they’ll have to pay for them instead of donating to international solidarity campaigns? You can best help the oppressed around the world by being a good citizen here, he stoutly commented.
This is tough love, and it is to the considerable credit of his audience that they want it. The question is whether it prompts the kind of energetic, critically engaged citizenship Ramadan calls for, or whether – a danger he well knows – it makes no headway against the satisfactions of complaint.
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Islamic voice of reason speaks out, but the anger remains
Last week the Guardian brought together a diverse group of young Muslims to debate life after the London bombs. Two moods emerged: a desire to address extremism in their midst, and disaffection with British foreign policy
Patrick Barkham, Polly Curtis and Joseph Harker
Monday November 21, 2005
The Guardian
Last week the Guardian brought together a diverse group of young Muslims to debate life after the London bombs. Two moods emerged: a desire to address extremism in their midst, and disaffection with British foreign policy
Patrick Barkham, Polly Curtis and Joseph Harker
Monday November 21, 2005
The Guardian
A text message may seem a mundane way of communicating but in the hands of Ajmal Masroor it is truly radical. Masroor, 34, one of a new breed of British imams, gives sermons in English and discusses problems with Muslims at his mosque on his mobile phone. This unusual tool of his trade is one small sign of many young Muslims’ quiet determination to change their communities in the wake of the scrutiny, criticism and hostility brought on by the terrorist attacks of July 7.
There is not always defensiveness and denial in the Muslim response to the bombs detonated in London, which placed Islam at the centre of a national debate. But the influential Muslim scholar Tariq Ramadan, addressing the second annual Guardian Muslim Youth Forum last week, said young Muslims must stop complaining, be clear about the source of their problems and get themselves organised into “critical citizens”. Unlike the riots in France, the bombs in Britain were “a religious problem, so you should deal with that,” he told them.
The teachers, IT professionals, counsellors, community workers, politicians, academics, students and imams who debated together at the forum were clear: the diverse Muslim communities are interrogating themselves more than anyone else. There was, however, anger that their own reflections were not matched by a spirit of self-criticism in government or an acceptance that its policies in Iraq and Afghanistan helped extremism take root. Since July, Tony Blair’s administration has mixed anti-terror laws and an attempted new dialogue with young Muslims. Many still felt dissatisfied with how politicians are talking and listening to them.
Political engagement
Anger at Labour’s foreign policy would not dissipate by the next election, according to most delegates. Having ignored so many voices over Iraq, the government should now hold a public inquiry into July 7, according to Inayat Bunglawala of the Muslim Council of Britain. “Perhaps many in the Muslim community had kept their heads down for too long to this threat of terrorism. But if elements of the Muslim community have been in denial, the government has been totally in denial about the impact of its own policies, especially foreign policies, and how they may have contributed to the growth in extremism. That’s why the demand for a public inquiry must be crucial to any discussion of terrorism.” Most delegates were emphatic that while there was disaffection with Labour and scepticism over the “opportunism” of the Liberal Democrats and Respect, it was more important than ever to engage in mainstream politics rather than chase the segregated dream of an Islamic party.
For a few, the compromises involved in working for change through existing political parties was simply too great. Sultanah Parvin, a member of Hizb ut-Tahrir, a group that says voting is a sin, said she was politically active in different ways. “Voting is not going to have all the solutions my parents’ generation believed it would have. There’s a third way to get our voices heard and reach out to a wider society. I’ve been active in what I would classify as political work at grassroots level, talking about drugs, talking about crime, talking about projects which we can get the youth to be involved in rather than acts of violence.”
Arguing that political parties did not have the solutions was not, she stressed, a recipe for segregation or the isolation of the Muslim community. Hizb ut-Tahrir sought dialogue and debate with non-Muslims. “Our position of political activism is not insular. It’s not just talking to the Muslim community,” she said.
Reaching out
Paul Goggins, the Home Office minister for faith and community cohesion, stressed it was four bombers and those who “perpetuated that perverted view of Islam” who were responsible for the July 7 attacks but accepted the government must “engage and listen” to Muslims.
Its consultation exercise with Muslims on the causes of extremism was, he said, a start, although he felt they did not hear enough from women or young Muslims. Describing the working group’s 60 recommendations as “hopes and aspirations”, he said it was important for “everybody’s credibility” that some of these were delivered.
Many were sceptical about the government’s professed desire to “reach out” to them. “These politicians are out of touch. People are saying take me to your leaders – it’s a colonial thing,” said Shahedah Vawda, founder of Islamic peace movement Just Peace. “The government hasn’t got a clue what’s going on on the ground. You and I may be fine about the idea of working in partnership with the government and the community, but how do you make sure the community buys into it?”
“The government doesn’t talk to young people,” said Andleen Razzaq, a teacher. “At a community consultation meeting I went to, there were only three youths. The government only talks to older Muslims.”
A broader view
Tony Blair’s foreign policy may have provided a window of opportunity for Islamic extremism but there was an acceptance that British Muslims needed to recognise the religious advantages they enjoyed living in Britain in comparison with those living in Muslim majority societies.
Living in any society or culture involved negotiation and compromise, said Dilwar Hussain from Leicester, and those in countries with a Muslim majority often found their religious values compromised by bribery and corruption, the lack of women’s rights or the absence of educational opportunities.
Imams
There was also a broader view about extremism and alienation, which many agreed were the result of social and economic problems specific to British Muslims which predated the war in Iraq and the “war on terror” after 9/11.
According to Shareefa Fulat, director of the Muslim Youth Helpline, the fact that the terrorists justified their actions in the name of Islam meant the issue of extremism was a religious one. “Those people have somehow arrived at an understanding of Islam which justifies what they do. We have to question the way they are being taught in the community.”
British Muslims, it was widely felt, need new leaders, who understand Islamic scripture but also the British culture in which they live. “Some of these imams from abroad are liabilities because they don’t understand our culture,” said Masroor, who is a cultural relations consultant as well as an imam. “I do ceremonies in English. I talk about practical things. People can text me their problems, which they can’t do with the elders. A person has to understand the context in which we live. It’s essential.”
Shazia Khan, a radio journalist, said support for imams must extend beyond proposals to ensure they pass English tests. “Traditionally their role was to lead prayer. Now it’s broadening out to pastoral care similar to a Christian minister. They need to be supported if their role is to be expanded like that.”
Many felt it was vital for more women to get involved in Muslim scholarly activity. But the attempt to create a modern, British system of imams and madrassas should be a task for Muslims alone: most warned that government-supported imams would be viewed with suspicion.
Social integration
Relationships with the government may be strained but delegates did not feel a desperate tension between their faith and British culture. Many, however, experienced subtle hurdles to social and professional success in our predominantly secular society.
“From 16 onwards, alcohol is a significant factor in integration,” said Kamran Maskin. “I couldn’t go to discos. Muslims end up clumping together.”
Professionally, Muslims have found themselves excluded from alcohol-lubricated networking. “At work, when they choose to go to the pub, you’re being excluded,” said Khadija El Shayyal.
“You’re being stopped from integrating,” Maha Sardar, an entrepreneur, said: “When I went to the bar to train as a barrister I had to go 12 dinners and they were all about alcohol. It’s an archaic cultural thing. I felt very isolated but to qualify as a barrister, I had to attend all 12.”
Dissatisfied with the dialogue offered by the government, most delegates felt their own community had failed to communicate its successes and debate its failings. Ramadan said that “intra-community dialogue” and self-confidence was still lacking, a point brought up in many discussions.
Rather than embrace victimhood, Muslims must criticise themselves and engage with criticising their government. “The easiest way to be in politics is to be against something,” he said.
“It’s very easy to be against the war. It’s very difficult to be for the future of the society. Self-criticism is part of what we need today. A true citizenship is a critical citizenship.”
