TayoBlog

My experiences of Islam in Germany has been rich and varied. Finding time to write about these has been more elusive. A brief reflection on my visit to the Migrant Mosque (al-Muhajirin) is the subject of my shorter Blog.

The mosque is located in a basement. As I entered, I could not avoid the towering Church in the square. Going down into the mosque was symbolic of the architectural and public hierarchy of two religious spaces.

The sermon (khutba) was given in Arabic, and the subject was generosity. The ethic of giving was emphasized, in stark contrast to the spatial role that I felt when entering. Giving was an uplifting experience; a mark of one's place in the bounty of God. As you gave, you were simply helping in the redistribution of grace and value that ultimate belonged to God. As I sat on the ground in this place of worship, all feelings of being in the basement was quickly overcome.

The politics of space is important, but sometimes we need to go beyond the antagonisms that it generates. Many of us seem to derive a sense of self from our place, from our selves in the mirror of the other. The deep ethical value of giving turned this conception upside down.

We could then use this new conception to reject the sociology of the public square. From a vantage of a new ethic, all others could be belittled and rejected. However, this example illustrated for me how I had created the binary of high and low in the first place. I was the one who allowed the public debate in Europe to inform my perception, and I translateded it into the spatial organization of mosque and church. When the sermon challenged me, I must first of all challenge my preconceptions, not lash out at the System.

The language of the sermon was simple standard Arabic. Not as elegant as the one I heard a few weeks earlier in Masjid Nur (also in a basement, but making up in size and expanse, and eloquent Arabic).

More interestingly, the sermon was translated in German half-way through. When the first part of the sermon was over, the preacher sat down and a young man moved up to the front. He delivered a verbatim German translation of the Arabic sermon. It was equally strong and to the point. For all the talk about German not being used in mosques here, I come accross it quite often! Different in each case, but still present nevertheless.

A small story of the name was also interesting. The mosque was called the Muhajirin mosque. Upon some brief inquiry, I learnt that the "people" from this mosque had been at another mosque before. This was the beautiful Imam Ali Moschee which is the Shi'a mosque in the city on the Alster Lake. I vaguely remember that this particular mosque was used by the Tablighi Jamaat in 1997 when I first visited Hamburg. This was confirmed for me, but so also the fact that "people" moved around a bit.

Individuals seem to move from one mosque to another, until they restrict themselves to one or two. More interestingly, groups also seem to move around until they settle. I have not yet been to a Turkish mosque which is the more dominant tradition here. I have avoided them since I do not understand Turkish. Perhaps I should visit them, since languages seem not to be too fixed. And German is a common language.

 

Continuing with my visit to mosques in Hamburg, I set out for a Pakisani mosque. After some asking around, I realized that the mosque had probably moved. I then headed to another mosque, near one that I attended previously (Masjid Nur).

At the time, I thought the this building in Pulverteich was representative of the Muslims in Germany. It was a divided along ethnic lines. The Arab mosque (Masjid Nur) was in the basement, the South Asian mosque on the first floor, and an Albanian mosque on the first floor.

But the divisions tells only one story. One has to go in to get some more. This is what happened when I found myself on the ground floor.

It was a small space, and when full, could not accommodate more than 150 people. It was smaller than most other places I had attended until now. In other places, the size and mass presence (especially on Friday) left one with a sense of space, size and fullness. For me, it was also  a bit over-empowering. This mosque was soon full.

I did not see any women, but they were present in some other unseen section of the mosque.

The sermon was presented in Dutch by someone I had seen around at the University. Abu Ahmad attended many of the programmes on inter-religious education and dialogue. He seemed to continue this theme in the mosque.

Abu Ahmad spoke to those present in simple Dutch, directly addressing them in a very personal and warm manner. He is a short, roundish man who could easily play the role of the friendly grocer in the neighbourhood. He was giving sensible advice, advice that seemed so natural.

He asked Muslims to consider the anxiety of Germans. They had not faced so many immigrants in their history, and they needed time to get used to it. Muslims needed to give them time! This was very interesting, since Germans who are sympathetic with the concerns of Muslims usually ask Germans to give Muslims time to settle down. Abu Ahmad had turned the table around!

Breaking the unified view of the Germans, he also related how a woman in one of his dialogue meetings told him that she was really ashamed of her people. What was significant about this meeting was the fact that it was given one week after the Swiss voted on a constitutional change to prohibited the building of new minarets. Abu Ahmad and this mosque was on a different wave-lenght. 

The mosque was not only remarkable for its sermon and its preacher. It consisted of highly mixed audience: Arabs, Turkish and Pakistani. There were also a large number of people of African descent. Ritually, the people followed different traditions.The German language, and also Islam of course, was the commong groun!

Abu Ahmad recognized me, and invited me for tea with some people. His wife and daugher joined, but also people from different backgrounds (Afghan, Syria, Libya, Pakistan, Egypt and Turkey). We first spoke Arabic, but had to turn to German.

I asked them about the history of the mosque, which soon led to a discussion on the divisions among Muslims. They lamented the inability of Muslims to be united, and asked me about South Africa.

Abu Ahmad who was himself from Libya made a short comment that left me with food for thought. He too lamented the division of Muslims, but suggested that the mosques with their distinctive languages provided a sense of home.For the most part, Muslims in Germany were workers fully engaged in the economy. Coming to mosque on Friday or participating in religious meetings in weekends was a way of expressing another aspect of their identities. Their overwhelming link with German society was ignored while focussing on their religous commitment for a few hours a week. 

The group was aware of the problem for younger Muslims who did not appreciate the same level of tension between public and private identities, and also between languages. However, introducing German into the mosques and private clubs could not happen until German could express the religous and spiritual values of Muslims. Clearly, the problem was more than a simply matter of language. 

What do mosques, then, offer Muslims? And why do Muslim go to mosques. A visit to this one mosque taught me a great deal. It seemed to highlight the fact that Muslims had accepted the differentiation of a society (religion, economy and society).

There was an ideology that declared a unified vision; but the vision was contradicted by the choices that Muslims made.  Some of these visions did go beyond the mosque walls. They clashed clearly with plural societies all over the globe. More importantly, we need to recognize how these visions disrupted the lives of Muslims who lived these divisions.  

I attended the Eid prayer in Hamburg this year (2009). Having previously decided to visit different mosques in the city, I decided to visit a new one for Eid. Hamburg has an interesting webpage that lists all the mosque in the city. With these addresses and Google maps, and of course the U-bahn, I was on my way.

Like many mosques in the city, this was also in the vicinity of the Main Railway Station. Located on the first floor, men and women walked up together to their respective rooms. The men's room  filled up quickly. The women had disappeared (from my view at least), except an occasional reference from the preacher. The mosque had a powerful sound system that ensured the message flowed in one way.

A man (I learnt later that he was also the Imam) soon approached the mike, and reminded the congreation to read the takbir as loudly as possible. The Takbir in Medina, he reminded, reverberated through the city in the time of the Prophet. The takbir was a form of praise to God read on Eid days. It declared the greatness of God, and the praise due to him. It was read at the end of the pilgrimage (hajj), symbolizing the completion of this most important ritual.

With this advice, people started reading the takbir, filling the mosque quickly with a beautiful chorus. It was not led by anyone, but it was hard not to be impressed with the way in which eveyone, from baritone to soprano, melted into each other. It was not difficult to imagine the takbir rising from every mosque around the globe, and flowing into the chorus emerging from the pilgrims in Mecca. It reminded me of the Swedish film "As it is in Heaven" of the beauty of pure sound.

But this was unfortunately not to last. Within a few minutes, another person took the mike, and told the congregation that they should not recite together. They should recite individually as loud as possible, but not in unison! Adding a small tweak to the advice of the Imam was quiet disastrous.

For the next five minutes, there were about 400 men in that room trying to keep out of sync with each other! This was probably the most akward attempt at not doing the obvious and the beautiful.

Thankfully, someone with a presence of mind got hold of a mike and started reciting loudly. The congregation then followed him in the lead, and keeping in step. No-one objected, even though I thought that one of the brave young men sitting in the front of the moque would stop this nonsense. Perhaps it was because the third intervention did not come from the mike. The last man did not take the floor at the front of the mosque. Concealed from the view of most, he could lead the popular sentiment.

Sitting in the mosque, I felt reassured that, after some dispute of how to read the takbir, the popular will of the people had take over. In many other places, like most mosques where I grew up, the symphony of the people had been banished for good. There, the argument had been to read the takbir quietly. Actually, the instruction was to recite it audibly only for oneself. After successive admonitions, a hush and a muffled drone has overtaken these mosques, leaving only the voice of the preachers. And boy, do they preach! 

In this Hamburg mosque, in contrast, the popular will had won. It had reasserted itself against the directions coming from the mike. And it had done so, not by quoting yet a third proof from the past, but by asserting its own tradition.

Thinking back now, I realized that there was a difference between the takbir led by no-one, and that led by someone. The first was a spontaneous wave, and the second was directed. It was a matter of time when the people's voices will be suppressed by the mike. More technology and more tradition will ensure this.

The sermon confirmed this.  A fascinating reading of the story of the Prophet Ebrahim (Abraham) in Hamburg at the beginning of the 21st century, it will have to wait. 

Now, I want to continue thinking about the power and management of sound.

 

Hasan and Hussein Essop continued to take their brilliant photographs to the world, playing with themselves as twins to project the challenges and opportunities of Muslim identity. Their work was clearly rooted in the Cape Flats, but with a significance far beyond.

At an ongoing exhibition in Hamburg, Gordon Mitchell introduced them to an interesting group in the city on Friday (20/11/09). At the opening, about 50-60 people packed a small gallery that would stay open for 8 days. It was a very mixed group, all concerned in one way or another with culture in the city. There were a few Muslims, but most are art and culture workers interested in how culture functioned, giving meaning and identity in this increasingly multicultural city.

Talking to the Essops about their work, I found it interesting how they represent their work as a tension between self and other. More interestingly, they focus on the tension between Islam and the West. They found the West attractive, mentioning its modernity, designer labels and amenities. They were afraid, however, of losing their culture, and felt that they had to hold on to it. And they inserted their own experiences and upbringing in their art. Art provided a medium to express and explore this tension.

The articulation of identity between attraction and fear reminded me of a definition of religion (din) that I have come across in al-Mawardi (d. 1058), a political theorist who lived in Iraq close to a thousand years ago. For al-Mawardi, the attraction of heaven and the fear of hell were the cornerstones of the art (adab) of religion.

I was not really impressed with this characterization as I was looking for something deeper. However, when I heard the Essops mention their attraction and fear on more than one occasion, it seems worthwhile to make a connection. These primal sentiments could not be ignored at the heart of religion.

What was striking, however, were the objects of fear and attraction. I doubt very much that heaven and hell have been replaced respectively by the West and Islam. And yet, this new binary (West and culture/Islam) has overlaid the older one in an interesting and complex way.

The West was indeed the heaven on earth, even in its own projection as the most advanced and most prosperous nations of the world. And such attractions were not to scoff at.

Fear of losing one's culture seems to lie at the heart of the recent turn to Islam. The fear of hell fire was also there, but the fear for one's culture seems like a driving force. It gathered people against the attractions that were so tantalizing.

Playing with fear and attraction, we quickly noticed how the two can quickly change sides. The West could also repel (an inverse of attraction), and culture/Islam could be attractive. Or the two could be combined in a confusion of emotions.

Heaven and Hell, kept out of this world, were represented in their purity by al-Mawardi. The emotions were neatly separated. But the primal emotions of attraction and fear were not so easily marshalled into categories. And as modern religion appears to have brought them to earth, they were not so easily managed. 

Al-Mawardi was probably right about the art of din in his time. The art of life, however, was more difficult. The art of the Essops stares this difficulty in the face.

The diversity of people who live in this city rubbing shoulders with each other on a daily basis is often forgotten, but truly astounding. They depend on each for labour, work, acts of kindness, and sometimes also some misunderstandings. Every now and then something comes up that puts this moving symphony in question. 


The recent debate among Muslims on the music from "The Awakening" was one such event. It is an internal debate among a few Muslims and their leadership, and may be easily be forgotten by most people in Cape Town. And these include most Muslims in this city as well. 

But the issue broke into the public media, and raised issues on important and pertinent issues on the relationship between cultures in the city and how they related to each other.



The offending rupture was a musical CD and performance, one particular track of which has a recitation of the first chapter of the Qur’an and the Lord’s Prayer. In a juridical opinion (fatwa), the Muslim Judicial Council objected to the accompaniment of music as well as bringing together the Truth (the Qur’an) on the same level with a Mixed Truth (Gospel).



In my view, there are two major issues raised by the Muslim Judicial Council and by the creators of "The Awakening". The first concerns the public in Cape Town, and in South Africa. The second concerns Muslims who live in the city and in the country as a whole, and who may object or at least be ambivalent towards the MJC’s decision.



As far as the first issue is concerned, the MJC’s fatwa is merely a messenger of what has happened in the city as far as inter-faith cooperation is concerned. In the last two decades of apartheid, South Africa was witness to a profound inter-faith engagement. People of different faiths marched with each other and held hands together against apartheid.



Some prayed with each other, but the gatekeepers of orthodoxy preferred to look the other way. There were concerns, from the MJC as well, that this close cooperation was getting too close for comfort. Walking against apartheid was fine, but this should not disturb the Truth of orthodoxy. Those standing side by side had to politely conceal the contraditions of togetherness in the stand against apartheid.

Much has changed since those days. Those who sung a symphony of togetherness and solidarity were overtaken by another discourse of religion.  Religion became a mark of identity, setting one group against another. Muslims have become extremely concerned about marking borders and boundaries through what they wear, consume and who they associate with. And also, what they hear.



This is not unique to Islam. It can be seen with the revival of African traditional customs in KZN and elsewhere, the success of neo-charismatic Churches, and conservative Jews feeling embattled in the criticism of Israel. The widespread but clearly felt fear of witches and magic in the township, cutting ironically across religions, was a testimony to this changing face of public religion. 



In reality, the symphony of the ethical voice against anti-apartheid has been overwhelmed by the reality of life, and the reality of religion. United by a constitution, South Africans  were now divided against each other. Moreover, religion was no longer a song of hope; it was also a Babel of fear and uncertainties. It was an expression of the sublime, but also of the hard realities in the country.

Voices suppressed during the anti-apartheid symphony were given full public space. Ironically, the freedom of the 1996 Constitution made this more possible than ever in South African history.



"The Awakening" was an affront to this widespread experience of religion. Where there were borders, it cut across them. Where there was suspicion, it reached across. Where there was ignorance, it point to awareness. 



Let me move then to the second significance; for Muslims in this city and in this country. Usually, in the classical secular society debate, there was no need and no means to discuss this matter in the public sphere. If religion remained private, the discordant voices within could be left to sort themselves out. And when they presented themselves in public in a hostile form, they could be controlled by a powerful state.



With some care and a profound respect for what religion means on a deeply human level, one can discuss this dimension in public. Let me offer some thoughts on the present debate. 



The MJC argues in its fatwa that its view was not open to conflicting opinions. It issued a fatwa which in theory means an opinion which is not binding. The fatwa, however, tried to preempt any attempt to render it superfluous.



Perhaps this is all that needs to be said of the fatwa. It will be sufficient for most Muslims to know that theoretically speaking, there was another view. 



But I think that this will mute the significance of "The Awakening". Silence is golden, but not when a beautiful symphony is gathering on the horizon.

Let take us, therefore, go beyond the idea that there are many different perspectives (fatwas). The MJC might actually be correct that there is no diversity within Islam on the present matter. But its correctness may be also confirm the limitation of religious discourse.

There might be more in human experience than that determined by religious discourse. And interestingly, it could come also from a religious source. The present debate brings out this possibility very clearly.

The Qur’an was both a reading and a recitation. If one began with the primacy of reading, one is more likely to come across borders and boundaries. But if one began with a sound experience, new doors are opened. New sounds are allowed to merge with older established sounds.

The prority of sound makes the individual the centre of the religious experience of the Quran. Reading is more mediated, while sound evokes the associations that an individual choses. Sound rooted in the mind of the listener opened possibilities. It ignored the boundaries made both by the self and others.



The sound of the Qur’anic recitation opened a window to the associations between the Words of God in their many forms and occasions. There was One Book, but also many Books. Most of all, there was also the Preserved Tablet. There is also the Word of God, indistinguishable from the Divine Essence. The Qur’an heard as a Word of God was touching something that was already there in the reading. Acts of reading, particularly from though police, wanted to shut down these possibilities. 



The MJC seems to me fully entitled to police the boundaries it has set for itself. This is its self-appointed mandate since 1945, and it has struggled in its mandate against more conservative voices in the country.  

It would really be a pity though if Muslims would limit themselves to one dimension of religion, the reading dimension. There seems good reason to listen to the sound. 



The MJCS’s fatwa was a discordant note that would be drowned if the people of Cape Town chose to listen to "The Awakening"? They certainly have the democratic right to do so. Will they chose, and chose wisely? I have confidence that they will.

In my next visit, the Imam of the mosque was one of the best reciters of the Qur’an in Cape Town.  And the city has some world-class reciters who can move hundreds and thousands to ecstasy and tears. The imam this night lived up to the reputation.
In the small selection recited, a popular one that many Imams read, beauty and threat were intimately intertwined. He recited it in the most melodious and enthralling fashion. Does one enjoy the rendering, or feel the shiver down the spine at the threat? Or are they both together combined in an overwhelming experience.

Moreover, the selection recited declared the power and God and the worthlessness of man and woman. It addressed man and woman before they were something. “Were you not a mere drop of semen gushing forth?” In that state, can one speak of a person? Who and what was being addressed?

Before the tarawih (prayer of rest), the Imam  gave an introductory talk. The talk was bit of a ramble, with a few noteworthy points. He was here and there, and everywhere. However, the most remarkable thing was the Imam opened up an Apple Mac from which he spoke. Now this was an updated and modern Imam!

It is interesting how this gesture might actually impress. It signifies the desire to keep up with the times, or at least to be doing so. Most Imams, we often complain, are so outdated. They are still busy with the yellow books (as they say in Nigeria and Indonesia). They need to be relevant and speak of the world! They must not shy away from technology! Opening his Mac, has the Imam caught up with modernity?

What was the substance of the message, though? All the right buttons were pressed.  References made to the world, recession, and materialism. Religion, methinks, was lost. There was little spirituality; hardly any of the direct address to the self before it was something. Maybe the Imam should simply have translated his recitation.

This is not criticism of an Imam. In fact, this is a difficult BLOG to write. The desire to modernize and become relevant often leads to a bargain with modernity. The problem is that one is not always sure which of modernity to take up, and which to leave behind.

If I may be permitted my own ramble, let me close with another observation. Like many mosques in Cape Town, this one was adorned with some beautiful reading of dhikr (praises to God). After every four cycles of prayer, one person from the congregation led the rest. His strong voice shook the mosque for a few minutes, followed by a chorus that filled the nooks and crannies of this beautiful space.

Now this was something worth setting aside time for…

My second BLOG on Ramadan comes after visiting a mosque in a different part of the city. Being a lower middle class neighbourhood, there were not as many cars obstructing the road. Most people have walked to the mosque, and there was not much for carguards. But the streetlights were down, making it both quiet and peaceful, and somewhat ominous.  This mosque was a neighbourhood mosque, and contrasted sharply with mosques surrounded by cars rather than homes and people on the streets.

There was so much more activity in this mosque. Worshipers streamed in and out all the time. I got there a bit late, but I was not alone. Many groups completed the primary prayer, and then joined the  main congregation. And during the night prayer (tarawih), people kept going out after 2, 4, 6 and 8 cycles. When I walked out after 10, I found some young men standing outside. Not yet ready to go home, they were not also going inside.

The night prayer (tarawih) was led by trainee reciters. They made a few mistakes in remembering their portion of the Qur’an. Sometimes they found their way quickly back to the texts that they had memorized, but sometimes they needed more extensive prompting. Their reading was clear, pronouncing the words and elongating at the right places. But it was also clear that this was the beginning of a long career.

This was not unusual. Children memorized the Qur’an and were given an opportunity to show their skills. They waited eagerly to be invited to step forward to lead the prayer. During Ramadan, adults supported them with words of encouragement. There was no shortage of attention directed at them until the end of the month. In fact, huffaz (those who memorized the Qur’an) became mini celebrities during Ramadan. Everyone knew them. In Cape Town the Boerhaanol published their names in a special catalogue.

This tradition ensured a steady flow of students of the Qur’an, with aspiring parents waiting to hear 11-year or 12-year-olds reciting the Qur’an in front of the whole congregation. In the last few years, many girls have started memorizing the Qur’an. I am not aware of any opportunity for them to show and support their skills.

The recitation this night did not cover a "perceived" over-riding theme. It dealt with a whole range of topics: virtue, retribution, inheritance, Ramadan, superstition, pilgrimage, jihad, menstruation, marriage, and many more. Each topic was dealt with briefly, perhaps too briefly, before moving to the next. Many issues were left out, and many questions remained unasked and unanswered.

In some way, this rapid succession showed that all aspects of life were important. They together were part of a life lived in the shadow of the divine. Fasting and other rituals were part thereof, but so too was the importance of bequeathing something for one’s parents, and other relatives. Entering homes through the front door was also part of it, but so was responding in like measure to aggression. Do not go too far in responding to retaliation, but do not turn the other cheek!

On the other hand, the brevity of treatment of each topic conveyed something else. The details of these acts were not that important, the spirit counted above else. Fasting you must, but you can do it another day when travelling or ill. I am near, God said. Good relations between husband and wife must follow clear guidelines, but do not let an oath bind you from doing good, and acting justly.

You might find the treatment of each topic in the Qur’an inadequate. I will not argue with that. But you might miss the gems of ethical guidelines deeply embedded in these brief treatments. For example, the best of provisions is self-conscioussness.

 

It has been a long time since I wrote something on my Blog. With the beginning of Ramadan this year (2009), I hope that I can pick up some trends and share them on the Net. Actually, I plan to change my approach in this BLOG and speak about Ramadan in a few pieces.

The first of Ramadan started without a glitch this year. And as far as I know, many Muslims in South Africa headed for night prayer (isha) on Friday night. Twenty-second of August (2009) was the first day of fasting.

The mosques in District Six (Cape Town) were full on the first night, looking very much like a Friday afternoon. Cars were double-parked along the main roads, forcing drivers going to other mosques or elsewhere to weave through with care and probably also frustration. Car guards got an extra bonus, and the District was abuzz. Charity organizations took full advantage of this good will.

As usual in Ramadan, there were extra prayers to be said after the night prayer. These prayers are called tarawih, meaning periods of rest. The prayers are not named by what one does, but by the breaks that one takes in between!

If you think that this strange, you will surprised to know that the naming is not strange as far as the practice of tarawih is concerned. There are many, mostly young but also some old, who spend a lot time lounging about. They really take the idea of rest seriously. But others take an opposite approach. The tarawih prayers are for them a source of exercise. Performing a total of twenty bowings, forty prostrations, and standing and sitting in between can be strenuous for those who hold desk jobs, and avoid gym or the beautiful walks on offer in and around the city of Cape Town.

The periods of rests in most mosques are kept to a minimum. Most people would like to get the prayer done as soon as possible. Judging from the number of cars at different mosques, one can predict with a fair amount of accuracy which mosques deliver in the shortest time. There is a good chance you might get to these mosques as they people were leaving.

But we must not forget the faithful who show remarkable spirit. They spend between 1 and 2 hours in the mosques, every night, for 29 nights in a row! Nothing to scoff at.

The night prayer is, as I said, a place for reciting the Qur'an. The usual idea is to read a portion and complete the full recitation over the month. Many mosques in Cape Town read much less; while mosques in Gauteng compensate in excess. In the latter, small towns and suburbs will break a mosque congregation into 3,4, 5 groups, each completing the Quran in the month.

I am always fascinated by the first day's recitation. It was marked by a diversity and breadth of meaning, but the central message that I usually get from the reading was always the same. And there was no exception this month:

• There is no guaranteed path to paradise and salvation.
  
• No group can claim that they have exclusive rights to the special favour of God.
  

The verses were directed at the People of the Book, Jews and Christians, but the message was equally directed at the new community of faith (to be called Muslims).

And this critical voice takes many forms:

• the special favour of God can be taken away
• there is a possibility of distorting the truth even though one has it
• claims and counter-claims to exclusive salvations are merely claims, and
• the spirit of the law is more important than the letter.
  

In a BLOG, I cannot elaborate on these.

I hope, however, that my list conveys the idea of a critical stance to guaranteed salvation: Say, to God belongs the east and the west; they sacrificed but hardly did it; the baptism of God; who is better to baptise than God.

These verses underline a degree of self-criticism that is absolutely important for virtue. The feeling that one is absolutely correct, without a hint of self-reflection, cannot be sustained as the most ethical position. One may indeed quote scripture, claim special membership in a group. Such claims were laid waste by self-reflexive doubt.

Perchance, there is something here for thinking about.

Another full house of 2A Leslie Social Science on religion! It clearly seems that there is significant interest on religion in this  campus. Dennet's lively and spirited appeal for a dose of secularism was entertaining and thought-provoking. 

There are two issues that stood out for me. One was his greater attention to the value of religion; its function to produce good or harm in society. It seems that the fundamental assumption of this approach leaves out the question of truth and reality. And Dennet admitted so much when he did not think it worth the effort to focus on the proofs for the existence of God. The preoccupation of social value, and its apparent acceptance by all, points to the transformation of religion for believers and atheists alike. Religion has a purpose in society, and that has become the fundamental question. This is a different meaning of religion in modern society, from one that was preoccupied with truth and being.

Focussing on the value of society that religion may or may not bring sidesepss a important aspect of religion that previously occupied critical thinkers. Someone quoted Marx, but not fully. Religion was the opiate of the masses, but also the "sigh of the oppressed." In this second phrase lies an important consideration of the underlying causes of religious expressions. Dennet's functional approach avoids the underlying causes and conditions that give rise to religion. And that, I submit, may put both the religious and the secular in one common predicaament.  

The second point was revealed to me when Dennet appealed to atheists  to go out and take up a cause. Save someone out there! This probably gets to the heart of religion in a way that the social function of religion does not. The question of salvation in whatever form seems to occupy a central meaning of religion. We may wonder then what kind of salvation secularism has offered to those turning away from it? what had the secular prophets promised and delivered? Can they save their cause by offering something different than the past? And will secularism be saved? Why bother? Does this preoccupation tell us something about ourselves? Is there more to this than presenting proof that secularism can have a social ethics (previously delivered imperfectly by religion)?

I know that I mentioned 2 points, but this is a blog after all. With the attacks carried out by religious zealots, it is easy to focus on the uneasiness created by modernity and globalization. Religious fundamentalism is a reaction as many erudite scholars have argued. But I think that the tide of religion is also causing unease among atheists and secularists. Why are "these people" turning to religion? Why turn to obliviously destructive and self-limiting options? The turn to traditional religion is so relentless that it unsettles those who previously watched the religious with some curiosity and amusement. More than sheer survival, scholars have to remind themselves that religion belongs to the past. 

 

 

The text of my presentation at UCT on 13 October 2008

 

The question being debated should begin with a brief reflection on the present state of religious accommodation at UCT. And I propose that the answer to the question is actually ‘yes’ in at least one way.

Let me point to the most obvious. UCT’s major hol(y)days fall in line with key Christian sacred days. We may also think of sabbaticals deriving from Judeo-Christian roots. Their meaning are steeped in particular understandings of God, creation, work and rest.

You might rightly say that these practices have been secularized, just as our constitutional court did a few years ago in a case where a liquor company challenged the restriction of alcoholic sales on Sundays and other religious holy days. The religious meaning of Sunday, said honourable Albie Sachs, was “an insignificant relic of a vanishing era.” Secularization, we are to believe, has moved us a safe distance away from religion and should stay that way.

I submit, however, that I have never heard a proposal to use Sundays or God forbid, Christmas, to address the tight examination or even regular course time-table problems at UCT. I also have never heard of rethinking sabbaticals due to their religious roots.

Secularization, I believe, takes its shape around and through religion. More particularly, it takes shape around a particular religious tradition(s). The holidays and sabbaticals of UCT are a very clear example of that shaping. To illustrate this point, allow me to ask you to imagine a different context for UCT.

Imagine the call to  Friday reverberating through the campus on Fridays and all of the lectures and administration offices going into recess just as if it was a Sunday or Christmas Day. The performance of such weekly occurrences would, I suspect, be quite disconcerting and even disorienting to many. Such a disorientation highlights how devout non-Christians may feel about the work of secular UCT around the symbols of Christianity and not their own religious traditions.

And I submit that the recent request from student bodies to accommodate Friday prayers and Jewish Sabbath is just that: A demand that the accommodation between Christianity and a secular institution be enlarged to include other religious traditions as well.

The request that gave rise to this debate was spurred by a very clear sense of marginalization and exclusion felt and perceived by religious groups, particularly those not presently accommodated in the secular shape of UCT. I use the words ‘felt’ and  ‘perceive’ carefully, because this one-sidedness is not entirely true. Individual departments and lecturers at UCT regularly accommodate religious practices in a variety of ways. And UCT has a multi-faith religious centre for students that manifests this accommodation.

And yet, there continues to be these relics and remnants (to use Sack’s term) that reflect an accommodation between secular UCT and Christianity on a grander scale. The accommodation between UCT and Christianity is natural and normal, and hardly receives a second look. It is a privilege that presently stands beyond Judaism, Islam, Hinduism and African Traditional Religions.

The present question about the secular nature of UCT has been raised on the formal and symbolic levels. Fundamentally, that question must not be forgotten.

However, we could use the opportunity to probe a bid deeper on the relationship between the secular and the religious. We should go beyond the question of accommodation, and ask how the religious and the secular relate to each other. With the re-emergence of the religious in the public sphere across the globe, what does the secular and religious mean for UCT?

I suspect that there are some who would like to reinforce the secular nature of the University, and keep a watchful eye over any religious claim made in both symbolic and substantial form. Clearly, Dawkins leads the pack here and elsewhere.

On the other hand, religious groups are riding a popular wave of discontent towards what they claim is the secular. They remind us daily about the failures of secular policies, secular politics and these last few days even secular markets! With the failure of every secular claim or institution, they are ready to put forward new utopias for the willing and the unwilling faithful.

Both these groups fail to recognize the mutual dependence of the secular and the religious in the modern world. The definition of the secular has been dependent on the (re)definition of the religious. Like black and white, positive and negative, the religious and the secular are defined by mutual exclusion and mutual transformation: the one is material and the other spiritual; the one this-worldly whilst the other other-worldly; the one rational whilst the other irrational; the one calculating whilst the other emotional and passionate. One cannot have the secular without the religious, and vice versa particularly in the modern context.

The role of UCT should be directed at promoting a critical approach and attitude to this continuous mutual construction, sometimes a dance in step and at other a dance out of step.

Too often, the secular has been transformed from a pragmatic tool and approach to knowledge and institution formation, into an ideological programme to enforce a particular vision and public policy on a society. The secular has been a central component of modernization and colonization, against indigenous and local forms of knowledge and institutions.

At the same time, the religious in the modern world has been shaped in reaction to the secular. Often deliberately taking a role against the secular, the religious has been rigid, intractable and authoritarian. It does not open itself to critical examination and self-reflexivity, taking refuge in being irrational, sacred and rigid in all its dimensions. In many ways, in a clear twist of irony, it has taken the form that the secular prophets claimed it was.

A critical stance to the secular and the religious is a difficult position to take. A University that takes pride in its history and its leadership role in the production of knowledge and critical engagement in the present, cannot afford anything more or less.

On 26 August 2008, the Islamic Peace University of South Africa (IPSA) launched  its research findings on Muslim attitudes to South African politics with a panel of the most notable male political commentators within the Muslim establishment in the Western Cape. The former Premier of the Western Cape was the central attraction.

If you expected to hear anything juicy about the backroom politics of the ANC from Rasool, you would have been disappointed. But you would not have been disappointed if you wanted to listen to Muslim leadership, civil and religious, anguishing about the role of Islam in democratic South Africa.

The most significant of the presentations for me was the key result of the survey. Middle-class Muslims and their religious leaders were the most positive about South Africa’s politics. The SA constitution had clearly given Islam a respectable place since centuries of marginalization and denial.
Muslim identity was thus basking in the freedoms of South Africa’s liberal constitution and political establishment. Even foreign Muslim groups were rushing headlong to enjoy this freedom. It was an added bonus that South Africa also boasted the most beautiful cities like Cape Town, or the most functioning infrastructure if you had the money to pay for it.

But the lower one went down the class divide, said editor of the Muslim Views Farid Sayed, the more you heard the anger and despair of Muslims towards the new politics and politicians. Democratic South Africa had failed them, and failed them dismally. They wanted better schools, healthcare, food on the table (jobs) and social security. The survey clearly threw down the gauntlet to South African (Muslim) leadership.

Following this survey, all the speakers tried to propose an Islamic politics that need not be confined to the specific practices and forms of the past. The values of Sharia lay not in slavery or the denial of women’s rights, but in ultimate goals (Shaykh Seraj Hendricks). The insight (fiqh) of politics required respectful distance from the state and support for NGOs (Imam Abdul Rashied Omar). Muslims needed to recognize the threats of globalization against all traditions and all religions. Together with an alliance of the faithful, Muslims ought to draw deep from the tradition to stand up against this threat (Rasool).

The responses from the floor added to this critical engagement with the tradition. It was a discussion that apparently relativized the tradition, as one participant managed to slip in, in favour of an open-ended approach to values and principles. Against a general trend that fretted and worried about the length of a beard, the lock of hair dangling out of a tightly- woven scarf, the exact scientific calculation of the moment to break one’s fast, the panel and discussants threw open the doors to engagement, justice and humanism.

But the discussion completely ignored the survey. The responses of the majority of Muslims seemed to evade the speakers. The middle class Muslims were happy with the freedom of religion that they enjoyed. There were no critical voices about Islam in South Africa that other Muslims communities faced. The state’s support for culture and religions provided a cover for religious practices.

Elsewhere, Muslims came under microscopic observation. The local media treated Muslims with kid gloves. Other capitalist institutions treated Muslims with the respect that all customers deserved. In response, Muslim observance thrived in every corner of the country. And they seemed to feel no anguish about living in a democracy.

Poorer Muslims were unhappy with SA politicians, but they were hardly concerned about who led the prayer at the President’s inauguration, or how many minutes Islam got on national media. They called politicians to account for their promises, and found them deeply wanting. Their demands were clearly secular, and their appraisal of Muslim politics was also clearly secular.

So I wondered why the panellists were agonizing about the relationship between Islam and democracy; and Islam and values. Why did they want a religious justification for social and political values?

Why did they miss the meaning of religion among middle class Muslims who enjoyed the fruits of neo-liberalism, and enjoyed the fruits of religious freedom? And why did they miss the secular yearnings of poor Muslims, who were either comfortable with their religion they lived, or were hardly interested.

My tentative answer to this self-imposed question was that Muslim leadership in Cape Town and elsewhere has been blind to the dance of the secular and the religious that is a feature of the modern world. Committed to the past, traditionalist or reformist, they feel compelled to sing the praises of a holistic civilization.

Muslims leaders themselves enjoy the fruits of the secular if they are wealthy enough. Or they mobilize the secular aspirations of the downtrodden, in promise of a fabulous utopia called the Islamic state. The secular is part of the religious, and Muslim leadership lives on its fruits and promises.

To deny the secular is surely to miss something. To ignore the secular yearnings of a people, and feed it with religious rhetoric of any kind, begs some serious questions.

You cannot walk past the most prestigious hotel in Stone Stone, Zanzibar,  and miss an oil-painted portrait of Barak Obama. I resisted the touristy thing to take a photograph for a long time, but succumbed on my last day in July.
The portrait expressed the savvy promotional talent of  Massoud, a 25-year-old Zanzibari who claims to have enlisted 200 individuals in an organization supporting the American democratic hopeful. He even told me that he was planning a special meeting in the 16th–century Old Fort to coincide with the official democratic nomination in Denver!
Beyond the clever advertisement trick, the portrait reveals as much about Obama as the beautiful island of Zanzibar. Massoud is a tour operator who has decided to connect his own life and that of the islands of Zanzibar with the election of the most powerful man on earth.
His grandfather hails from Oman, and settled in Pemba. This is the sister island of Unjuga that together form the largest island of an autonomous archipelago of  Zanzibar within the United Republic of Tanzania. Pemba is known as the green peninsula, well known for its plants packed with indigenous remedies. His grandmother came from this island.
Massoud’s father combined this indigenous knowledge with modern medicine, acquired from the Chinese who supported Tanzania’s post-independent efforts to establish a modern, socialist state. He ventured deeper into the interior of the country, peddling medicines from the “east and west”. No prizes for guessing whom met in the African interior: Massoud’s Congolese mother.
Massoud sees himself as the confluence of many cultures, just like Obama. And this is an aspect of the Zanzibar that one cannot miss. The people of the island are over 90% Muslim, but they are consist of African, Asian and Arab communities. Not surprisingly, the Asian are the most exclusive but are themselves divided into Ithna Ashari, Ismaili, Bohra, and Sunni. To add to the mix, there are also Hindu and Christian group among the South Asians.
A Sunni Oriental mosque, with a classic Indian dome, is tucked away into one of the many alleys of Stone Town. It is administered by seven groups of Kutchee Muslims, each group equally represented on the mosque board. The Arabs are more integrated with the indigenous peoples, but even more elitist than the Asians.
The vast majority of Zanzibaris regard themselves as African, but Shirazi. They  regard themselves descendents of the first settlers from Persia. Their Shafi communities and culture have developed over a thousand years. The earliest known mosque, going back to the  11th century AD, is located on the southern part of Unjuga island, about 40 km from Stone Town.
The Zanzibaris are proud of their distinctive culture, and see themselves quite different from other Tanzanians (including its minority Muslim inhabitants). In reality, they are what Massoud  says to tourists and passersby: A meeting of cultures and peoples across the Indian Ocean into the distant past. The ethnicities are clearly there, but they share a cultural fabric that is not difficult to miss.
But Massoud did not stop at the Obama’s multiculturalism that matched that of the Zanzibaris. He was also familiar with the general message of hope that Obama projected, and which many Americans seem to recognize.
Massoud had read the first book of Obama and was busy reading his second when I met him. Upon a little deeper probing, he told me that he also admired the courage of Obama to bring about change. Most Zanzibaris, he told me, had despaired of seeing any economic and political change for the better. They had resigned themselves to their fate, often turning to religion to accept their condition.
I certainly heard this sentiment across the island. Teachers and government officials lived on $100 per month, and ordinary workers on less than that. As we know too well, globalization ensured that most food and essentials had to be paid for in global prices. Apart from some reliance on subsistence farming and international proceeds from  Zanzibaris working in Dubai and Western cities, it was difficult to understand how people made ends meet.
The political situation is none the better. As in many African countries, state planning and intervention had given way to free-market forces in the last 15 to 20 years. The same Revolutionary Party (Chama cha Mapinduzi) that brought independence, was overseeing the wholesale sale of state assets, and withdrawal from social services. In Zanzibar, the CCM prided itself in bringing about a revolution against Arab hegemony, and still rested on those laurels.
Against these realities, Massoud was determined to turn the tide against despair and hopelessness. He was not the only one who expressed these sentiments to me. But the threats and realities of global economic exploitation were quite palpable.
Obama was a symbol of that hope for about 200 Zanzibaris. This is the not the reaction he has got from Muslims elsewhere. Before I left for Zanzibar, I took a fellow researcher from Kenya to a Friday sermon at the Awwal (first) Mosque in Cape Town. I was astounded to hear a direct attack on Obama from a very respectable and leading member of the Muslim Judicial Council.
The preacher did not elaborate on the reason for his attack, and I could not understand the vehemence of this sermon. I later found out that the sermon may have been a response to Obamah’s almost total capitulation at a 4th June pro-Israeli lobby meeting, promising American support for the whole of Jerusalem as the eternal capital  of the Jewish state, and also his support to take a hard line against Iran.
Was Massoud’s support for Obama misplaced? Or was it more important to recognize the intermeshing of our cultural streams, and the need to have the confidence of making a difference? The choice of the Americans, we know too well, has far-reaching impact on the globe. I picked up a strong desire in Massoud to steer the symbol of Obama towards the values and needs of Zanzibar that I did not see in the Friday sermon in Cape  Town.

After 9/11, US intelligence identified South Africa, Nigeria and Somalia as the potential operating sites for al-Qaida in Africa. Since then, scores of security experts have tested theories on why, how and when the next terrorist cell will form and strike.
Recent speeches by Prof. Husayn Soloman of Pretoria University have taken this speculation to new levels. He has employed the familiar argument of American neo-conservatism that targets all the Muslims as potential and actual supporters of “radical Islam”. This alarmist argument has raised the concern of Muslims, and should raise the concern of South Africans in general.
The neo-conservative agenda has been prepared to hijack the rule of law, subvert human rights conventions and present lies as facts at the highest international forums. They have done all these things under the thesis that Islam poses a threat to civilization. More ominously, the thesis argues that all Muslims are probably guilty until proven innocent. Soloman is attempting to cultivate this scenario in South Africa.
Most researchers writing on the link between Muslims in South Africa and al-Qaida operations and plans have been more circumspect. They have regularly reported on the steady flow of allegations that Muslims sympathisers and/or operatives have supported radical projects in terms of finance, safe houses and jihad camps. Bar some exceptions, they have pointed to a general tendency towards exaggeration and misinformation.  The few substantiated cases have rightly been the subject of South African courts, and others have slipped away from the journalistic radar.
Since last year, though, Prof. Soloman has recycled  the allegations from newspaper reports, and presented them as incontrovertible fact. His recent speech at the Israeli Institute for Counter-Terrorism shows this neo-con argument in great clarity. He omits to mention that many of the allegations have shown to be hoaxes, or even that they are being tested in courts. He taints all the Muslims in South Africa with direct sympathy for what he calls radical Islam, or political Islam.
Soloman’s argument reaches beyond the present to the very foundation of Islam in South Africa. The political exiles who were brought in chains for resisting Dutch colonialism were involved in “a very militant Islam” and focussed on “anti-slavery rebellions.” And they were no different from PAGAD’s militant campaign in the 1990s to ostensibly rid the society of drugs and gangsters.
For Solomon, like his neo-con counterparts, historical developments in the history of Muslims in this country can be simply brushed aside.  There is no historical record of anti-slave rebellions by Muslims. Even if there were, no self-respecting scholar will make the claim that PAGAD and these 17th century political exiles were part of one seamless agenda. Actually, only al-Qaida members and neo-cons claim make this ludicrous claim.
Soloman then moves to another favourite: higher education institutions. Muslims attended such madrasahs in diverse countries, from Iran to arch-rival Saudi Arabia. Once in South Africa, according to Solomon, graduates from these institutions promoted a common radical ideology in mosques and schools.
As he sacrifices historical depth, Soloman also collapses the differences among Muslims over law, theology, political projects and many, many other issues. Any cursory review of Islamic institutions will reveal ethnic, racial and class divisions, theological rivalry and endless petty squabbles. Again, only al-Qaida members and the neo-cons will see a common project, each to promote their political projects.
Surely there is diversity, admits Solomon. But it turns out that the only difference recognized by Soloman is the pursuit of revolution from the top, or from below. Without a shred of evidence for South Africa, Soloman borrows this common thesis from the history of modern Islamic movements over the last quarter of the 20th century.
In an attempt to ostensibly provide substance to this revolution from below in South Africa, Soloman speculates that South African Muslims have infiltrated social movements protesting against service delivery and injustices. At the same time, they have also infiltrated gangs in the Western Cape.
Such far-fetched and wild claims do not deserve serious attention. Such claims betray a shallow understanding of the rise and fall of Islamic movements, the complicity of Muslim governments, and the particular context of the Cold War in which radicals were supported by the leading superpowers. Moreover, applying this scenario in South Africa is laughable if it were not presented by an academic at a University.
Soloman’s arguments closely follows the method of American neo-cons who presented this scenario of Islam and Muslims to the Americans. With disastrous consequences, such analysis supports a perpetual war against Islam and Muslim. It demonizes Muslims, justifies their victimization, their profiling and in too many cases their languishing in jail beyond the right to a fair trial.  
The neo-con arguments successfully divert attention away from the social-political contexts of conflicts, and the historical development of Islam and Muslim societies. It is no surprise to see that Soloman has presented his “findings” at Zionist meetings in South Africa, or at anti-terrorism platforms in Israel. The neo-con arguments divert attention away from Israeli occupation, settlements and the inhuman blockades faced by Palestinians.
The neo-con argument polarizes the debate over radical ideologies among Muslims. Muslims become defensive because they correctly see an attack on Islam, and refuse to probe the real trends of radicalization within their midst. A neo-con argument does not promote an open and robust debate among citizens, about the common good for all.
Like neo-cons, Soloman ends his speeches with appeals to the South African government to pour money into increasing the surveillance of Muslims. For a start, he wants a database of Muslims religious institutions. And he wants to increase the expertise of South African security services to keep a constant watch on Muslims. Of course, Soloman is the ideal person to provide this service. At a reasonable fee, or course.

The South African Minister of Education, Naledi Pandor, announced the introduction of a school pledge to be memorized and recited by all school learners at the beginning of every school day. The pledge read as follows:

We the youth of South Africa
Recognising the injustices of our past,
Honour those who suffered and sacrificed for justice and freedom.
We will respect and protect the dignity of each person,
And stand up for justice
We sincerely declare that we shall uphold the rights and values of our Constitution
And promise to act in accordance with the duties and responsibilities
that flow from these rights.
! KE E: / XARRA // KE
Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika

It is difficult to imagine how a school pledge recited every morning can accomplish much. However, the proposed plan might just be the opportunity to deeply examine the fundamental values of South Africa, the role of religion and education in our schools.

Minister Pandor’s proposal has received mixed reaction. Some have rejected it outright while others would rather have a modified text, particularly with regard to the second line that refers to “the injustices of the past.”

The Democratic Alliance has been quick to present an alternate pledge where reference of injustices has been replaced by a commitment to “heal the divisions of the past.” There remains a deep and visceral refusal among the previously advantaged to speak clearly and unequivocally about apartheid and its injustices. A debate on the pledge must not ignore this thing about “injustices” that cannot be named, and cannot be thought.

The pledge has clearly religious undertones and implications as well. Some religious groups have recognized the uncanny relationship between a pledge and prayer. For them, the pledge forces a believer to make a choice between a prayer and a pledge. Put in this way, there seems only one choice for a devout believer.

The equation between a pledge and a prayer is worth another look. Since 1994, religious groups without exception have benefited tremendously from the freedom that the Constitution guarantees. The number of people turning to religion has increased exponentially, building Churches, temples, mosques and other social fields. Moreover, many pray, marry, eat, and drink according to their religious values, and demand to do so on constitutional grounds if any of these are slightly threatened. And so it should be.

At the same time, these very believers cry foul when they are asked to commit to the Constitution. The fundamental conflict between the pledge and devotion to God is simply misguided. They are two different kinds of pledges that call for different responses. Equating them ignores the basis that the Constitution creates and provides for the exercise of religion. Without the Constitution, the free and equal exercise of religion cannot take place. At the very least, a pledge should be a commitment to uphold that freedom for oneself and for all.

The pledge is perhaps a sign of desperation on the part of the Cabinet in general, and the Minister of Education in particular. The evident success of the religious sector in South Africa tempts government to adopt its method. If assembled prayer was so successful, the reasoning seems to be, then the state could do worse than follow a tried and tested model. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

In fact, school assembly prayers are a feature of South African schools that have not fundamentally changed since the days of apartheid. Perhaps this is the reason why school bodies would not mind refining the language in the proposed pledge, in the direction of the DA’s suggestions, and adopt it. Reciting the pledge would not be a way of addressing the values of the Constitution, the demands it makes and the possibilities it provides.

Reciting the pledge would mean business as usual. Some schools will adopt the pledge; others will happily continue to pledge and pray. The sad thing is that many would not know the difference, and be none the wiser. Such a policy would be disastrous for both religion and the pledge; confusing their clearly different purposes and objectives. The values of the Constitution would be recited, but hardly debated. Worse still, the meaning of religion would be mistaken for a bold clash with the state.

Reciting a pledge like a prayer is even more problematic from the perspective of educational practice. Since 1994, the Ministry of Education has promoted educational methods that focus on interaction, creative application and continuous learning. Despite its evident failures, OBE and Curriculum 2005 promoted an interactive process of learning.

The proposed pledge spells none of this. Its daily and public performance competes against established educational policies. It reinforces a model of rote learning, memorization and authoritarianism, all the hallmarks of education and religion in South Africa. It wants South African youth to make a commitment to the most important values of being citizens using a model that fundamentally contradicts them.

Of course, perhaps the cabinet and the Minister are not unaware of this connection. Using religion to create a model for the nation has been used by other modern countries. With disastrous consequences, the nation state has demanded the commitment, the blind following and the devotion that it has seen in religion. The model of religion has been all too tempting, and the pledge might be one step in this direction.

The South African constitution is hardly conducive to this development. And the diversity of South African citizens would make such a project totally unfeasible. In order to avoid this consequence, public debate must be stepped up: for the Constitution, for its values and also for religion.
 

After hearing about the new round of sanctions announced by the US (October 2007) against Iran, I decided to probe the issue beyond the one liner soundbyte of lead articles in newspapers. The latest sanctions are closely linked to the as yet unproved nuclear weapons that Iran is reportedly developing, or has developed.

The fact is there is no smoking gun as Elbaradei has repeatedly said, but reading the liberal press, you would not come to this conclusion.

In the process of trying to read beyond the headlines, I came across a very interesting interview that the BBC conducted with IAEA chief, Dr. Mohamed ElBaradei, in May 2007 and which has not been converted into regualr news. BBC's own report on the interview seems to sidestep the most important points made by Dr. ElBaradei. You have to be willing to listen to the interview on Radio, or pick it from the website dedicted to prevent sanctions and military intervention against Iran (http://www.campaigniran.org).

As one probes a bit deeper into the standoff between the US (and to some extent the EU) and Iran, one clearly gets the impression that the balance of the press is a misnomer. When it comes to national interests, and particularly the Middle East, the major Western Press is no different from the state-owned press that one finds in the authoritarian states in the region. Whenever a reference is made to the latter, the state's role is always mentioned without fail. But how does one mention the bias of the free press that suppresses crucial information from the public debate? I suppose one can be happy with the confinction that alternative presses will ensure that we get the information needed. But I do think that the western press has undermined its credibility on this issue. And like their approach to the Iraq war, they no longer deserve the credibility that they think they still enjoy.

In fact, one can go one step further. By slanting the news to the benefit of the soundbytes cycled by US and EU politicians, the press is clearly helping to create a mood where an air-strike against iran seems justified. And here you surely have a he burden of responsibility?