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South African media has been awash with revelations that the Halal certificates on show in shops, supermarkets, restaurants and butchers may not be as trustworthy as their green colour and Arabic inscriptions declare. Islamic religious scholars who have issued them since the 1980s may not be able to guarantee their Halal status.

The furore started late in 2011 when an allegedly disgruntled ex-employee of a meat importer presented a mobile video of workers pasting Halal certificates on pork products in its warehouse. This ex-employee, allegedly working for a rival meat importer, presented the video clip to a Halal authority.

This revelation caused a minor furore within the Halal industry. It was soon discovered that the Cape Town-based Muslim Judicial Council had issued certificates to the meat importer. It was also revealed that other Halal authorization bodies had refused to issue certificates to such importers.

In spite of their differences, Muslim religious authorities tried to limit the damage. They recognized the danger to the Halal certificate that had grown in leaps and bounds. It was now not only pasted on meat and meat products, but was present on milk, face wash, sweets, chocolates, vegetable soup, and even bottled water. The certificates ensured a steady stream of revenue to the issuing bodies. More importantly, it ensured a steady flow of  Muslim consumers to retail chains, restaurants and fast-foods.

The Halal certificate heralded the coming to age of the Muslim consumer. 

In January 2011, the intrepid Deborah Petta of 3rd Degree (ETv) recognized a good controversy. She soon arrived at the staid offices of the Muslim Judicial Council of Cape Town, to see how this revelation rocked "the sacred tenets of the Islamic faith."

As usual with 3rd Degree, there was more heat than light as the cameras followed the officials of MJC refusing to be interviewed. But where there is smoke from the heat, there is a fire that cannot be ignored.

3rd Degree presented a binary image. Negligent officials of the Muslim Judicial Council were not doing their job.  In contrast, the cameras turned to the South African National Halal Authority (SANHA) as it explained its more cautious position. We got cameo shots of the pious officials of SANHA reading the Qur'an and raising their hands in prayer.

The media was doing it again: Good Muslim vs. Bad Muslim. Binary, contrasting images is the stuff that apparently made our world.

Understandable, Muslim consumers have been angry about the incident. Some have felt embarrassingly exposed. Others have felt a deep sense of betrayal in the Halal certification process. Others have gloated that they have the correct approach.

The controversy has been highlighted but its key significance obscured. The controversy reveals a deep transformation of Halal through certification.

What is a Halal certificate? At root, it is  a promissory note made to the consumer that the produce being sold is fit for Muslim religious consumption.

It takes the place of at least two personal engagements. It takes the place of a person going to a local market, and buying an animal for slaughter and consumption. The animal might even have been reared in the backyard, or a Common. It also takes the place of a person approaching a local food producer or supplier who attests by word and deed that the food is halal (literally permissible; not sacred and thus exposed to slaughter).

With modern food production, including the global distribution and flow of goods, these engagements  are placed out of the reach of most people. And this is where Halal authorities are born. The Halal certificate speaks for the self, and for an intimate relation between self and Other. 

The Halal certificate demands faith in its ability to make a decision for a Muslim, and to replace these deep engagements with self, animal and other human beings.

This personal relationship includes one's ability to decide what to consume, and where to consume. It also includes the essence of a relationship with the other.

A certificate that was invested with so much meaning had failed. The controversy exposed the hasty faith in a piece of paper that promised that one no longer needed to make a judgment, or one no longer needed to build a relationship of trust with another.

Perhaps this is what the rage and disappointed is all about in the Muslim community. Companies and Halal authorities have not yet said fully what they were doing. Like other consumer goods, their transparency is often veiled under so many layers of half-truths, enticements and assurances. 

The controversy has been useful in a way. But anger and disappointment should therefore not only be directed at the offending meat importer, or the negligent Muslim official, or the indecent media. It should be cause enough to mourn a hasty faith in a piece of paper, and the loss at a deeper individual and inter-personal relationship.

Khalid Shamis' documentary on Imam Abdullah Haron of South Africa is a masterly treatment of a man and his times. It brings out the multi-facetted dimension of the Imam, his colleagues in the Muslim Judicial Council, the Muslim community, and of course, the apartheid state.

Imam Abdullah Haron emerges in the documentary as a sensitive and courageous leader against the growing force of apartheid repression. Inspired by activist youth whom he invited to his mosque, he soon outstripped them in the services he offered to families of detainees and anti-apartheid activists. It was not long before he too became a victim, and was brutally killed in police custody in September 1969.

The producer of "The Imam and I" is the Imam's grandson, the son of his eldest daughter, Shamila, who had been sent to London to study. Khalid Shamis had heard a lot of the Imam, and felt that he was the grandson of someone important. We are grateful that he set out to find out more, and share the story with the rest of us.

The documentary consists of slices of the Imam's life and death. It includes elements of his position within the leadership of the Muslims, and its shameful silence. It also includes his innovative attempts to attract youth to the mosques, whilst raising funds for anti-apartheid activism with James Bond and other movies. Drawing on photographs and footage of the time, the documentary also reveals his great style and love for suits, fezzes, a shiny bald heard and a stylishly trimmed beard.

Most importantly, the documentary also raises some interesting questions. Some of these questions are thrown out briefly for deeper reflection. Khalid, for example, refers to the connection between London bombings and his search for knowing the truth of his 'terrorist' grandfather!

Others are more explicit, as for example, the silence of the leadership of the Muslim community when the Imam was imprisoned and then killed. Their reluctance  to raise their voices against apartheid was deafeningly portrayed! It contrasted strongly with Reverend Wrankmore's retreat and fast on a Kramat on Signal Hill!

At other times, though, the evidence presented raises questions, intended by Shamis or not. The  massive turn-out at the Imam's funeral contrasted with his isolation during imprisonment, and even more so with the fate of his wife, Galiema Sadan, and her two young children. The fate of a martyr was captured beautifully, and also painfully.

At the same time, however, the presence of thousands at the funeral by men, women and children, could not all be seen as hypocrisy. The death of a witness provided an opportunity for ordinary people to register their rejection and abhorrence of a wicked system. One may criticize them for not doing enough, but one cannot afford to miss the registration of protest.

Finally, in my view, the documentary left an impression of a complex ideology (if such a contradiction may be permitted). The Imam was inspired by an emerging ideological approach to Islam, which he hardly represented in his life and work. The footage did not even reveal this in his family and associates.

Islamism in full flow came later to Cape Town, and drew much of its strength on a greater range of books, ideas and a different style of Islam. Soon, it also drew on the Imam's fame as anti-apartheid activist in the name of Islam. This activism in the name of Islam, however, was different from Imam Haron in his family, his congregation, his fashion-statement and his activism.

In the last couple of weeks, I have had an opportunity to see a play and a film dealing with religion in Cape Town. Davis' play Mass Appeal was brilliant in its portrayal of religion between ideals and institutionalization, and Beauvois' Of Gods and Men (2010) brought home the meaning of witness  and sacrifice. It is amazing how religion flows through our secular society!

"The Imam and I" did not set out to prove a point about this or that religious value (it seems to me). It nevertheless portrayed the ordinariness of living a life of religious value. Imam Haron was serious but it did not prevent him from smiling, smart-looking, stylish and ready for some fun.

 I was privileged to observe and participate in a meeting in Essen, Germany, to commemorate and take forward the work of Prof. Nasr Hamid Abu Zeid who passed away about a year ago. Abu Zeid had made a significant contribution to the history of the interpretation of the Qur’an. However, he was not only interested in the topic for its historical value but searching for a way to read the Qur’an as a living text that spoke to the great demands of the day.

 

The meeting was attending by friends and colleagues who traveled with him on the same road. It was honoured also by the participation of Prof. Ebtehal Younes, Abu Zeid’s wife and professor at Cairo University. The meeting honoured both Abu Zeid and the path that he unlocked with his works, his friendship and his deep humanity.

 

As expected, the meeting was provocative and challenging. From the keynote presented by Prof. Shabestari (Tehran) on the first day, the focal point turned around the Qur’an. Prof. Shabestari asked what a new philosophy of language would be for a claim that the Qur’an was both revelation and Prophetic word. Prof. Barlas concluded the meeting with a plea to a return to the theology of the Qur’an, against the ‘anti-foundationalism of  Abu Zeid.’ There were also contributions that rejected any real future of the Qur’an (or religion) in Islamic Newthinking.

 

Clearly, all were agreed that a new theology or approach to the Qur’an in particular, and Islam in general, was long overdue. The participants were leaders in this search, and presented the meeting with reflections that honoured Abu Zeid and his work.

 

I would like to contribute with a reading of the substance of the meeting. In short, I think the speakers and commentators came close to admitting and arguing that we are or should be like Christians. Of course, none put in this way. But I could not help coming to this conclusion at the end of the 2-day meeting. And was further confirmed in my assessment when I looked back at my notes.

 

By way of substantiation and perhaps proof, let me explain. On the second day, Prof. Soroush opened the day with a challenge that Muslims have easily reconciled themselves to socialism, but could not do with liberalism and rights. He then challenged listeners with a question about how Muslims would produce such a theology of rights (arguing that it would be more difficult than anything that they had attempted thus far).

 

Prof. Barlas followed with her own thesis. Listening carefully to her argument, I could not help noticing how her claimed devotion to the Qur’an was nothing but a highly subjective reading thereof.She was, moreover, a witness to justice buried in the Qur’an through centuries of male witnesses. A young commentator alo praised her this "disclosure of God" in her reading of the Qur’an.

In my reading and listening, Barlas answered Soroush about where this theology of rights would come from. It was easy to find a theology of freedom in the Qur'an, but Soroush was clearly asking how Muslims would be persuaded (i.e. converted).

 

Rolling back to the first day, I recalled Prof. al-Azmeh arguing that the Qur’anic text was an aesthetic and at most a privatized religion. Prof. Sadiq Jalam al-Azm supported him by saying that Muslim Arabs have had nothing radical to offer (nothing radical enough for Islamic Newthinkig to put aside Islam and religion).

 

And my friend and colleague Prof. Esack pulled down all binaries and distinctions for a reading of the Qur'an. Beginning with the Jews and Muslims, he proceeded to question the contraries of human and non-human, the able and non-able, the living and mineral. We had arrived at the Kingdom of God, where the lion lay beside the lamb!

 

Translated, I head them saying: We are Christians! We should be Christians! We have no option but to become Christians! In fact, this declaration was relatively easy, even if it was not expressed in this way.

 

However, what the meeting struggled to find was if we were still Muslims! Everybody posed some interesting questions for the future. Those questions affirmed the history of Christianity in modern times, but only posed questions about the future of Islam. At least for Abu Zeid the music of the Qur’an was foundational, we were reminded by Prof. Younes. And Prof. Wadud was insistent that tawhid included women. Otherwise, Christianity was confirmed while Islam was put on a search.

 

When I thought about this, I was at first appalled by the implication. It reminded me once at a meeting in Brussels similar to this one when a Jesuit priest told me that only Christianity could accommodate modernity. I thought at the time that it was more likely the other way around. It also reminded me of an essay by Derrida entitled “We are all Christians.” And it reminded me of many similar reflections on how Christianity was made for modernity!

 

After the initial shock , I accepted this conclusion. I was not resigned to it, as I remembered how I have struggled with Islamic identity for some time now.

 

Once I gave up the block of identity, however, a new path opened for me. I was reminded how much Islam and Muslims (including the Prophet) had taken from the Christians. They too had become 'Christians' (okay, 'Jews' more accurately). I then also remembered how the Prophet and Muslims later took a ‘heretical turn.’ Both Jews and Christians were in turned incensed at this heresy.

 

 

Rev. Wrankmore died on 17 June at age 86, and Imam Haron's three children were all in Cape Town on the release of "The Imam and I" (produced by Khalid Shamis, grandson of Imam Haron). It was a perfect opportunity for the Western Cape Religious Leaders' Forum and the Cape Town Inter-faith Initiative to organize a commemoration service on Signal Hill (23 June 2011). Rev. Wrankmore had fasted on Signal Hill in 1971, two years after Imam Haron was killed in police detention, and demanded a judicial inquiry into his death.

About 80 people braved the wind and rain, and sat together in the small kramat on Signal Hill. The ceremony consisted of prayers, and short recollections. There were also poignant remarks by the children of both Wrankmore and Haron. It was a moving ceremony, and the cold and wind was quickly forgotten.

All present were visibly moved by the witness that both Rev. Wranmore and Imam Haron brought to the days of apartheid. The word "witness" was repeated by almost every speaker in one way of another. Witness spoke to the great depth of their lives, and what they were saying to apartheid, inter-faith relations, and to the people of Cape Town, South Africa and beyond.

It was also not forgotten that Prof. Kader Asmal, who had just died, was a great witness to the current politics of South Africa. Tributes were paid to him for breaking ranks by standing up for truth and justice. Although Asmal, in comparison with Haron and Wrankmore, was not too concerned with organized religion, he too was recognized as a witness. And with Asmal, it was clear that witnessing was not a thing of the past.

The event prompted me to reflect a bit more on the idea of witnessing. Asmal may have been different from Haron and Wrankmore in terms of religious affiliation. It is clear, though, that all three had to break ranks from their groups and 'natural' social homes. A witness seems to be someone who is not comfortable to stay in one place, and is prepared to go where her convictions takes her.

Witnessing stands at the centre of religious conviction, though. I have read that the word in English is derived from a martyr or knowledge (from wit). It recalls acts of extreme courage by early Christians in the face of danger. The witness/martyr would express his conviction, on pain of death. The witness also proclaims the real truth in this demonstration.

There is a similar sense of presence in the Qur'an, but it is not always associated with danger. A witness is a shahid and shares a linguistic affinity with words that mean 'looking' and 'seeing'.  In fact, most of the instances in the Qur'an refer to God as shahid ('God is shahid over all things').

When shahid refers to a human being, however, she demonstrates the truth. There is a verse in the Qur'an that calls upon people to becomes witnesses (shahids) like the prophets. They brought the truth and demonstrated it. The same obligation rests on the rest of humankind. 

I draw two conclusions from these. The one is the very act of witnessing implies a presence and a demonstration. Haron and then Wrankmore represent this in an inspiring way. People like Asmal continue that important tradition.

Secondly, the fact that God is the shahid (witness) turns things around. One could turn around and say that the witness or martyr is herself divine. But I think that God witnessing adds a very different dimension. It means that the real frame of witnessing has to be beyond the here and now. For religious people, it means that God is the only reality of the witnessing. For me, it means that witnessing (true witnessing) is Godlike and overcomes the politics and contradictions of the day.

 

Hamba Kahle Berni Wrankmore, Kader Asmal and Imam Abdullah Haron.

 

This was not a shopping weekend, but it is hard to miss and resist the fusion of souk and mall in this glitzy city. The Institute of Ismaili Studies invited me to speak to their alumni on how one may think of moral philosophy in a modern world. More challengingly, how might such a philosophy be taught by secondary school teachers.

It turned out to a great meeting, allowing me to reflect deeply on the kind of issues that I have been thinking about for a long time. These are preliminary thoughts shared on this blog.

Allow me a short digression. What really impressed me was the participants at this meeting. They were men and women who were involved in one or other way in education. Some of them were experienced, while others were recent graduates or still students. They were not only involved in Islamic religious education, but these issues clearly were most important for them.

Having read about the Aga Khan and seen a video documentary two years ago on how the Ismaili are facing modernity, I was surprised to come across very similar concerns among them about living in a modern world. I thought that they had overcome what many other Muslims were grappling with. They were concerned about the image of Muslims and rising tide of Islamophobia, suspicious of American foreign designs and policies on Muslims, and also about permissive values infiltrating religious  communities.

At the same time, though, they were clearly interested and willing to confront difficult questions thrown at them. I was here for 2 of the 3 days, but saw enough of a deep and critical engagement with the three of us invited to speak.

The first talk was presented by Dr. John Hull on religious education. He began with his view of education in general, and then presented a Christian theology of education for the modern world. He argued that freedom was the central distinction and pre-occupation of humanity. This quality was given to both men and women as part of the special creation of God. Created in the image of God, creativity was their destiny. And education should be directed to this goal. Moreover, he added, all religions should and were able to develop an argument for primary value of freedom. There was a place for training and even indoctrination in an educational system, but freedom was and ought to be the ultimate goal.

Prof. Liam Geron followed with an equally provocative thesis the next day. He traced the history of the Enlightenment in Europe and its antagonistic relationship with religion. Whilst championing the cause of ‘Man’ and of freedom, the Enlightenment and the liberal state were deeply committed to the suppression of religion. He also related the failed promises of the Enlightenment to rid humanity of barbarisms. In the name of science, state and the pursuit of wealth, the Enlightenment and its successors unleashed terrible wars and mass killings on humanity. Moreover, he turned to the modern liberal state as the inherited legacy of the Enlightenment. It too was committed to the elimination of religion from having any influence in society. Homing in on schooling, he showed how systematically religious education was prevented from playing a constructive role in the life of individuals and society. In the war against terror, religion was being used to serve the ends of the state.

I followed later with a talk on ethics and modern Islam. I began where Prof. Gearon did with the Enlightenment thinker Kant. However, I presented two interpretations of the Enlightenment. The first was lead by Alasdair MacIntyre who argued that there was no ethics possible in the aftermath of Kant. Having  destroyed all foundations of an ideal model of life, Kant could only bequeath a future devoid of ethical commitment. Against this judgment, however, I presented the argumen of Abd al-karim Soroush who recognize value in the ethical heritage of the Enlightenment. Turning the ethical heritage of the Middle Ages on its head, the Enlightenment provided a basis for science and development that made ethics possible. Going on from this modern ambiguous heritage, I turned to present how contemporary Muslims related to ethics. Using the example of human rights, I pointed out how identity had become a major obstacle in thinking about ethics and human rights. I then turned to the ethical heritage of Islam, and proposed that a close and critical reading might be helpful. As an example, I provided an overview of Al-Mawardi’s Adab al-Din wa ‘l-Dunya.

I hope to share my reflections on this meeting in another Blog, and perhaps a more detailed paper. My reflections will include a really interesting article that I read of Armando Salvatore on Muslims and the European public sphere.

An informative debate was held at UCT on its Admission Policy on 3 Sept 2010. The spotlight fell on how and why UCT has chosen race to address the imbalance in the student profile at the University.

UCT might be an eiite university, but the issues raised at the meeting reflected much wider concerns: From the revolution that never happened, to the skewed manner in which race was being applied, to the failure of the schooling system, to the desperate desire for schooling, and to the racial profile of class. 

The meeting was supposed to be a debate, but it turned out to have been an opportunity to present yet another list of unsolvable quandaries. All of them were important, but the speakers seemed to be throwing juggling balls or pins around at each other and towards the audience.

As I was listening and trying to keep as many of these missile in flow, I thought that there was more than one had to add. It is not something to replace the others, but crucial for the set. 

It is very clear that race, imported from the past, plays a big role  in our country. Looking back at the last 16 years though, race has acquired a new history. A new layer consisting of several strands has been added to the Racial Classification Act of apartheid. One of these strands is government legislation as well as practices. And this often receives the lion's share of attention.But there are others, as the history of race is not over in South Africa. I am thinking about racial perceptions and practices that have been changed or consolidated: that blacks have proven themselves to be incompetent, or that whites  have really benefited from BEE.There are a myriad other ways in which race is thought and practiced. The post-apartheid record does not merely consist of living in the shadow. Race is sprouting new directions that wait for our attention.

Race was taking on new meaning, adding to the apartheid legacy but quite distinct.

What does this mean for UCT's policy of admissions?

Not so sure, but we should keep juggling perhaps.

 The University of Cape Town showcased its latest Research Report (2009) at a special event on August 16, 2009. As itstarted at 5pm, Prof. Visser and later the Vice-Chancellor, Dr. MaxPrice, were keeping an eye on the time to sunset. This was no mystery, as theytold the audience that the proceedings had to be concluded by the time the Muslims could break their fasts for Ramadan. Both special Halal food and prayerfacilities were arranged for the event.

This was not unusual for South Africa, butI want to use this event to reflect on the kind public religious identitiesinscribed by food. I also want to use this opportunity to reflect on theparticular direction that a Halal industry and an accommodating public seem tobe moving Muslim identities.

These remarks by Prof. Visser and Dr. Pricedrew attention to the presence of Muslims. In particular, all who knew meexpected that I had been fasting, and also expected that I would turn to thespecial food prepared for me. I felt trapped in these expectations. I suspectthat they also thought that those Muslims present would make use of the prayerfacilities.

As I left the room at the end of themeeting, the Halal food was left untouched and unopened at the entrance of the hall. Apologies to the organizers of the event, particularly Ms. Pather.

It is amazing how consumption patterns and provision make an impact on a meeting. The intention to provide the right choice of meals is clearly noble, but the effects that flow from these are not often considered. For one, they tend to pigeon-hole South Africans in all sorts ofways.

More importantly, with respect to Islam at least, these provisions are driven by a growing Halal industry that leaves little room for individual choice. One is bombarded by pamphlets, e-mails, SMSs and Friday preachers to be on the lookout for Halal certificates, preferably those issued by the authors of these missives and not those of the competition.The Halal industry also directs well-meaning public servants to provide special food. This is the least they can do for cultural diversity.

The halal industry is driven by two powerful forces. The commercial one is probably the stronger of the two. The second, identity, should not be ignored though. The Halal sign has become a powerful symbol of Muslim identity. It announces the presence of Muslims in a neighborhood or city. Moreover, it helps Muslims to express their identity in aclear and unequivocal way.

But what is the substance of the identity?How is this identity constructed? I submit that Halal identities are constructed in a highly restrictive way. They are driven by an overwhelming asceticism; a visceral repulsiontowards all kinds of foods. And that list continues to grow as Halal authorities scan food production. Food technology becomes very important, as trace elements of insects, pork and other abominable foods are marked and identified. These days, sweets, milk, water and even toothpicks appear on these lists.

And it appears that this is how public bodies like UCT are presented with halal requirements. The presence of suppliers, of course, makes this all easy.

This particular outlook is a far cry from another approach to Halal, one that in my view is presented in the Quran. Incomparison with the one I have described, this one may be called liberalizing.

It struck me as I was reciting the Qur’an one morning. I suppose that I was drawn to this view  because I had always wondered why food regulations in the Qur’an were mostly presented as an  exception to the rule: “He has only forbidden you…” (2:173 and 16:115); “Why should ye not eat…” (6:119); “"In what has been revealed to me, I find no food prohibitions except …” (6:145). The restrictions are mentioned, but they are presented in a general framework of permissibility. To say “all is permissible except this” is very different from“only this is permissible.” Contemporary halal identities live by the latter, but the former dominate the Qur’anic syntax.

In my reading, Verse (6:145) declared some exceptions of food that should be avoided. Before this, however, there are two pages that review food taboos among the Arabs. These include human sacrifice (perhaps cannibalism?), food specially reserved for men and women, and parts of certain animals should not be consumed at all. This verse is followed by a reference to Jewish dietary law, the main point here too being that the latter is too demanding.

In this inter-textual reference, the verse(6:145) does not restrict Muslims to certain foods. It makes everything permissible except “dead meat, or blood poured forth, or the fleshof swine … or, what is impious, (meat) on which a name has been invoked.”

Permissible (halal) food is presented as a relaxation of dietary rules among Arabs and the Jews. Identity was still being construction through food, but in a completely different way from what we have become accustomed to. Identity was produced in a process dominated by a relaxation of dietary rules, not their increasing restriction.

Identity cannot be avoided in our complex society. However, we can look closer at how and to what effect they are constructed. One could have an identity defined by exclusion, or one defined by inclusion.

 

The latest Zapiro cartoon seems once again to put this question in the public domain. Muslims are getting hoarse, shouting at the top of their voices that the Prophet is beyond depiction and beyond any criticism. Cartoonists reply that there is nothing really sacrosanct that their art cannot touch, and touch up.

Zapiro’s current cartoon makes an entirely different point about Muslims and their lack of humour, but it is this particular question that receives attention in the public debate. Is the Prophet Muhammad so off-limits that the freedom of expression should be curtailed? Is he really as sacred as the freedom of expression?

This question seemed very relevant to theological debate within Islam, the significance of which has escaped most commentators. Zapiro and other cartoonists, in a completely unintended way, may be playing an important role in restoring a sense of balance in how Muslims view the Prophet Muhammad.

Muslim responses to any cartoon on the Prophet appeared to take the usual route. If we can believe the papers, there are threats against Zapiro and the M&G, and there are calls to express anger with restraint. Interestingly, Muslim responses orbit around the freedom of expression. They are hurt, angered and insulted, they say. Zapiro has gone too far! They will not sit still in the face of this provocation! All these responses orbit around expressions and representations. They hardly go beyond the right to represent something.

There is a kind childishness in Zapiro’s latest cartoon.  He has simply taken up the challenge, put up this time in Pakistan, that the Prophet Muhammad would not be depicted on computers in that country. Zapiro signed up for that challenge, as many others have done in defiance of Pakistan’s equally juvenile attempt.

It is not always childishness in the cartoon depictions of the Prophet, though. Very often, there is evident glee in tearing down sacred symbols in the name of freedom of expression. With one stroke, cartoonist claim to be underdogs against the onslaught of religion. In the process, though, the real centres of power are left untouched as the faith and belief of ordinary people everywhere are laid to waste.

Perhaps, however, we should go beyond the freedom of expression in this case.  The special nature of the Prophet is a highly significant point in Islamic theology and ritual practice. Perhaps, just perhaps, the cartoons might be an important contribution in this domain. Zapiro was clearly having fun, but his buffoonery was telling us something about the sacred and the human.

I turn your attention to the study of comparative religion, where scholars have pointed to the oscillating nature of religious biographies. Sometimes, these biographies emphasized the human nature of important religious figures; while at other times, they emphasized their special, divine qualities. There is a subtle and enduring balance and tension between these two poles.

This tension is clearly evident in the Qur’an, and in subsequent Islamic historical recollection of the Prophet. In the Qur’an, the Prophet Muhammad is asked to tell his contemporaries that he is “is merely a human being like you.” At other places, he is set apart from his followers: “Muhammad is not the father of any of you, but a Messenger and a Seal of the Prophets.”

When the Prophet Muhammad died, we are told in tradition that one of his eminent companions threatened to cut off the head of anyone who dared to make this claim. Another more closer companion of Muhammad reminded him that “Muhammad was merely a messenger,” and in fact mortal. Even in this anecdote, one can see a tension between an elevation of Muhammad, and his humanization.

What does Zapiro have to do with this religious artefact? In my view, quite a bit! And in order to understand this, one has to appreciate something about modern Muslim religious debates.

As in the past, the tension between the human and special nature of the Prophet is found in modern Muslim religious debates and conflicts. At the heart of an ongoing debate, also in South Africa, lies the tendency in popular Islam and Sufism to focus on the Prophet Muhammad as the foundation of human existence, the door through which salvation and mercy flows. His metaphysical existence forms the ground of all existence.

Against this trend, reformist movements emphasized the Prophet’s role as conveyor of divine truth. The emphasis is on his role as transmitter. One might see this as a de-sacralizing movement in its own right. However, this reform movement has also emphasized the absoluteness of his words and deeds. Thus, within this de-sacralization, Muslim have elevated his every word and deed to an extent never seen before in Islamic history. The general trend is that his words and deeds should not be the subject of reflection, nor open to deliberation over values. They should be approached as absolutes, carried out without any human interrogation.

In short, all movements in modern Islam emphasize the utterly divine nature of the Prophet. One turns to his person as the foundation of human and non-human reality. The other turns his personality into an absolute.

In Modern Islam, the Prophet Muhammad has lost balance between his human and extraordinary nature.  In desperation against secularization, Muslims have emphasized the extra-ordinary nature of Muhammad. The humanizing element, clearly in the Qur’an and in Islamic tradition, has been forgotten.

But all is not lost in this mad, globalizing world. Religion is no longer only the product of intense theological debate and discussion. It takes place in cafes, at dinner tables, in newspapers, but most of all on the Internet. For the humanity of the Prophet, moreover, it might just take place in a cartoon.

In spite of themselves, the cartoonists might be doing a service to Islamic theology. Their humanization of the Prophet Muhammad, particularly clear in Zapiro’s cartoon, could be taken a reminder to Muslims to re-examine their divinization of the Prophet Muhammad.

 

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.

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.

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.