Mawlana Sampson, Gender Justice and Public Ethics

The last four months have been challenging for most people on this planet. Apart from trying to understand and respond to an unknown and unpredictable virus, we have become acutely aware of the inequalities of our societies. Every now and then, thanks to social media, this inequality is revealed in one or other particular aspect of social life. 

In the last ten days, a video broadcast by a Mawlana Sampson went viral in the Muslim community of Cape Town and put the spotlight on the dignity of women. 

Announcing his impending second marriage, Mawlana Sampson also called upon others to follow his example. His use of language to describe men and women was offensive, and it was rejected as soon as it hit the social mediascape of the Muslims of the city and the country. Eventually, the Mawlana apologized for his video.

But his language revealed a deep flaw that runs through the Muslim community in particular and the South African nation in general. In a country where violence against women has become the norm, the language of Sampson was rightly and quickly rejected. The language seemed to match a pandemic of violence against women in the country through murder, rape and mutilation. 

But not all Muslims agreed with the critics of the video, particularly after Sampson extended an apology.  Many regarded the video as an unfortunate human error that deserved to be forgiven. 

But the issue has raised important issues on ethics and the general response of Muslims on equality and human rights. I would like to reflect on the politics of language and ethics provoked by the Sampson video.

Sampson's video clip is more than a straight-forward expression of a patriarchal world. It is also a form of resistance or turning away from a dominant world that has promised equality and rights, but which has been denied to most people in the world. 

When we put up human rights as universal values, we often forget that inequality has been built into the modern system and its rhetoric of rights. Whether we turn to its origins in capitalism or the aftermath of World War II, human rights were born in a world of increasing inequality. As more gains were recorded on statute books, much less was achieved in the actual lives of most people on the planet. For most,  COVID19 has merely revealed a world that becomes more unequal, while appeals for equality and dignity grow louder.

Some suggest that turning to religion is a form of deep resistance to such norms, but others say religious revival turns its back on such norms. The late Saba Mahmood has given a detailed glimpsed of this rhetoric of devotion and commitment in pockets of Muslim communities. If her analysis is valid for Sampson's community, then the video might be a sign of the community turning its back against modernity in general, and the rhetoric of human rights in particular. 

Sampson's appeal for Muslim men to follow the example of the Prophet should not only be placed against the rhetoric of human rights. It should also be placed against an appeal of religious rhetoric in Sampson's mosque community.  

Some have reminded us through social media that Sampson serves his working-class community with commitment and devotion. If this video clip is more than a passing byte, what do his images and words mean in his context? And more importantly, what does polygyny mean for his listeners, both men and women? 

If this analysis is correct, we should take another look at the world of devotion and commitment. It is not sufficient to invoke the rhetoric of rights against a community, but see how Sampson and others like him offer an alternative vision and values. I do not know Sampson's context in greater detail to make further comments. 

However, I would like to make some comments on the support for polygyny in Muslim discourse. Polygyny is presented as an unassailable good for Muslim societies. Sometimes, it is justified by the fact that polygyny serves some social contexts. In a time of war when men die in greater numbers than women, for example, polygyny is a better alternative for society. Some of these justifications have emerged in social media since Sampson's video went viral. I want to question these justifications on two levels.

I do not want to contest the fact that polygyny is acceptable in the Qurán and the practice of the Prophet. But rather than arguing for the limits placed on its practice by jurists and modern intellectuals, I would like to suggest that it is hardly presented in the Qurán as an unmitigated good. The Qurán presents various scenarios where the family of the Prophet Muhammad, particularly with regard to the relationship with his wives, was wracked by tension and hostility. The presentation of a polygynous family in the Qurán is anything but an idyllic household. In many cases, it was only a revelation from God that saved the day.

In contrast to the Qur'anic narrative, polygyny is presented in Sampson's video and modern Muslim discourse in a very different way. Polygyny is embraced as a distinctive and meritorious value for Muslims. It is better, Muslim apologists claim than the nuclear family promoted in modern discourse. In this counter-modern discourse, a polygynous family is celebrated as an unmitigated good. And this is not what I see in the Qurán.

My second point is related to my experience of reactions among Muslims to polygyny on a personal level. What do Muslims do when they are not defending polygyny as a greater good in public debate? In my experience, whenever a man in a family decides to take on a second wife, that decision is received with anger, rejection and great disappointment.  Apart from the woman who must share her husband, other women generally reject the apparent desire of the man to do good. Close friends and family reject the practice for what it means to the dignity of the first wife. 

These comments might seem anecdotal from my experience, but they reflect a contradiction between public support for polygyny and its experience at a personal level. It seems to me that from the time of the Prophet to the present, Muslims know that the practice of polygyny harms the dignity of women. Public debate obscures this awareness.

Sampson's video has raised two sets of questions. Firstly, it has posed questions on how the rhetoric of human rights works in communities that live with poverty, inequality and lack of dignity. How is the turn to religion to be interpreted against the contradictions of a human rights ethics, and actually existing inequalities. We need to bring a greater awareness of this in our public deliberation.

Secondly, the video has also raised critical questions about the justification of polygyny as an unmitigated value. From a practice which is put under surveillance, polygyny is promoted as an unmitigated good. More importantly, public discourse of both Sampson and his supporters ignore the deep attack on the dignity of women of which they are not unaware. 

Works Cited 

Mahmood, Saba. “Feminist Theory, Embodiment, and the Docile Agent: Some Reflections on the Egyptian Islamic Revival.” Cultural Anthropology 16, no. 2 (2001): 202–36.

Mahmood, Saba. Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005.

Covid-19 and Religion: Cosmologies of Islam and Science (Part 1)

I recently received a WhatsApp message that claimed that Muslims are disproportionately represented in COVID-19 fatalities in two provinces in South Africa. I have not been able to establish its veracity, but I have heard there are a multiplicity of views among religious people on how to respond to the COVID-19 pandemic. Such views are confusing for some, and I have been asked to offer my view on this. 

Since the lockdown in South Africa, I have been collecting statements on religious responses in South Africa. In this first part of this two-part blog, I would like to share this random collection of Muslim responses. This is far from exhaustive, but I have identified a familiar pattern that I can share. 

In this first blog, I will offer my usual approach to Muslim discourse. This is a method that I have used over the years, focusing closely on how Muslim discourse on an issue takes shape. Whether this is apartheid, democracy, or radicalization, a language game clearly emerges. The discourse is deeply contextual, but it is informed by a long history of religious values, practices and ethics. I might even say that there is one discourse that is easily understood and engaged with by its interlocutors. This discourse does not mean that there is one Islam, but neither does it suggest multiple Islams. At the same time, the discourse may be seen to confront or respond to new developments in religion, politics, values and technology. So, my approach lies in starting with the discourse and its response, rather than beginning with the new and working backwards.

The discourse on COVID-19 is marked by a sharp debate that is by definition unresolvable. Participants in the discourse make a claim to truth, some with more confidence and vehemence than others. But the discourse is fundamentally diverse, divisive and multiple. There is a beautiful Hadith that captures this feature: “The difference of opinion in my community is a sign of compassion.” Not all Muslims treat their opponents with compassion, but most accept this diversity in theory.

This discourse on COVID-19 includes discussion on the virus, its nature and history. It includes questions about how to respond to government regulations. Apart from the act of staying at home, the Muslim discourse turns specifically around how to pray and where? Each of these terms (virus, state and prayer) pivot the discourse in a different direction. Central questions and positions are shaped around them. They also show that older questions are addressed and reformulated.  

Religious leaders, through their organizations and mosques, say that the pandemic is the will of God, but they also advise Muslims to take the necessary precautions and to focus on their sinful behaviour. In particular, they accept that daily prayer should be performed at home. Regular attendance at mosques for men is a central practice in South Africa. This accommodation, especially for Friday prayers, shows the extent to which the religious scholars in South Africa have accepted the main pillar of the lockdown. There was one special appeal to President Ramaphosa to allow Muslims to celebrate the end of Ramadan. But it hardly received any support among Muslims. 

Closely tied to this assent is a general emphasis from these religious leaders to urge Muslims to turn to God in supplication (du’a) and increasing charity. The focus on supplication asks Muslims to repent for their sins, to develop a better relationship with God. The pandemic is seen as an opportunity for refocussing on personal piety, on deep introspection. 

Sometimes, when I think that a WhatsApp group is focussed exclusively on prayer and supplication, I notice a call for charity follows. Charity is extended to all. And it is also not so exclusively connected with the object of mission (daʿwa). Both these features have been central to charity. Charity in Islam is divided into kinds, some are exclusively set aside for Muslims. And charity is also seen as a way of extending the faith. I have not seen an emphasis on either in the various statements sent around social media during this time. Of course, these observations need to be tested with more data.

But there are smaller groups who argue that the general Muslim establishment has not recognized the full challenge of the pandemic. In an early statement, the former premier of the Western Cape pointed to the still insular and "survivalist" preoccupation of the Muslim response, and its rejection of scientific evidence. By focussing only on Muslims and denying the evidence of science, Ebrahim Rasool argued that Muslim responses seem very much like Trump. Islam, in his view, was rather a religion of mercy and science. Muslims should turn outwards, not inwards in this difficult time.

Others have followed these critical remarks with different nuances. The closure of mosques, according to some, has exposed the continued marginalization of women and the poor in the communities. When a group brought a court order to argue that going to a mosque was unconditional for Muslims, their views could not justify why women were systematically excluded in many mosques. Others have pointed to the deep inequalities that have been exposed by the virus, which is unacceptable to general Islamic norms and values. In this strand of the discourse, the virus offers an opportunity to revisit old values and paradigms of thinking and acting among Muslims.

But there is a strand in the discourse that has challenged all the other positions. It is represented by a group of religious scholars across the country who seem to want to establish themselves as the representatives of a "pristine" Islam. They seem to offer an alternative position to the "mainline" religious leadership, clearly wishing to replace them. They heap scorn on the closure of the mosques and the scientific analysis of the virus.

It also believes that the pandemic is the will of God. Based on a prophetic Hadith, however, it goes further that there is not such a thing as an infection. Also based on a hadith, Muslims should stay in one place during a pandemic. But there is no provision in the religious literature, it claims, for staying away from mosques, limiting the number of males attending, or keeping a social distance inside. It asks Muslims to stay away from mosques that keep to such regulations. It promises that the punishment of God will soon descend upon society, especially when the mosques are empty. Again, this is supported by a Prophetic hadith. 

When one ignores the incendiary language, this is a consistent argument. Interestingly, when we turn to what it shows (what a Muslim has to do), this statement supports staying away from mosques. It asks Muslims not to attend mosques which adhere to social distancing. Unexpectedly, but based on different reasoning, it complies with government regulations even while it fulminates against other Muslims. This compliance, of course, comes when Muslims are not compliant with its recommendations. So, it thrives on contradiction. 

   

But taking another look, this strand represents a worldview that focusses on the will of God, and several prophetic statements and juridical arguments on how to behave. Even though promoted by a minority, it forces other Muslims to respond to its views in one form or other. So the Islamic Medical Association's statement on the pandemic is that the will of God works "through an apparent cause and effect." Similarly, critical Muslims point to its lack of attention to the values of Islam. They point to its rejection of scientific evidence, and its lack of attention to the needs of the greater society.

The minority position plays thus an important role in the discourse, even though its main role seems to be a counter-point of what Muslims are really doing and thinking. Does this mean that this is the ideal Muslim position, against which real values and practices are negotiated? Scholars of religion would support this argument. For some like Jonathan Z. Smith, a ritual presents an ideal for society, but society flouts it. I do not agree with this model of ritual, but I will pick up this in my second blog. I do think though that what this group says cannot be avoided by most Muslims today. 

For now, I have hopefully shown that in the last few months, a discourse on COVID-19 has emerged among Muslims. This is a discourse shaped by Muslim actors across the board. I have used some social media exchanges to point to its main strands. There are dominant and marginal strands, but they form a debate on values and practices about the virus (science), the state (society and politics) and prayer (religion).  

I would conclude that the main questions are not resolvable. But they show us how religious responses engage the present crisis. The crisis cannot be left alone - it forces everyone to respond. What we see from the discourse is the attempt by some to gain a position against others. This conflict is endemic to religion, as it is to other spheres of life. Religion discourse points to existing views that dominate or that trouble society. These include the value and role of science, relations with a state, neighbours or the world. The discourse points to the value of others, particularly the most vulnerable and weak. And through its reflection on prayer, it also points to the individual's vulnerability at a deep and personal level.  The discourse shows that religious views are continually assailed by new developments.

Discourse and Ethics in Religious Traditions

It has been become an established tradition in our research project Islam, African Publics and Religious Values to read a number of books and articles in a weekly reading group. This semester (first half of 2020), we read the following: 

• An-Naʿim, Abdullahi Ahmed. Islam and the Secular State: Negotiating the Future of Shariʿa. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2008.
• Mittermaier, Amira. Giving to God: Islamic Charity in Revolutionary Times. Oakland, California: Univ of California Press, 2019.
• Ware III, Rudolph T. The Walking Qur’an: Islamic Education, Embodied Knowledge, and History in West Africa. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2014.
• Schielke, Samuli. “Hegemonic Encounters: Criticism of Saints-Day Festivals and the Formation of Modern Islam in Late 19th and Early 20th-Century Egypt.” Die Welt des Islams 47, no. 3 (2007): 319–55.

And we also dedicated some weeks to presentations from our group: 

Yasmin Ismail (PhD candidate) - Re-conceptualizing Madrasa education; notes from Cape Town

Dr Nadeem Mahomed  - The Elusive Ummah: Between the Political, Orthodoxy and Heresy

Dr Amy Stambach - Pragmatic faith and bulldozer ethics in the study of religious populism

Dr Anrea Cassatella - Beyond the Secular: Islam, Religion, and Democracy 

As is clear, this has been a very busy semester. Considering that the meetings were held during COVID, it was particularly remarkable.

We concluded our meeting with a review of these papers. And this is my general sense of the general questions that were raised during the semester:

1. What are the political projects in which religious discourses are located or articulated? I am aware that I am forcing a distinction between religion and politics here. Nevertheless,  we reflected on the Mittermaier's study of giving in the context of the modern Egyptian state, Stambach on Tanzania from ujamaa socialism to neo-liberalism, Rudolph Ware on the politics of slave raiding in 18th Century Africa, An-Na’im on a secular state for Muslims, and Derrida on the modern secular state in Cassatella. So, it seems important to identify the nature of the state and more importantly of politics. Sometimes the state may remain implicit by choice. But as we learn from Derrida, we are all located in a particular political space.
2. Then, when we were able to escape or suspend the impact of politics, we identified religious discourse in these states. This might or might not be a quest to escape from politics. In our readings, some of the studies focussed more on the state than others. But there was a religious discourse noticeable. I mean by this a language and practice associated with religion. Thus, Mittermaier’s Giving for God, Kweka’s development projects for the Church in Tanzania, Amin on Islamic education, Ware on the embodiment of the Quran, Nadeem’s on the quest for authenticity. Some have been more clear than others in identifying these as religious discourse, but I think we can ask more detailed questions on how these discourse work, what they expect from participants (practices). And how then are they related to (1). 
3. Thirdly, we interrogated values in these religious discourses. So for Mittermaier, it was giving and sharing, Kweka in Stambach on critical engagement with state policy, and development for the Church, Yasmin on the imposition of a model of education or resistance, Ware on embodiment, but also resistance to modernization or accommodation with it, An-Naim and Nadeem on freedom and authenticity, and Derrida also freedom. Freedom and resistance seem central in some religious discourses, but we tried to look beyond this modernist shadow.

All in all, an extremely productive and thoughtful semester. Thanks to all the participants. 

I will be sharing more on this group, but particularly how I think we can use a discursive approach to a complex language game with a long history. 

Add caption

The Knowledge of the Future? Unpredicatbilty and the Human Condition

As the Coronavirus sweeps across the world, we are reminded of Nassim Taleb's prescient insight that Black Swans determine the course of human history. These Black Swans are by definition unpredictable, and it is futile to prepare for them. But they shape the course of history and force us to work with them.

What I want to ask is the following? Is there an ethical value in this unpredictability?

I am reminded of this condition by a verse in the Qur'an:

Verily, with God alone rests the knowledge of when the Last Hour will come; and He [it is who] sends down rain; and He [alone] knows what is in the wombs: whereas no one knows what he will reap tomorrow, and no one knows in what land he will die. Verily, God [alone] is all-knowing, all-aware (Qur'an 31:34).

Modern commentators have noticed that modern science has shaken this belief. They often do not say this, but God's future knowledge mentioned in this verse is not as opaque as it once was. We know much more about the rains, the wombs, and perhaps also what will happen tomorrow (through statistics and experimental science with repeated trials in a laboratory). Commentators of the Qur'an have been quick to suggest that the verse is not contradicted by such developments. For example, they say, weather forecasters cannot predict with certainty that rains will come. And on a personal level, we know that too well.  But is this enough?

It seems to me that they are missing the point by focussing on the extent of human knowledge and not what kind of ethical act ought to follow from understanding this condition. Taleb's insight is more helpful in thinking about the human condition which is marked by unpredictability. In comparison with viruses and other natural disasters, humans often add to this unpredictability on a much higher scale. We know that a train can get us to work, but not that someone or some syndicate will steal cables. Or, we know that technology can be used to make life more comfortable, but humans are responsible for using technology to devise systems of government that keep the benefits for a few.

And I can think of no better verse than the following that emphasizes human responsibility:

Verily, We did offer the trust [amānah] to the heavens, and the earth, and the mountains: but they refused to bear it because they were afraid of it. Yet man took it up - for, verily, he has always been prone to be most wicked, most foolish (Qur'an 33:72).

This verse presents a strong contrast between human and natural capacity and responsibility. Much has been written on amanah, most of it to emphasize obedience to the laws of God. But the word is derived from the room amn which means "security" and peace. And amanah is translated as a trust or responsibility.  And this has led some of the earliest commentators of the Qur'an to suggest that it refers to the human capacity to fulfill obligations in general. Fulfilling obligations promotes a level of guarantee that humans will do what is expected - meaning, what is right and good. Without this commitment, life can be even more precarious than we know it.

The fulfillment of obligations is a responsibility that the mountains and heavens refused to accept.  And this is because they did not want to accept the burden that they would have responsibility for choosing to do good (fulfill obligations).  Many commentators seem to think that they were afraid of the wrath of God. But I think that if we keep our focus on the question of responsibility, then it means that only humans were willing to guarantee fulfilling their obligations. And it is this choice, exercised in a just and responsible way, that humans were prepared to take.

Of course, most of the time human will fail to live to our own expectations - "prone to be most wicked, most foolish." But the beauty lies in our conviction that they can if they want to.

The ultimate unpredictability of the future is part of the human condition, but humans have the responsibility to promote a world of trustworthiness. We cannot control the heavens and the earth, but we can and do all kinds of promises to each other. Written or unwritten, promises are the networks of relations that bind and make life stable and to some extent predictable.  Politicians promise to rule with justice and compassion, couples promise to love and support, and so forth. The predictability or unpredictability of such promises depends on humans. It is a grave responsibility, which the heavens and earth refused to accept.