“On what basis do you argue over Abraham when the Torah and Bible were sent down after him?”

Last night, I listened to the Qur’an at Muir Street mosque in Cape Town during the night prayer (tarawih). The reciter (qari) went through a number of verses from the Chapter Ale Imran. it was a beautiful recitation, read in slow and measured rhythm. There was no urgency or rush in the voice of the reciter, and I listened without distraction, without my mind wandering in all directions.

This verse (65) drew my attention to a profound message in this section of the chapter. It was an argument made for the Prophet against the People of the Book. Abraham was presented as the original believer, he was neither Jew nor Christian ... And please, the voice of the reciter said, do not use the scriptures to make an argument for Abraham’s position. In a sectarian milieu, scriptures would not do. Scriptures were historical and Abraham, the common ancestor, was located outside that history.

But of course, Abraham was a “hanifan musliman.” He was pure and committed in submission.

Was he also a Muslim with a capital M?

The triumphalist message of the Qur’an is that they were all Muslims. And that is the true religion. Islam came to replace the Jews and Christians!

But what is the insight of this verse .... what is the point of appealing to an ancestor, a foundation that goes beyond scriptures. When the Qur’an became scripture, does this verse not also apply to it? Does the Quran not come after the Torah and the Bible?

I was struck by the idea of appealing to a common foundation. And I was struck by the declaration that exposed the temporality of scriptures.

A beautiful recitation, sounds reverberating over bowed heads, recalled this insight.

Trust and Betrayal in the Balance in Dlamini's Askari

Jacob Dlamini's Askari: A Stody of Collaboration and Betrayal in the Anti-Apartheid Struggle (Jacana 2014) is a deeply moving account of Askaris, the name given to traitors in the anti-apartheid struggle. Through the theme of betrayal, the book presents a moving but disturbing account of the last decade of bloody conflict between the apartheid state and a rising and popular anti-apartheid movement. The book offer much more than an account of historical events.

Dlamini's narrative is woven around the place of loyalty and betrayal within armed groups that fought to shape the future of the country. Focusing on the story of Glory Sedibe and others, Dlamini returns repeatedly to what betrayal means to collaborators and their handlers. The collaborators in this book are victims, but never lose their agency. Some collaborators are pushed to the brink through days, weeks and even months of physical and psychological torture, others break down at the first sign of pain. Sedibe's story is shrouded by lies and half-truths, which makes it a particularly interesting account of victimhood and agency.

Reading this book reminds me that trust and betrayal stand at the heart of a society. Dlamini's book teases and pushes the implications of this fundamental ethic in the lives of the Askaris, and in society in general. For the Askaris, betrayal means the end of a meaningful life. Dlamini book portrays the inevitable descent into further betrayal, violence  and alcoholism.

But the book challenged me to think about the trust and betrayal as the ground on which any collective stand. No two persons can enter a relationship without trust or the prospect of trust. When trust is rejected as a result of extreme individualism, racial bigotry or repeated broken promises, one  inevitably looks into an abyss. Perhaps the Askaris symbolise the broken trust that haunts our societies.

No doubt, Dlamini gives an account of those who refused to collaborate. Inevitably, they lives were cut short by a network of apartheid death squads that continue to roam our streets. But their lives should not be forgotten, for their bravery but also for their refusal to betray trust.

Sadly, according to Dlamini, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission failed to bring out the truth and workings of collaboration and their handlers. People like de Kock and Nofomela only revealed half-truths, sufficient to hastily thread a new narrative of a rainbow nation focused on the future.

Comment on Moosa on Muslim Political Theology: Defamation, Apostasy and Anathema

http://lb.boell.org/en/2012/08/15/muslim-political-theology-defamation-apostasy-and-anathema

I would recommend reading this article by Prof. Moosa!

Prof Moosa has perceptively captured the religious foundation or inspiration of Muslim rage towards the defamation of the Prophet in a number of contemporary context. The place of the Prophet as ontological and epistemology reference provides some explanation to the widespread acceptance if not support of punishment or attackers  who defame him.
But I think that the responses that he documents among Muslim intellectuals, both ulama and non-ulama, do not address the problem that he addresses. The mainly textual and hermeneutical strategies miss the deep rupture posed by modern defamation - informed by modernity, colonialism and post-colonialism. This ruptures threatens the meaning of prophecy, not the application of the texts in modern times.

Great and thoughtful article

#Review of Praying Mantis (André Brink): Colonialism and Religion in South Africa

Brink's historical novel follows the journey of Cupido Cockroach on his journey from Khoi San religion to missionary for the London Missionary Society to Khoi San again. It is an intriguing story of a life through colonial occupation, genocide and mission.

Brink's masterly narrative might be a classic study of how Christianity replaced KhoiSan culture and religion. It is, however, not a triumphant narrative but a deeply ambiguous one. Cupido's story is told through a deeply self reflective missionary Read. Moreover, Cupido himself becomes a deeply committed Christian the meaning of which he pushes to the limit. His passion and humour leaves a lasting impression.

I like best Cupido's engagements with Heitsi-Eibib, and with God the Father. There is no doubt about his belief as he loves, pleads, takes, gives and teases. There are no answers to the deeply disturbing questions posed by Cupido about colonialism and religion in the history of South Africa.

Reflections on Rhodes Gazing over the Campus, the City and the Continent

A moving and packed Jameson Hall last night (March 25, 2015) continued the campaign to bring down the statue of Rhodes brooding over the campus, the city and the continent of Africa. Here are some random thoughts.

The campaign gains momentum, but there are many students who are not persuaded. We heard that the Engineering and the Built Environment students voted clearly against the removal of Rhodes. This is surprising and also very telling. It seems that those interested in buildings are taking a very specific stand. Either they are positively opposed to the idea that Rhodes will no longer gaze over the city and the continent, or they do not care. It it is the former, then we have a long road to decolonisation and freedom. The gaze of Rhodes will be directly and indirectly be supported by our colleagues and future graduates. If they do not care, then it seems that some symbols have become so powerful that they do not even register a response. When the norm is not seen, then it has become part of habit, nature and the everyday.

The reality, clearly, is that this is not the everyday experience of everyone on campus. Students expressed their frustrations and alienation on UCT campus. For me, the symbolism of removing Rhodes was more poignantly expressed by the extent of racism faced by students on an ongoing basis. Over the 25 years that I have been at UCT, I have heard and experienced racism in the classroom. But the racism was subtle, and difficult to pin down. I would like to see a concerted effort made to deal with racism on this personal, everyday level. If the campaign to remove Rhodes puts a spotlight on this deep experience, then it would  have achieved its purpose.

But as I reflected on the meeting, I also felt a tinge of dissatisfaction. I saw how Prof. Barney Pityana was rejected as co-chair. The argument was that he had taken a particular position on the matter. A new chair was chosen, who promptly declared his support for the removal of Rhodes. But I thought that a neutral chair was sought? One that would faciliate the debate on Rhodes? Obviously, I was naive in my expectation. But it was disappointing to see the wisdom of Prof Pityana summarily rejected.

I subsequently read that Prof. Pityana had questioned the wisdom of removing all colonial symbols of colonialism and apartheid from South African public spaces. He did not reject the removal of Rhodes. He only questioned this policy. In opposition, Prof. Gqola argued that these statues should be put in a museum.

As the meeting progressed, we heard clearly that the students had adopted a particular political position on post-apartheid politics. It left me wondering if this was another political campaign or a fundamental search for a new University? While presumably opposed to the history of colonialism and apartheid, was it more truly directed against the post-apartheid politics of Presidents Mandela, Mbeki and perhaps Zuma? Prof. Pityana represented, wrongly in view, this politics.