Progressive Muslims: On Justice, Gender and Pluralism (5 page)

The time has come, and that time is now. We cannot start committing to social justice tomorrow, because the tomorrow of social justice is the tomorrow of “I will lose fifteen pounds”: it will never come. There is only today. We are, as the Sufis say, children of the present moment (
ibn al-waqt
). It is in this present moment we live, and in this present moment we have the choice to be fully human. It is for our decisions in this very present that we are held cosmically accountable, and will answer to God Almighty. Justice starts now, starts at this present moment, and it starts with each of us.

Gender Justice

Progressive Muslims begin with a simple yet radical stance: the Muslim community as a whole cannot achieve justice unless justice is guaranteed for Muslim women. In short, there can be no progressive interpretation of Islam without gender justice.

Let us be clear that by “gender” we are not just talking about women. Far too often Muslims forget that gender injustice is not just something that oppresses

women, it also debases and dehumanizes the Muslim males who participate in the system.

Let us be clear that by “gender” we don’t mean to focus exclusively on the
hijab

(head covering worn by some Muslim women). The hijab is, no doubt, one important marker of identity for many Muslim women who choose either to wear or not to wear it. It is also an important marker of social regulations when many Muslim women are forced to wear it. But it is futile to engage in conversations about gender that reduce all of women’s religiosity and existence to the
hijab
. There are many more fundamental issues at stake in the social constructions that affect the lives of both men and women, and we aim here to engage many of them. Some of the essays in this volume probe exactly what we mean by gender justice. The essays by Sa‘diyya Shaikh, Zoharah Simmons, Scott Kugle, and Kecia Ali break new ground here. Muslim feminism is the radical notion that Muslim women are full human beings. The human and religious rights of Muslim women cannot be “granted,” “given back,” or “restored” because they were never ours to give – or take – in the first place. Muslim women
own
their God-given

rights by the simple virtue of being human.

Gender justice is crucial, indispensable, and essential. In the long run, any progressive Muslim interpretation will be judged by the amount of change in gender equality it is able to produce in small and large communities. It is for this reason that I have placed “gender” as the lynchpin of our subtitle for the whole volume. Gender equality is a measuring stick of the broader concerns for social justice and pluralism.

No doubt this heavy emphasis on issues of gender – issues that far too many Muslims would rather shove under the rug, or at least deal with in the happy and unhappy confines of their own communities – will strike some as unbalanced. We are mindful of the ways in which conversations about gender are at the center of group dynamics and politics in Muslim communities. But it is way past the time to be squeamish.

There have of course been feminist movements in the Muslim world which have drawn inspiration largely from secular sources. Those movements have opened some doors, and we look to open still others. We strive for what should be legitimately recognized as Islamic feminism. If that strikes some people as an oxymoron, we unapologetically suggest that it is their definition of Islam that needs rethinking, not our linkage of Islam and feminism.

Pluralism

In 1967, Martin Luther King, Jr. published a monumental essay titled “Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos Or Community?” Dr. King ended this essay by stating. “We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent coannihilation.”
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We too believe that as members of a single humanity, as people of faith, and as progressive Muslims, we have a choice, a choice we need to make today and every day.

Pluralism is the great challenge of the day not just for Muslims, but for all of humanity: can we find a way to celebrate our common humanity not in spite of our differences but
because
of them, through them, and beyond them? Can we learn to grow to the point where ultimately “we” refers not to an exclusivist grouping, but to what the Qur’an calls the
Bani Adam
, the totality of humanity?
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Challenging, undermining, and overthrowing the pre-Islamic tribal custom of narrowly identifying oneself with those who trace themselves to the

eponymous founder of a tribe, the Qur’an here describes all of humanity as members of one super-tribe, the human tribe. This is a great challenge, and yet what choice do we have but to rise up to meet it?

Can we live up to the challenge issued to us by the Prophet Muhammad, and rephrased so beautifully by the Persian poet Sa‘di? Can we envision each other as members of one body, to feel the pain of another as our own? Only then will we be worthy of the name “human being.”

Human beings are like members of one body created from one and the same essence.

When one member feels pain, the rest are distraught.

You, unmoved by the suffering of others, are unworthy of the name human!
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These days, of course, a lack of pluralism goes far beyond simple disagreement. All too often, fanatic bigotry finds expression in brutal violence. At times, this violence is deployed by paramilitary terrorist groups. At other times, it is unleashed by nation-states and their armies. Along with the overwhelming majority of Muslims, progressive Muslims stand firmly against all attacks on civilians, whether that violence comes from a terrorist group or a nation-state. Does it matter to those who have lost loved ones whether the instrument of death was held by a terrorist or a state-sponsored army? The twentieth century was by far the bloodiest in the history of humanity. May it be that in the twenty- first century – admittedly already off to a rocky start – we find a path to pluralism and a peace rooted in justice. I am often inspired by the courageous words of Martin Luther King, Jr., who stated:

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy.

Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. . . Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. . . .

Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

Muslims no less prominent than the incomparable Rumi have also echoed this emphasis on nonviolence, “Washing away blood with blood is impossible, even absurd!”
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The humane vision of pluralism articulated so eloquently above is a powerful issue for contemporary Muslims. It is no exaggeration to say that Muslims, for so long members of a pluralistic civilization that turned everyday interpersonal ethics into a choreographed exchange of civility, kindness, and generosity, are in real danger of losing their manners. It may seem odd to hear activists talk about the importance of manners, but I firmly hold that one of the most important measuring sticks of pluralism for us Muslims is the way that we treat each other. It is past time for us to restore the humaneness of interpersonal ethics (
adab
).

Years ago, I had the pleasure of running one of those errands that graduate

students in top-notch university programs are called upon to perform: drive a famous speaker to the airport. The speaker in this case was the renowned French expert on religious fundamentalism, Gilles Kepel, who had just given a great lecture comparing Jewish, Christian, and Islamic fundamentalisms. We had some time before his plane took off, so we sat in a cafe´ at the airport, and talked for a while. He was reminiscing about his travels to many parts of the world, and his interactions with various Abrahamic fundamentalists. At one point he leaned over and said, “You know what all three groups have in common?” I feverishly raced through my mind to find the most up-to-date theoretical articulation, but fortunately decided to remain silent and yield to this wise expert. He leaned over and said (in a wonderfully thick French accent), “They all have such bad adab!”

Ah, adab. . . that most essential, basic, and glorious of Muslim interpersonal codes. Adab is the compassionate, humane, selfless, generous, and kind etiquette that has been a hallmark of refined manners in Muslim cultures. Almost anyone who has ever traveled to areas that have been profoundly influenced by Muslim ethics has no doubt seen great examples of this wonderful way of being welcomed and put at ease.

It is precisely this compassionate humaneness that is missing from so much of contemporary Islam. Sadly, some of us Muslims are often quite rude to one another: not only do we brand each other as infidels, we oppress each other, we also cut each other off in speech, and are quick to anger. Words like
kufr
(infidelity),
shirk
(associating partners with God, i.e. polytheism), and
bid‘a
(heretical innovation) flow far too easily from our tongues. The finger that used

to point up at the end of prayers towards the Heavens now points most frequently at another Muslim. That same index finger that used to be a reminder of Divine Unity (
tawhid
) is now a symbol of accusation and
takfir
(branding another an infidel). What we are losing in all of this incivility is our very humanity. Here again Gandhi had a keen observation: “As soon as we lose the moral basis, we cease to be religious. There is no such thing as religion over- riding morality.”
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I suggest that this is one example where one of the strands of Islamic thought and practice, Sufism, has much to offer us.
Al-tasawwuf kulluhu al-adab
: All of Sufism is adab. Here I am not talking about formal initiation into Sufi orders, or elaborate cosmological speculations about the reflection of the loftiest heavenly realities in the very soul of humanity. Though there are many of us who are drawn to those aspects of Sufism as well, what I am pointing to here is something much simpler, and perhaps ultimately much more urgent. As

much as any group of Muslims, the Sufis have attempted to cultivate this interpersonal ethic at a communal level, and we would do well to cherish their
adab
yet again.

There is a lovely story that I recall from my childhood, a tale told of the great Sufi master Bayazid Bistami. Bayazid’s abode was flanked by a Zoroastrian (thus, non-Muslim) on one side, and a rather fanatical Muslim on the other. The Zoroastrian was quite fond of Bayazid and his gentle manners. The fanatic Muslim, on the other hand, never tired of bothering the Zoroastrian, and would periodically challenge him by saying, “If you like Bayazid so much, you should become Muslim!” One day the poor Zoroastrian snapped back,

“If being a Muslim is what Bayazid is, then I am not worthy of that.

But if being a Muslim is what you are, Then I don’t want to be that!”

Part of pluralism is measured by openness to engage sources of compassion and wisdom, no matter where they originate. No less a figure than Hazrat ‘Ali, the first Shi‘i Imam and the fourth Sunni Caliph, has stated that one should evaluate a statement based on what it says, not who says it. The great Muslim philosopher al-Kindi stated, “We should not be ashamed to acknowledge truth and to assimilate it from whatever source it comes to us, even if it is brought to us by former generations and foreign peoples. For him who seeks the truth there is nothing of higher value than truth itself; it never cheapens or abases him who reaches for it, but ennobles and honors him.”
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At times it is easier to hear first other wisdom traditions that have elaborated on certain themes before returning “home” to seek out long marginalized and exiled sub-traditions. Studying Christian liberation theology, for example, might ultimately help us recover voices that speak out on behalf of the oppressed in Islam. Taking a close look at Taoist teachings might remind us of long-forgotten Islamic teachings on the necessity of living in harmony with nature. I am not here talking about becoming a liberation theologian of Christianity, or a Taoist. Rather, we sometimes need a refresher course to remind us that such concerns have also been part of the spectrum of interpretation in Islamic thought. Our task could then consist of bringing back to the foreground concerns that have fallen off the

radar, so to speak.

Living in the twenty-first century, I urge Muslims to consider that it is no longer sufficient to study only the Qur’an and
hadith
. In addition to those essential founts of wisdom, we need to be conversant with Rumi and Ibn al-‘Arabi, Plato and Ibn Sina, Ghazzali and Hazrat ‘Ali, Chomsky and Abu Dharr, Gandhi and Arundhati Roy, Rabi‘a and Maya Angelou, Robert Fisk and Edward Said, His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Elie Wiesel, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, Sa‘di and Hafez, Qawwals of South Asia and Eqbal Ahmed, and of course Bob Dylan and Bob Marley.
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A friend was joking with me about the above, saying that we are all going to need bigger desks, bigger book shelves, bigger CD cases, bigger mp3 files. . . . Yes, all these things must be expanded. And bigger hearts, and bigger intellects too. As big as humanity.

II SS

TT HH II SS

AA NN ““ II SS LL AA MM II CC RR EE FF OO RR MM AA TT II OO NN ”” ??

When confronted with the challenging issues that we engage in this volume, some people have asked us if we envision this as a sort of “Islamic reformation.” The question is usually asked seriously, and it deserves a serious answer. The answer is both yes and no.

There are progressive Muslims, like the courageous scholar Abdullahi an-Na‘im, who argue passionately for the usefulness of the term “Islamic reformation.”
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It is undeniably true that there are serious economic, social, and political issues in the Muslim world that need urgent remedying. It is equally true that these changes will take time, and it is also likely that they will be extremely difficult to achieve, as the recent experiences of the courageous reformers in Iran so amply demonstrates. Much of the Muslim world is bound to a deeply disturbing economic structure in which it provides natural resources (most importantly in the Middle East, of course, oil) for the global market, while at the same time remaining dependent on Western labor, technological know-how, and staple goods. This economic situation is exacerbated in many parts of the modern Muslim world by atrocious human rights situations, crumbling educational systems, and worn out economies. If one is talking about a reformation that would address all of those levels, then I would suspect that most progressive Muslims would readily support that usage of the term.