On the brink of precipice: Contemporary terrorism and limits of the state

"On the brink of precipice: Contemporary terrorism and limits of the state"

PROFESSOR IMTIAZ AHMED December 4, 2005, in The Independant [Dhaka, Bangladesh]

[Blogger's Note: While only partly pertaining to Sufism, this article --among other points-- addresses "the modernist or Western construction of Sufism [and its] impact on the contemporary understanding of Islam."]

The debate is still on as to the birth of contemporary terrorism, a phenomenon that has come to haunt the people of not only affluent societies but also poverty-ridden societies. In Europe, America, Africa, Central Asia, the Middle East and, of course, near home in South Asia the debate has produced a plethora of literature and above all a formidable line up of scholars and opinion-builders passionately arguing for the one or the other, or even settling for a combination of the two. Bangladesh is no exception in this respect. Here too the scholars, politicians, retired bureaucrats and military officials, journalists, women activists, at times, even members of donor agencies, have passionately contributed to the debate. The bulk of them, however, chose to blame ‘poverty’ and the ‘gap between the rich and the poor’ for all the terrorist activities in the country. Specificity cannot be ruled out, and so they argued that what is true for Bangladesh may not hold true for the rest of the world and vice versa. But then, what about the terrorism of yesteryears? Masterda Surya Sen, Pritilata and not to mention Aurobindo and all the beatified Bengal terrorists of the colonial era - were they not all bhadrasantans (sons of gentlemen)? More importantly, what about the post-colonial terrorists - the Naxalites and the members of Siraj Sikder outfit - were they not also from social classes relatively well off? Indeed, the core leadership could hardly be dubbed as ‘poor and deprived’! But this is only one side of the matter, and I must quickly add that I would hesitate to fall for a dichotomous resolution of the issue, that is, if it is not ‘poverty’ then ‘affluence’ is responsible for the birth of contemporary terrorism, which incidentally is best advocated by the Muslim-basher Daniel Pipes, although he restricts his contention to America and the Middle East. My contention is qualitatively different from the syndromes of poverty and affluence or crass economism, but before attempting to delve into the intricacies of my contention let me highlight two issues informing the nature of contemporary terrorism, incidentally found in both developed and maldeveloped societies.

Firstly, the profiling of suicide bombers in Gaza, Lebanon, Colombo, New York, Washington, Kashmir, and more recently, Madrid and London has convincingly shown that not only were the terrorists relatively well off but also did not have their education in religious schools, as is the popular perception. The bulk of them actually had a secular education and had an upbringing high enough for them to mix and mingle with a cross section of people and also roam around in areas and avenues free from suspicion and the constant monitoring of the police. If anything that were common to them it was a deep sense of mistrust and intolerance of the Other. And this brings us to the second issue.

There is now a universalization of intolerance. Tolerance, however, if we were to trace its origins in the political domain, has imperial connotation, as Jacques Derrida pointed out in an interview, interestingly, immediately after 9/11: "Tolerance is always on the side of the ‘reason of the strongest,’ where ‘might is right’; it is supplementary mark of sovereignty, the good face of sovereignty, which says to the other from its elevated position, I am letting you be, you are not insufferable, I am leaving you a place in my home, but do not forget that this is my home..."

But when the ‘reason’ becomes questionable and the ‘might’ starts losing its grip over the population, even if it were only a miniscule section, there is always a quick slide into intolerance. Post-9/11 America, post-London bombing England, post-Bali bombing Australia, and more recently, post-deveiled France, are good examples of what seemed to many as an overnight return of intolerance.

But what makes an overnight return of intolerance possible? And for that matter, what about in places and with people where such ‘reason of the strongest’ is wanting or at the best an illusion or a lost dream to be recovered? Where constant catching up with the ‘modern’ results in periodic disillusionment? Where aspirations remain truncated? Where the path of development is soaked in blood and violence? Or, where the reason of the self gets fused with the reason of the state? Where the myth of Sisyphus becomes the newfound reality? Can we, if we were to pursue these queries seriously, expect tolerance from the fractured or those having a mental condition of being constantly threatened or those who are hyped up in the infinite ladder of modernity and progress? Evidence of intolerance resulting from the above is ample in America, Africa, Australia, Europe and Asia.

Put differently, modernity, far from reproducing tolerance, has in its composition complex structures of intolerance. Indeed, following the birth of modernity and during the Reign of Terror some 10,000 people lost their lives, most of whom fell victim to the post-medieval, yet ‘tyrannical,’ secular state. But this was only the beginning. By twentieth century assassination, incarceration, torture, mass murder, including the killing of 6 million Jews, 22 million Soviets and no less horrifying number of people in Hamburg (some 40,000), Dresden (at least 70,000), Hiroshima (over 70,000) and Nagasaki (between 60,000 and 80,000), all were carried out for the reason of the state, the latter allegedly facing an imminent rupture and decline. In this context, Samuel Huntington’s plea for state’s vigilance and rearmament in the face of an eventual ‘Clash of civilizations’ or George Bush’s ‘War on terrorism’ remain identical for they both sanction violence and terror for reproducing the ‘reason of the strongest’ and making room for a precise brand of tolerance or should I say, intolerance!

Bangladesh, in this respect, is no exception, although like elsewhere the nature of the state is marked by specificities. Let me highlight this in some details. I will divide my contention into four sections. The first section will take up the issue of modernity and how it has come to reproduce intolerance, particularly the ‘religious’ variant of it, in the country. This does not cancel the secular version of intolerance, rather adds and makes best use of the latter. The second section will then examine the ‘other side’ of globalization, keeping in mind that the people of the country are not living in isolation but are constantly and creatively networking with the globalized world. But then such networks often end up being less than formal, servicing the non-state elements, including the ‘dubious and shadowy’ people. The third section will take up the issue of weapons technology in the age of globalization and how it has come to transform the power of the non-state, indeed, to the detriment of the state. In sum, the subjective condition and the objective reality - both at the state level and beyond - have not only put a limit to the power of the state but also proven to be a deadly combination in the reproduction of contemporary terrorism in Bangladesh. The concluding section will deal with the issue of what is to be done.

I: Modernity and the Reproduction of Religious Intolerance

It is now widely accepted that the conversion to Islam in Bengal in the thirteenth century was more voluntary in nature and less the result of a coercive policy of the Muslim rulers. In fact, the [conversion to Islam in Bengal] resulted mainly from the preaching of Islam by the Sufis. But the modernist or Western construction of Sufism had a profound impact on the contemporary understanding of Islam, including the rendering of education in Bengal and now Bangladesh. Indeed, by the end of the eighteenth century the Orientalists started dividing the Islamic scholarship into ‘core Islamic thought’ based on the practices of Muslim rulers predisposed to ‘harsh legalism’ and the ‘abstract mystical philosophy’ of Sufism ‘indifferent to matters of religious law,’ with the latter suggestively having ‘an external origin in India or elsewhere’. A key Orientalist, Lt. James William Graham, went to the extent of saying that the Indian subjects in fact regard the British as Sufis: "We are, generally speaking, at least in this country, looked upon as a species or one kind of Sufi, from our non-observance here of any rites or forms, conceiving a worship of the Deity in mind and adherence to morality sufficient. In fine, the present free-thinker or modern philosopher of Europe would be esteemed as a sort of Sufi in the world, and not the one retired therefrom."

The idea was mainly to isolate Sufism from Islam to the point of making the latter thoroughly apathetic if not opposed to reason and free thinking. This had profound implications for the people of both Islamic and non-Islamic world. Islam in the modern West came to be understood as devoid of reason, while the followers of Islam, often naively if not shamelessly agreeing to the Western categorization of Islam, saw modernity as anti-Islamic. Only now with post-structuralism advocating the limits of reason do we find a renewed interest in the Islamic scholarship in the West. In fact, often a parallel is now made between Ibn al-Arabi’s (the Islamic ‘Sufi’ scholar who earned the honour of al-Shaykh al-Akhbar [1165-1240]) understanding of ‘Real’ and Jacques Derrida’s understanding of ‘différance,’ both trying to free their respective word/concept from the ‘shackles of reason’. But the ‘parcellized’ understanding of Islam already took its toll in the colonial world, including Bengal.

Islamic revivalism in Bengal during the colonial period came more as a reaction to the Western domination. The core message of various revival movements in the nineteenth century was a return to an authentic version of Islam, an authenticity now defined in terms of the ‘external’ - the Arab culture and tradition. This is particularly prominent in the anti-colonial, but no less Islamic, movements of the 1820s, for instance, the Faraidi movement led by Haji Shariat Ullah and the Tariqah i Muhammadiah movement led by Titu Mir. Shariat Ullah studied Islam for ten years in Mecca and was influenced by Wahhabism, a puritan movement developed by Abdul Wahhab [1703-1792] in Arabia. Shariat Ullah’s son, Dudu Miyan, took a more militant approach in reviving Islam. He confronted the Hindu Zamindars against their ruthless exploitation of the largely converted Muslim peasants. The Faraidi movement even denounced the Pirs (cult of the saints) and criticized the latter as contrary to Islam. It may be mentioned that the term Faraidi, derived from the Arabic faraid, the plural of faraida, signified obligations commanded in Islam. In setting its goal for Islamic revivalism, the Faraidi leaders underlined five foundations of Islam: Kalima (the doctrine of the uniqueness of God), Salat (prayer), Roza (fasting), Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca) and Zakat (tax for the poor). This practically led to the separation of ‘spiritualism [roohaniyat], mysticism [tassawuf] and piety [taqwa]’ from what may be called ‘ritualistic formalism’ or ‘legalism’ in the understanding of Islam. In some cases this has reduced Islam, as Eqbal Ahmad used to say, "to a penal code and its history to a series of violent episodes." Islam in the nineteenth century colonized Bengal, for that matter, was different from the Islam of the relatively autonomous Bengal of the thirteenth century. Not only did the British redefine the meaning of Islam by keeping Sufism at bay but also the Islamic revival movements, aided no less by the doctrine of Wahhabism, constructed a highly formalized version of Islam devoid of spiritualism, piety and mysticism. In the field of education this had a devastating impact in so far as inter-religious and intra-religious issues were concerned.

In the first place there was the deliberate displacement of the madrasahs, the Islamic educational institutions, in favour of modern secular education during the colonial period. This consisted not only in the forcible closure of some of the known madrasahs under the direction of the British but also the stopping of maadat-e-maash (allowances in the form of land grants) and the confiscation of lakheraj (rent free lands of the madrasahs) and making them rental, which practically contributed to the closing down of the madrasahs in large numbers in the nineteenth century. It may be mentioned that the first madrasah in Bengal was established by Sheikh Sharfuddin Abu Tawama, a saint and great scholar, in the middle of the thirteenth century at a place called Mograpara in Sonargaon near Dhaka, which later attained the status of what would now be an university but fell into decline following the British domination of Bengal.

No less befitting however was the rendering of modern education in Bengal. The Enlightenment and the modernist discourse have already placed Islam, both as religion and civilization, in the medieval period. Indian history came to be chronologised (interestingly by a person in the name of James Stuart Mill who never visited India!) into ‘ancient,’ ‘medieval’ and ‘modern’ with the Hindus, Muslims and the British (or by implication, the Christians) corresponding to them respectively. Muslims attending the modern educational institutions and tutored in modernity felt humiliated and sought the replacement of it by an authentic version of Islam, ironically to situate Islam and by implication themselves at the top! The governmentalisation of education in post-colonial Bangladesh further contributed to the reproduction of this self-consciousness, which often slipped into being something of a self-righteousness of the Muslims.

Secondly, the colonial power established ‘modern’ madrasahs, indeed, modelled very much on its ‘parcellized’ understanding of Islam, which further created grounds for dissension and conflict both within and outside the community. Guided by the colonial government and headed by a European, the Calcutta Alia Madrasah (established in 1781) set a new trend in the madrasah education in Bengal. It favoured teaching Muslim law and jurisprudence rather than an all-round education of the Muslims. It may be mentioned that the Calcutta Alia Madrasah was originally meant for the training of the British officials sent to administer colonial India. Only later did the colonial government allow the Muslim natives to study there, but then with the same intention of administering and supporting colonial India. But that is not all.

The first Head Maulvi of the Madrasah, Mulla Majid-ud-Deen, while making the syllabus of Calcutta Alia Madrasah was influenced by the dars-i Nizami system of madrasah education. It may be mentioned that Majid-ud-Deen was a direct student of Mulla Nizamuddin, the founder of the dars-i Nizami system. The system was originally promoted during the reign of Emperor Aurangzeb, a bigoted Mughal emperor. In fact, Aurangzeb not only had his father, Emperor Shahjahan, restrained within the premise of the palace but also had his eldest brother, Dara Shikoh, the heir apparent, summarily tried and killed on account of heresy. Furthermore, the exhaustive digest of Islamic Law, Fatawa-i Alamgiri, which was known for its harsh legalism, including ‘rigid and stern’ position on heresy (kufr) was compiled at the directive of Aurangzeb. According to one critic, "Aurangzeb’s superfluous adherence to the letter of the law was a subject of many jokes among the nobles. When he was about to depute an army against rebels in the South (who were incidentally Muslims), one of the nobles remarked in his presence, "Your Majesty! Why send an army? Tell the Qazi Sahib, he may be able to crush the enemy with a fatwa!’" In light of this it can easily be deduced that the dars-i Nizami system of Mulla Nizamuddin, a direct beneficiary of Aurangzeb, promoted a legalistic version of Islam mainly for reproducing the power of the state. Islamic education otherwise became correlated with the reason of the state.

Instructed by Lord Hastings, Majid-ud-Deen made the syllabus giving priority to Islamic law and jurisprudence in line with the dars-i Nizami system. In imparting education the madrasahs of Bengal followed the dars-i Nizami system, particularly during the colonial period and also during the Pakistan period of Bangladesh. However, the government-funded madrasahs replaced the dars-i Nizami system in post-independence Bangladesh. I will have more to say about this shortly. According to the dars-i Nizami system, a student needed to complete his studies at the age of 17/18 to be able to read and understand any of the ninety-nine proscribed books, which, apart from being all written in Arabic and Persian, included nothing on ‘mysticism.’

When it comes to the Bengali Muslims searching for authenticity there is hardly a difference between the modern secular education and the modern madrasah education imparted by the colonial power, only that the search for authenticity in the former is more sophisticated than the latter. However, a more noticeable difference is found in terms of the students getting into such education, indeed, with diminishing job prospects, a fewer of the meritorious students enter the madrasah education, and this includes the Qawmi madrasahs as well. I will have more to say about the latter. Suffice to point out here is that in both secular and madrasah educational institutions, Islam began to be understood in its legalistic version or something that is very ‘rigid and severe’ which only helped to reproduce religious intolerance and fundamentalism. In Bangladesh often this invited violence when the post-1971 Bengali Muslims, somewhat insecure of its newly found identity and falling back on the question of authenticity, started objecting to the life and living of the non-Muslims, including the non-Sunni Muslims, the Ahmaddiyas.

Madrasah education changed considerably following the independence of Bangladesh. There are now two types of madrasahs: Alia and Qawmi. The former offers both religious education and modern general education and is under the management of Bangladesh Madrasah Education Board (BMEB), an autonomous body since 1979 but largely funded by the government. The BMEB is also responsible for establishing madrasahs, appointing teachers and making the curriculum for all Alia Madrasahs. Qawmi Madrasahs, on the other hand, are non-government or private madrasahs. Only last year a private body called Befaqul Mudarressin of Bangladesh Qawmi Madrasah Education Board was formed to coordinate the education of all Qawmi Madrasahs. It may be mentioned that in 1971 there were approximately 1,351 Madrasahs with 300,000 students in Bangladesh. Currently there are 25,201 Alia Madrasahs with 3 million students and 8,000 Qawmi Madrasahs. There is hardly any credible information on the number of students in Qawmi Madrasahs; a guesstimate would be nearly a million.

But apart from the steep rise in the number of students in Alia Madrasahs the curriculum of the latter also changed considerably. Following the independence of Bangladesh the Alia Madrasahs replaced the dars-i Nizami system in large measure and had it replaced by a curriculum prepared by the Bangladesh Madrasah Education Board. This included, apart from the teachings of Arabic, the Quran, Hadith (Prophet’s traditions), Aqaid (Code of Islamic religious beliefs) and Fiqh (Jurisprudence or Law of Islamic conduct), courses on Bengali, General Mathematics, Social Science, General Science and English.

[first part of what may be a longer article]

The writer is a Professor of International Relations at the University of Dhaka.