christianity

For Allah’s sake!

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By Khaled Diab

Christians across the Muslim world use ‘Allah’ to refer to ‘God’, so why has this led to violence and controversy in Malaysia?

12 February 2010

Malaysia is often held up as an example of how different ethnic and religious groups can live side by side in peaceful coexistence. But this feted tolerance is being put under enormous strain and all, ostensibly, because of a word.

The word in question is ‘Allah’ and the controversy revolves around whether Malaysian Christians have a right to use it in their Bibles and liturgical services. Many Malaysian Muslims find it offensive and unacceptable that Christians use what they see as exclusively their own word for ‘God’, and a small number of extremists have taken matters into their own hands and firebombed three churches.

The Kuala Lumpur High Court has upheld the right of Christians to refer to God as Allah but the government, to its enormous discredit, is playing the populist card and is appealing the verdict, perhaps in a bid to prop up its popularity with the majority by positioning itself as some kind of ‘defender of the faith’.

The court’s decision is, of course, right, as anyone with a sense of history and a knowledge of semantics and etymology knows. After all, ‘Allah’ is simply the Arabic word for ‘God’ or ‘god’. That’s why it has always irritated me when translations of the Qur’an talk of Allah, not God, and certain western Christians claim that Allah is not the same god as the one they worship.

The word itself – which is a contraction of the Arabic al-illah (the God) – predates Islam. It was used by the Arabs to refer to the chief god of Mecca, the creator of the world and the giver of rain, who – along with his daughters al-Uzza, Manat and al-Lat – was venerated around the black stone of the Ka’aba.

With the advent of Islam, Allah became the only God, but he also acquired an additional 98 names, each referring to a different attribute of the single deity – or looked at laterally, the 99 attributes could be seen, like the Christian Trinity, as a form of light polytheism which survived the monotheistic purges.

Even under Islam, the word ‘Allah’ has not lost its general sense. For example, the beginning of the shehada, or Islamic creed, tells us that: “La illaha ila Allah”, or “There is no god but God”. The word is also used in the plural. For example, the ancient Egyptian gods are known as ‘allehet el-misriyoun el-qodama’ and Eros/Cupid is described as ‘illah el-hob’ (‘the god of love’).

For this reason, and the fact that the three main monotheistic faiths worship the same Abrahamic god (though they disagree on how they should worship ‘It’), Christians and Jews in Arab countries and other parts of the Muslim world have, for centuries, referred to God as Allah. In Egypt, for instance, Copts say “Allah mahaba” or “God is love” and I have met Christians whose name is Abdullah (Servant of God).

So, what is behind the controversy? Is it simply about an article of faith or is there more to it? Part of the problem could simply be ignorance and confusion, since Malaysian don't speak Arabic and so may not be aware of the broader uses of the word 'Allah'.

Fellow Chronikler Christian Nielsen suggests that it may have something to do with the ideas of the ‘One Malaysia’ or ‘Malaysian Malaysia’ movement, which started life as an affirmative action programme to empower the country’s indigenous populations (50% of the population is Malay and 60% are Muslim). Ethnic Indians and Chinese – many of whose forefathers were brought in by the British to work the mines and plantations or bring in professional expertise – seem still to be viewed by certain Malays, who regard them as a by-product of colonialism, with some distrust.

Though the idea of One Malaysia originally sought to forge a coherent national identity and protect the rights of all of Malaysia’s ethnic and religious groups – Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Malay, Chinese and Indian – in recent times, it has spurred growing Malay nationalism and Islamisation.

So rather than build an identity that thrives on diversity, it seems the movement is moving slowly towards exclusion and jingoism. If action is not taken soon to transform Malaysia into a land for all its citizens, the country’s famed tolerance could be threatened and the diversity that has served Malaysia so well could further fracture ethnic relations.

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Egyptian football’s pious turn

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By Osama Diab

The national team is increasingly flaunting its Muslim religiosity. Where does that leave Christian, let alone secular Egyptians?

4 February 2010

I am a big fan of Egypt's football team, and I have a jersey with six stars sitting in my closet that I take out proudly on days of decisive games to show support for them. The stars symbolise every African cup Egypt has won since 1957, when it claimed its first. I hope that Egypt will be able to add a seventh title to its impressive record by winning the cup in the tournament currently underway.

But I'm facing a real moral dilemma here. The national team of Egypt is starting to symbolise everything I stand against, namely homogeneity and intolerance. Should I keep rooting for my team despite the fact that it has taken an uncomfortable ideological diversion? Or should I keep my beliefs separate from my team affiliation?

My quandary is rooted in a statement by Hassan Shehata, the Egyptian national coach, who said that his squad selection is not only based on skills and competence, but also on piety. Also, the team's nickname is gradually changing from the Pharaohs to Montakhab el-Sagedeen (literally the team of prostrators). Sogood, or prostration, is an Islamic religious act used to express gratitude for God after achieving something. After scoring any goal, the entire Egyptian soccer team put their faces against the ground to show their thankfulness.

"Without [piety], we will never select any player regardless of his potential. I always strive to make sure that those who wear the Egypt jersey are on good terms with God," Hassan Shehata said, according to AP. Al-Shorouk also quoted Shehata saying that striker Mido, who once had a ponytail and dated Miss Belgium 2000, Joke van de Velde, was dismissed because he did not live up to the manager's pious ideals.

This will soon result in a situation where only practicing Muslims identify strongly with the team. Secular Muslims and religious minorities will feel indifferent at best. The team currently doesn't have a Christian player, in a country where at least 10% of the population are Christians. Hany Ramzy, one of the best defenders in the history of Egyptian football, was a Coptic Christian. However, the next time this happens, the Christian player will feel like an outcast if religious players, like Ahmed Fathy, force everyone to kneel after scoring a goal.

This phenomenon is just one small part of a bigger problem. Egypt is turning rapidly into a homogeneous society, where you need to be male, Muslim, physically able, young and from a middle-class urban area in order not to feel alienated.

I don't believe the phenomenon is just about religious beliefs. It is as much about sticking more than ever to traditional values to protect the fabric of society against cultural attacks from outside. It's a characteristic of weak societies to perceive anything foreign as a threat, including principles of equality, tolerance and justice.

This article will also be considered by some as one more evil attempt to impose western ideas on our pious eastern society, but diversity and tolerance should not only be western values but universal ones.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 29 January 2010. Read the related discussion.

Published here with the author's permission. ©Osama Diab. All rights reserved.

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Polygamy for all

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By Khaled Diab

A Saudi journalist is demanding that women be given the right to four husbands. Should equality mean monogamy or polygamy for all?

6 January 2010

They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But it does: the roaring rage of injured male pride. This was amply demonstrated in Egypt when a female Saudi journalist had the audacity to apply logic and consistency to challenge an area of traditional male privilege.

In an article provocatively entitled My four husbands and I, Nadine al-Bedair quite sensibly posed the logical question: if Muslim men are entitled to marry up to four wives, why can't women, in the spirit of equality between believers, have four husbands?

"I have long questioned why it is men have a monopoly on this right. No one has been able to explain to me convincingly why it is I'm deprived of the right to polyandry," she complains.

The outspoken Saudi then goes on to deconstruct and question the traditional justifications for polygamy, including that, in a traditional patriarchal society, it is a shelter for widows, divorcees and women who can't find a spouse; that men have greater sexual appetites than women and get easily bored; that women can't handle more than one man; and that, if women could have multiple husbands, determining paternity would not be possible (an excuse made obsolete by modern science).

"They tell me that I, as a woman, can't handle more than one man physically. I say that women who cheat on their husbands and the 'sellers of love' [ie prostitutes] do much more," she counters.

Unsurprisingly, the article's honest tone and irreverence has triggered a furious response from the traditional male establishment. Some Islamic clerics have denounced the article and promised the "blaspheming" author divine retribution, while an Egyptian MP has decided not to wait that long and has already brought a lawsuit against her.

While few have openly voiced support for al-Bedair's call for this kind of equality in the Islamic marriage stakes, some Islamic authorities have defended her by saying that her true purpose was to highlight how badly some women are treated by their husbands, especially those who take on second or third wives, despite Islam's demand that a man treats all his wives equally.

For her part, al-Bedair ends her article with a call that society either allows polyandry for women or comes up with a new "map of marriage". One Cairo imam, Sheikh Amr Zaki, believes the way to go is to confine polygamy to the scrapheap of history. "In our world today, polygamy should be unacceptable. There is no need for it and, besides, no man can truly love more than one woman and vice versa," he opined.

And his view corresponds with that of the Egyptian mainstream. Although Islam permits polygamy, most Egyptians are jealously monogamous, with men who take on more than one wife often mocked or marginalised by the community and the first wife often so full of shame that she requests a divorce. Nevertheless, the question remains: which is fairer and more equitable – monogamy or polygamy for all?

Even in monogamous societies, informal polygamy is a reality. In Europe, for instance, though most people, myself included, are serial monogamists, many men and women have multiple partners or lovers simultaneously, and there is a growing tendency to be open about this. However, the law has not kept up.

"A man can live with two women in Britain perfectly legally, but if he marries them both it's a crime punishable by up to seven years in jail," Brian Whitaker observed on CiF. "If a man wants to have more than one wife, or a woman to have more than one husband, and everyone enters into the arrangement openly and voluntarily, what exactly is wrong with that?" he asks.

Of course, traditional models of polygny (and polyandry, in a minority of societies) tend to reflect social inequalities, both between genders, generations and classes. And assuming a 50:50 gender divide, polygamy not only means that women in polygamous relationships not only receive a small fraction of a man, but that some unfortunate men lower down the pecking order will get no woman at all.

But there are perhaps more equitable modern models of polygamy and polyandry emerging in which men and women who are largely social equals enter into complex relationships that go beyond the nuclear family through which they hope better to fulfil their emotional and physical needs.

Of course, as my wife points out, marriage is becoming, in many ways, obsolete, as fewer and fewer people choose to take that path, and European largely have the freedom to choose the living arrangement that best suits them. But to my mind, it's a question of principle. For example, gay people don't need to marry to share a life together, but that should not mean they have no right to.

In my view, if the institution of marriage is to survive, it should not be so limiting and be made flexible enough to enable people to customise it to their unique needs.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 2 January 2010. Read the related discussion.

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Faith in our children

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By Khaled Diab

Much as we’d like our children to hold the same things dear as we do, we should have enough faith in them to let them choose their own belief system.

27 November 2009

Our unborn child is so hip that he is fashionably late for his own birthday reception. Though he is already something of a globetrotter, he seems unwilling to wean himself off the five-star womb service to which he has grown accustomed.

Once our son finally decides to shine for his parents,  he will be the biological embodiment of innocence, a clean sheet, unaware of the world or of his place in it. Our choices and decisions on his behalf will have potentially lifelong consequences. Even something as apparently straightforward as a name, especially given his mixed cultural background, will play a significant role in shaping his identity.

Although there are many things a child cannot choose or change, including the parents (s)he is lumbered with and where (s)he is born, one area that should certainly not be hereditary is faith. We are determined to leave the choice of belief systems to our son to make for himself, once he is old enough to do so.

In this, we agree with the message of Ariane Sherine's 'Please don't label me' campaign, though this is something Katleen and I have had an understanding about for many years, in the context of the hypothetical 'what if' games we're so fond of.

This is partly due to our belief in freedom of choice, and there is no domain so personal as the belief system one subscribes to. We also do not wish to deprive him of the beautiful aspects of his triple heritage – secular humanist, Muslim and Christian.

In addition, since we are both of a sceptical bent, reject dogma and accept the possibility that we may be wrong in our evolving beliefs, we think it is only sensible that our child should reach its own conclusions. Until that time, he will not be exposed to the overtly ritualistic or liturgical aspects of religion, except as an outside observer: no church or mosque, no Bible or Qur'an, no circumcision or communion.

Despite our rejection of organised religion, we will raise our son to appreciate the power of faith and attempt to give him a balanced appreciation of both the beauty and ugliness of religion and its role in shaping human civilisation.

That's not to say we will actually go out of our way to educate him about religion, not least because we're not that interested in it. As Katleen rightly asserts, we will approach the topic from a cultural perspective and try to discuss and contextualise what exposure he has to religion as and when it occurs.

But certain things will be harder in practice than in theory. It is inevitable that our own views and biases will be conveyed to our son. Perhaps understandably given our own convictions, we will wish him to grow up to be an adult for whom religion is inconsequential, except on an intellectual and cultural level, and who respects our common humanity above all else. But if he decides to embrace a faith, we will also be happy that he has found his own path, as long as he is tolerant of other world views.

Another major challenge will be society. In spite of our best efforts not to label our child, there is no guarantee that others will not go ahead and do so anyway – or try to introduce him by stealth to their chosen faith.

Although Europe has largely moved away from the assumption that a child is born into a faith, some may presume on the strength of his surname and possibly his appearance (if his North African side shows through strongly in his features) that he is a Muslim, and even discriminate against him on that basis.

Education is also a concern, and we will have to monitor carefully his schools activities – especially if he ends up in a "Catholic" school – to ensure that he receives no religious instruction.

In the Arab world, it is widely believed, among both Muslims and Christians, that faith is hereditary – an issue I addressed in this article – and so many will also make unwelcome assumptions.

This won't be a problem with immediate family and is also no longer an issue with the Egyptian bureaucracy. Luckily, earlier this year, Egyptians got the right to leave the religion field blank in their ID cards.

And when our son comes of age, it will be up to him and no one else to decide which faith ticks his box.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 26 November 2009. Read the related discussion.

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The great Santa controversy

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Is this Santa Claus?

Is this Santa Claus?

By Khaled Diab

It’s the Western world’s greatest childhood controversy: does Santa Claus exist? The answer is both comforting and disturbing to the children among us and within us.

December 2008

Kids at a primary school in Manchester got an unpleasant surprise when a supply teacher told them that Santa Claus does not exist. Aggrieved parents were angry because the teacher had shattered all those childhood illusions of a jolly ho-ho-ho superhero whose apparently found a way, equipped with only a few reindeer and a flying sleigh, to bend the time-space continuum, and like a weird quantum particle, be in millions of places at once.

 For her transgression, the poor teacher got the sack – and not the one containing Santa’s toys – which is unfair considering that she was only telling the truth. Besides, should seven- or eight-year-olds continue to live in a Never Land of infantile fantasy and how many of them truly believe in Father Christmas anyway?

 Having grown up in a Muslim household, I never did, and many of my friends at that age either knew or suspected that it was an elaborate game of make-believe. And childhood, after all is about make-believe: suspending disbelief for the fun of it.

 An American friend says that, by the age of five, two glaring clues led him to deduce the non-existence of Santa: that it was physically impossible for him to visit every house in the world at midnight and his workshop seemed to churn out branded toys he saw in the shops. At about the same age, an Australian friend decided Father Christmas was a hoax because he rode through suburbia on a tandem trailer and bore a striking, and sweaty, resemblance to a bloke who lived down the road.

 However, in a generous seasonal gesture of damage limitation, I have some good news for the kids at Blackshaw Lane primary school: Santa Claus is real and, in many ways, is far more interesting that the hyped-up, fairy tale version we know today.

 Once upon a time (in the third century), in a land far, far away (Byzantine Anatolia, to be precise), there lived a man called Nicholas (270-345) who was so saintly that the church canonised him within a century of his death – hence, ‘Santa Claus’.

 As Bishop of Myra, his devoutness led him to use his significant inheritance to help the poor while leading a life of austerity himself. One story tells of how the goodly bishop anonymously helped an old man with the dowry for his three daughters by tossing bags of gold through their open window which landed in stockings hanging up to dry by the hearth (sound familiar?).

 But the man had a less pleasant and more militant side. He lived around the time when Christians, like so many other movements, were about to go from being the persecuted to become the persecutors.

 Bishop Nicholas is believed to have attended this First Ecumenical Council which stamped out competing views of the nature of Christ, such as Arianism, which held that Jesus was not of the same substance, i.e. ‘consubstantial’, as God, undermining the Trinity.

 Like a present-day Talib destroying “pagan” statues of Buddha, Saint Nicholas is also attributed with razing numerous pre-Christian temples, including that of the Roman goddess Diana.

 Interestingly, Diana’s birthday is on 6 December which later became the Saint’s own day. Some historians believe this is no coincidence and was intended as a way of giving a Christian identity to an ancient festival that refused to die away – much like Christmas as a substitute for popular pagan mid-winter festivals.

 So, what caused Saint Nicholas to drift nearly three weeks down the calendar? Well, in Belgium and the Netherlands, ‘Sinterklaas’, as it is known locally, is still celebrated on 6 December, with a lot of fanfare, including the Saint’s eagerly awaited arrival with his Moorish helpers from Spain, where he is believed to live.

 In England, the personification of Christmas as a jolly old man – known as Sir, Lord or Father Christmas – began in the 17th century to resist party-pooper Puritans. In fact, unlike the annual tabloid rumours of local council’s prohibiting Christmas, Oliver Cromwell actually did ban the observance of the feast in 1644.

 The original personification of Christmas was not as a gift bearer for children. This idea arrived in Victorian times from the United States, in whose melting pot, Saint Nicholas, brought by Dutch immigrants to New Amsterdam (now New York), was merged with the Anglo-Saxon Father Christmas. Interestingly, the Netherlands and Belgium, recently re-imported this tradition from the United States and now have a “kerstman” (the Christmas Man) on Christmas Eve, in addition to their Sinterklaas.

 Going even further back, Santa Claus seems to borrow heavily from pre-Christian Germanic beliefs, such as the chief Norse god Odin, who would ride at the head of a celestial hunting party. Moreover, Norse children would place their boots, filled with carrots, straw, or sugar, near the chimney for Odin’s flying horse, Sleipnir, to eat. In return, they were rewarded with a gift.

 Santa as we know him may not be real, but the story of the man and the myth is more fascinating than a pot-bellied old man in a red suit crying out “Ho, ho, ho!” Merry Christmas all.

 

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 24 December 2008. Read the related discussion.

This is an archive piece that was migrated to this website from Diabolic Digest

 

 

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