fasting

The fast and the furious

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By Osama Diab

Police in Egypt are using Ramadan to target secularists. The government must do more to protect individual liberty.

16 September 2009

Over the last week, several blogs have included reports about the Egyptian police arresting people for eating and smoking publicly during the day in Ramadan, when Muslims are supposed to be fasting. At first I thought this might just be the action of a few individual officers or – since the blogs did not cite a source – perhaps it was nothing more than a rumour. I was shocked to discover that not only was it true, but it was also actually a campaign sponsored by Egypt's interior ministry.

A judicial source in the attorney general's office told the al-Shorouk newspaper that eating in public in Ramadan is elet adab (lack of decency), and added that the interior ministry issued a decree several years ago that gave police officers the right to arrest and fine anyone found eating publicly during Ramadan. Newspaper reports suggest that police have arrested more than 155 people, mainly in the tourist city of Aswan.

The interior ministry has defended the campaign and its spokesman, general Hamdy Abdel-Karim, hit back at criticisms from human rights organisations saying: "They should learn to have some measure of decency. In the past, Egyptians used to be decent. I hope they return to it."

The increasing popularity of Islamist groups such as the Muslim Brotherhood has forced the government to adopt a more righteous stance. The regime is keen to prove it is as pious as the Brotherhood, but, in a nation that was named by Gallup as the most religious country on the planet, the campaign is also an attempt to contain public discontent over some of the government's secular practices.

More importantly, the comments on the al-Shorouk newspaper's website all supported the police's actions. Part of the shock is that al-Shorouk is a progressive newspaper, attracting some of Egypt's most prominent liberal writers such as Alaa el-Aswany, the author of the controversial bestselling novel The Yacoubian Building, which bravely tackled many of Egypt's taboos such as homosexuality, police brutality and Islamic extremism. I scanned all the comments for anyone who believes that the decision to fast is an individual's personal choice, and not something the one should be punished for, but to no avail.

Putting the political goals of this action aside, the support it received shows a great deal of religious insecurity. Many god-fearing people still believe that if laws don't enforce religious practice, at least publicly, things might get out of control and it might become commonplace to see people eating or smoking during a Ramadan day.

Such campaigns encourage people to indulge behind closed doors, which leads to the creation of more taboos and promotes hypocrisy in the society. President Barack Obama said in his Cairo speech last June that "suppressing ideas won't make them go away". Similarly, criminalising fast-breaking during Ramadan won't make violators stop doing it.

Religious groups seem reluctant to engage in open debate, but rather resort to force to get their ideas through. They should accept the fact that in Egypt there are people who prefer not to fast, who are also citizens of this country and have an equal right to practise their religious (or non-religious) credos freely.

This incident also provides evidence that the Egyptian police force continues to act as little more than a political tool in the regime's hand rather than acting as a law enforcement authority to protect people's freedoms, regardless of the political atmosphere of the time.

In the face of pressure from religious groups who are using their political capital to fight for yet more measures to 'protect' religious values, the government should remember that human rights and individual liberty are also values that need protection.

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 16 September 2009. Read the related discussion. Reprinted here with the author's permission. © Osama Diab. All rights reserved.

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Face to faith: Ramadan for the faith-challenged

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By Khaled Diab

Ramadan possesses a certain secular appeal but fasting requires the non-believer to square the philosophical circle.

30 August 2009

Summer Ramadans are the toughest. In northern climes, the yawning chasm that separates dawn from dusk makes the long, meandering days feel less like a pleasant stroll and more like an epic marathon. Further south, the days may be shorter and the hunger less palpable, but the intense heat makes the faster feel lost in a desert of thirst.

Although I no longer do Ramadan, the first time I ever fasted, when I was seven, happened to be one of those endless English summer days upon which the sun never seems to set. Muslim children are not obliged to fast and my parents thought I was too young, but I've always been up for a challenge. Besides, there was a mysterious and exotic appeal to those rituals which transformed life within the confines of our home, but hardly caused a ripple in the routines of the outside world.

That first day, Palestinian friends hosted us for iftar. As our mothers prepared a delicious Middle Eastern banquet to mark the start of the month, the kitchen became a torture chamber – teasing and tormenting me with an array of delicious, mouth-watering aromas.

The last couple of hours were sheer hell: it seemed that time itself had become so hunger-stricken that it could no longer function properly, and crawled from one second to the next like a snail on tranquilisers. All the adults commended me for getting so far and urged me to break my fast, but a stubborn streak inside me insisted that I would eat and drink only when the grown-ups did.

With practice over the years, fasting got much easier physically but much tougher philosophically. Ironically, I took up fasting in a non-Muslim country as a child and abandoned it in a Muslim land as an adult. Even before I lost my faith completely, I was never really a practicing Muslim: I've never prayed regularly, nor have I ever read the Qur'an in its entirety, let alone memorised it. In fact, fasting Ramadan – but not the marathon prayer sessions and Quranic recitals associated with the holy month – is the only aspect of Islam that I have ever stuck to religiously.

I'm not entirely sure why that was. Part of the reason could be the special spirit of solidarity that marks Ramadan. The short fuses, ready tempers and irritability excepted, there is the camaraderie, unison and communalism of the season, the festive air, like Christmas for a whole month, the enchantment associated with the partial reversal of night and day, the bubbling late-night waterpipes, the pre-dawn beans on a Cairo street corner.

More profoundly, another explanation could be that, beyond the religious duty, Ramadan carries a secular appeal. Praying would involve expressing devotion to a being – or creator – and a belief system which have always raised doubts in my mind. In contrast, fasting is not just a ritual for its own sake but is also about self-discipline, exercising control over your body and empathising with the predicament of the less fortunate.

But despite my secularised version of Ramadan, certain tensions between Islamic norms and my a-religious outlook were increasingly thrown into sharp relief. Could girlfriends and later cohabitation mix with fasting? How should I handle my fondness for alcohol? Did I want to be like those non-practicing Muslims who seek salvation for their 'sins' through seasonal devotion, especially as I did not see what I was doing as sinful? As a free-thinker for whom the questions and contradictions in religion multiplied with time – rather than resolved themselves as confident believers assured me they would – could I continue to hold on to an artefact of a faith which clashed with the reality I observed?

Increasingly unable and unwilling to square the philosophical circle, I eventually abandoned this last vestige of my religion because, in the end, I seek food for thought and not for the soul.

This column appeared in The Guardian newspaper's Face to faith series on 29 August 2009. Read the related discussion.

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Ramadan for drinkers

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By Khaled Diab

With booze in short supply, the month of fasting can be a thirsty wait for some Muslims.

September 2008

In Europe, Ramadan creeps up on you with none of the fanfare associated with the fasting season in the Muslim world, where it is a unique time of year. It is a month of fasting and feasting, frugalness and greed, night turning into day, spirituality and commercialism. When it started this year, we’d arranged, by chance, to go out for drinks with some friends, where we, blasphemously, drank an impromptu seasonal toast.

While the majority of people go without food or drink from dawn to dusk, some Muslims suffer a special kind of thirst. For those who drink alcohol, the holy month can be a very dry spell.

Many do this voluntarily, much like Christians give up certain ‘bad habits’ for Lent. One Bosnian woman describes people who practice this temporary abstention as being “Muslims on batteries”. In Bosnia, the majority of Muslims still drink alcohol, despite the growing religiosity of society there since the traumas of the Balkans conflict in the 1990s.

When I used to fast, I would have ‘one for the road’ just before the holy month began, try to keep on the Ramadan wagon for the fasting season, and join friends for a new season of drinking after the Eid festival.

Curiously, Ramadan was the only facet of Islam I stuck to religiously. Long after I’d stopped entering mosques except to admire their architecture, I still continued to fast. This may have had something to do with the periodic and festive nature of the season, rather like becoming a football fan for the duration of the World Cup. The discipline, humility and endurance required may have played a role because it made it a ‘cleansing’ personal challenge, as opposed to an empty a religious ritual.

While it’s okay for Muslims to stop drinking during Ramadan out of choice, society often takes a paternalistic attitude towards drinkers. Egypt, for instance, has a booming alcohol industry, which comes to a virtual grinding halt during the holy month.

During Ramadan, Egyptians are barred from purchasing alcohol and all alcoholic outlets besides ones catering to foreigners close down. The first time I became aware of this peculiar legislation was when I was out with some foreign friends and we ordered drinks at the bar, only to be told by the waiter that I wasn’t allowed to.

Feeling humiliated, I complained to the manager who made sympathetic noises and admitted that he would love to serve Egyptians, who made up the bulk of his clientele, but he would face an enormous fine if an inspector walked in. In fact, Ramadan is a month of major losses for bars and restaurants that serve alcohol.

This law is patently unfair because it forces Egyptian Christians to live by an Islamic rule, and it casts the state in the role of moral guardian. If alcohol is legal, what right does the government then have to force its citizens to behave temporarily like ‘good Muslims’?

It also leads to some absurd situations. Egyptians who do not wish to stop drinking clean out the off-licences just before they shut. Sometimes in mixed groups of expats and Egyptians, the foreigners will order binge quantities of booze, while the Egyptians will order a token soft drink and, with one eye on the door, they will all make merry.

The first Ramadan I was in Egypt after I acquired Belgian citizenship, I seized the opportunity to order a stiffer drink that previously permitted, and surreptitiously poured beer into an Egyptian friend’s coke as we moaned about the injustice of it all.

Well, I shouldn’t complain too much, at least drinking in Egypt is not a punishable offence like it is in the Islamic theocracies of Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan, and the law is more honest than in, say, Morocco, where Muslims are officially not allowed to consume alcohol, but everyone turns a blind eye – except during Ramadan.

In some countries, a veritable ‘alcohol war’ is brewing between alcohol-free puritans and the booze brigade. Despite having licences to operate during Ramadan, several restaurants and bars in the Jordanian capital, Amman, have been shut down by over-zealous health inspectors on questionable pretexts.

The owner of Books@Cafe, a popular Amman hangout, summed up the situation by saying: “This is about where we stand in hypocrisy and bigotry…and where we will be if we remain quiet.” His article drew more than 200 outraged responses, with one poster describing the closures as “the pinnacle in state-sponsored stupidity”.

In Turkey, which normally has a relaxed attitude to drinking, a shop owner was attacked for selling alcohol during Ramadan in an upmarket Ankara neighbourhood.

Turkish revellers have been organising a campaign of boozy civil disobedience – which has continued into Ramadan – to defend their right to drink at a popular Istanbul quay. Meanwhile, life goes on as normal in Istanbul’s Kadıköy district, where some restaurants serve traditional iftar for the pious and others offer alcohol for the secular punters.

Hundreds of millions of Muslims will be looking forward to the post-fasting festivities of Eid el-Fitr, which will be around 1 October, where I will get to observe the Indian version in Delhi. For Muslim drinkers, they will be eager to fall off the Ramadan wagon and head for their nearest watering hole.

 

This column appeared in The Guardian Unlimited’s Comment is Free section on 27 September 2008. Read the related discussion.

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

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