Women in Islam: Hiding Her Story

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The discussion of women in Islam is a highly charged one. It is an issue infected with Orientalist and Islamophobic rhetoric about the assumed inferiority and subjugation of women intrinsic in Islam. Patriarchal and oppressive cultural norms are often couched in religious terminology and deemed “Islamic” in order to justify and validate them. However, notions that Islam is inherently oppressive to women are contradicted not only by an in-depth analysis of the Qur’ān but also by extensive evidence that demonstrates that women, during the formative years of Islam, enjoyed a high standing and were included in every aspect of life.

From the time of Prophet Muhammad, there were thousands of women scholars and jurists who exercised the same authority as men and taught male and female disciples, including judges and caliphs.1 Women who lived during the time of the Prophet, whose life example is seen by Muslims as the most perfect manifestation of the spirit of the Qur’ān,2 felt they had full rights and used to go to the mosque, pray next to men, pray in close proximity to the Prophet, fight in battles, teach men and women, move about freely, and interrupt scholars as they spoke to ask questions for which they demanded answers.

All this history has been forgotten or deliberately buried and erased. Recently, a conservative Sunni scholar of hadīth, Sheikh Mohammad Akram Nadwi, found written evidence of the existence of over nine thousand prominent women scholars and jurists who lived during the formative era of Islam. While in residence at the Oxford Centre for Islamic Studies, Nadwi produced a forty-volume work on Muslim women scholars, jurists and prayer leaders.

This scholar, who studied in a traditional madrasa in Lucknow, India, came across countless mentions of women in early hadīth manuscripts and thus began to investigate, taking a detour from his intended work. He first assumed the detour would be a short one and that he would produce a small volume. However, he kept discovering more and more women scholars and concluded that “he does not know of another religious tradition in which women were so central, so present, so active in its formative history.”3

Nadwi explains that for centuries, women traveled intensively, fulfilling their religious duty of seeking knowledge and attending prestigious mosques and madrassas throughout the Islamic world.

Nadwi discovered a reality that surprised him and that is, unfortunately, quite different from the one many Muslim women experience today, primarily due to mistaken interpretations that aim at preserving patriarchal systems. Nadwi explains that for centuries, women traveled intensively, fulfilling their religious duty of seeking knowledge and attending prestigious mosques and madrassas throughout the Islamic world. The fact that over nine thousand women scholars were found by chance and are mentioned in writing means that there were countless more. It is commonly known that men did not want the names of their wives or daughters published.

Some interesting examples of the women scholars discovered by Nadwi are the following: In Samarkand, during the 12th century, Fatimah As-Samarqandiyyah, trained by her father in hadīth and fiqh, used to teach men and women, train judges, and judge court cases. She also issued fatwās and advised her well known husband on how to issue his.

Another woman scholar, Umm Al-Darda, was a companion of the Prophet and a prominent jurist and hadīth scholar in seventh-century Damascus and Jerusalem. Among her students was the caliph ‘Abd al-Mālik ibn Marwān. Umm Al-Darda was declared by Iyas ibn Mu’āwiya Al-Muzani, a qāḍī (Muslim judge) of undisputed ability and merit, known for her immense cleverness, to be a scholar superior to all the other scholars of the period.

In Medieval Mauritania, there is evidence of hundreds of girls who memorized books of fiqh by heart. Fatimah al-Batainiyyah was a fourteenth century Syrian scholar who taught men and women in the Prophet’s mosque in Medina. Students traveled from all over the Muslim world, some from as far as Fez, to study with her. She used to lean against the Prophet’s tomb as she taught, placing herself right beside the Prophet’s head.

A remarkable woman who took extremely seriously the duty to seek knowledge was Fatimah bint Sa’d al-Khayr. She traveled all over Asia studying with various prominent teachers, including another woman scholar in Isfahan, Fatimah al-Juzdaniyah, who was the primary narrator of a massive thirty-seven-volume hadīth collections of Al-Tabarani. Al Juzdaniyah was a student of al-Tabarani, who characterized her scholarship as possessing one of the highest chains with the shortest links to the Prophet in her lifetime, which Fatimah bint Sa’d al Khayr learned and began to transmit as well.4

Throughout his life, the Prophet himself was surrounded by women he greatly respected. He constantly worked to raise their status. Ibn Ḥaẓm (994-1064), an Andalusian scholar who produced a reported four-hundred works on Islamic jurisprudence, history, ethics, comparative religion, and theology, cites a number of hadīths that prove that in the days of the Prophet, women moved freely and prayed next to men, a practice that has been curtailed today because it is viewed as “un-Islamic.”

Ibn Ḥaẓm describes a hadīth where Caliph Umar wanted to prevent women from going to the mosque and was sternly rebuked by his father who stated it would be against the Prophet’s wishes. A hadīth from the Prophet also narrated by Ibn Ḥaẓm states, “Do not prevent the women from going out to the mosques at night.” Ibn Ḥaẓm said that if the Prophet did not prevent women from going to the mosque, then it would be “a sin and bid’ah to do so in one’s own authority.”5

Ibn Hazm adduces a number of traditions that prove that in the days of the Prophet, women frequented the mosque together with men. He reports that, during this time, should anything happen during prayer, such as an error made by the imam, “men should praise God and women should clap their hands.” Similarly, a hadīth reported in the Book of Muslim states that Umm Hisham said “I memorized sura Qaf from hearing it from the Prophet Muhammad because he used to recite it during his sermon on Fridays.” This is a clear indication that Umm Hisham stood in close proximity to the Prophet as there were no microphones or loudspeakers at the time. Finally, Ibn Abbas, the paternal cousin of the Prophet reported in a hadīth with a strong chain of narration that “A beautiful woman, from among the most beautiful of women, used to pray behind the Prophet.”6

A striking example of the status and independence women had during the Prophet’s time is that of Nusaybah bint Kaab. Nusaybah was legendary for her bravery and military skills. She fought in numerous battles and in the battle of Uhud, saved the Prophet’s life. She was wounded severely while defending the Prophet and he said, “whenever I looked to my right or left, I would find Nusaybah fighting defensively” and praised her for her courage. Nusaybah was unwilling to stay at home while her husband and son went to battle, so she decided to join them. At first, her intention was to tend to the wounded and bring water to the warriors, but later, she proved invaluable in the battlefield and turned out to be highly skilled with the sword.7

It is thus clear from these and many other cases of female agency and freedom in the Islamic premodernity, that the problem of oppression does not lie in Islam and is not advocated by the Qur’ān.

It is thus clear from these and many other cases of female agency and freedom in the Islamic premodernity, that the problem of oppression does not lie in Islam and is not advocated by the Qur’ān. In fact, far from subjugating women, the Qur’ān can and should be read as liberating. It is not necessary to resort to secular or Western-style feminism to “empower” Muslim women. It is, however, of crucial importance to engage in interpretations that are in accordance with the Qur’ānic spirit.

Professor Asma Barlas, Ethica College NY

The strong refusal in the Qur’ān to perpetuate the religious depictions of God as a father-figure that exist in Judaism and Christianity, and the refusal to engender and sexualize God, can be understood as militating against patriarchy, which Asma Barlas considers to be “the chief instrument of women’s oppression in Muslim societies.”8

Barlas eloquently explains that it would be absurd for a God who is above sex and gender, who is Most Compassionate and Merciful, and will not transgress against the rights of others, to privilege men and take sexual partisanship. Even more absurd would be that this God should advocate the oppression of women. Not only does the Qur’ān not oppress women, “but it also affirms that women and men originated in the same self, have the same capacity for moral choice and personality and, as God’s vice-regents on earth, have a mutual duty to enjoin the right and forbid the wrong.”9

Not only does the Qur’ān not oppress women, “but it also affirms that women and men originated in the same self, have the same capacity for moral choice and personality and, as God’s vice-regents on earth, have a mutual duty to enjoin the right and forbid the wrong.”

The Qur’ān encompasses “a horizon of ethical possibilities and [counsels] to read it for its best meanings.”10 To put it simply, all interpretations that women should be subjugated, or their movements limited, or their choices controlled by men are erroneous interpretations: “Any religious opinion that tries to limit the rights or opportunities of any group of people is a false interpretation.”11

1  Nadwi, Mohammad Akram. Al-Muhaddithat: The Women Scholars in Islam. Oxford: Interface Publications, 2014.
2  His wife Aisha called him “the walking Qur’ān.”
 3  Power, Carla. If the Oceans Were Ink. New York: Holt Paperbacks: 2015, p. 130.
4  To clarify: Fatimah bint Sa’d al-Khayr was considered (by the student of Tarabani) to have one of the most reliable chains of transmission for the hadiths she narrated. Meaning, the hadiths she narrated were sound, and with relatively few links between the transmitter and the Prophet himself. It is essential for hadiths to have a sound chain of transmission (i.e., those who passed on the Prophet’s sayings must be reliable in character and sound mind and also, their narrations must have been confirmed by others…of course the closer in time to the Prophet the better a hadith’s chain is).
5  Marin, Manuela and Deguilhem, Randy, Eds. Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab Sources. London, New York: I.B. Tauris, 2002, p. 82., p. 83.
6  This hadīth was judged authentic by Sheikh Al-Albaani in his Silsilat Ahadeeth (Saheehah #2472). This hadīth was narrated by Ibn Majah, Abu Dawud, Attayalisy, Ahmad, and Tirmidhi among others.
7  Lings, Martin. Muhammad: His Life Based on the Earliest Sources. London: Inner Traditions, 2006, p. 181.
8  Barlas, Asma. “Uncrossed bridges: Islam, feminism and secular democracy.” Philosophy and Social Criticism 39(4-5) 417–425, 2013, p. 421.
9  Ibid.
10 Ibid.
11 Abdulhameed, Sultan. The Qur’ān and the Life of Excellence. Denver: Outskirts Press, 2010, p. 207.

________________

Bibliography

Abdulhameed, Sultan. The Qur’ān and the Life of Excellence. Denver: Outskirts Press, 2010.

Barlas, Asma. “Uncrossed bridges: Islam, feminism and secular democracy.” Philosophy and Social Criticism 39(4-5) 417–425, 2013. 

Lings, Martin. Muhammad: His Life Based on the Earliest Sources. London: Inner Traditions, 2006.

Marin, Manuela and Deguilhem, Randy, Eds. Writing the Feminine: Women in Arab Sources. London, New York: I.B. Tauris, 2002.

Nadwi, Mohammad Akram. Al-Muhaddithat: The Women Scholars in Islam. Oxford: Interface Publications, 2014.

Power, Carla. If the Oceans Were Ink. New York: Holt Paperbacks: 2015.

Source: https://insidearabia.com/women-in-islam-hiding-her-story/?fbclid=IwAR08tBUyb9xIfn5tZbRVMpo67Q1lgR8PHBGToNmY7WqvKFhCuq59-_cN2Gk

Tilik and the gender order crisis

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Tilik (The Visit, 2018), a short movie directed by Wahyu Agung Prasetyo, is a viral sensation in Indonesia. Within two weeks of being posted on YouTube, it attracted more than 20 million views.

 

The film follows a group of village women taking a trip to the city on the back of a truck to visit their female village head in hospital. During the journey, the women gossip about Dian, a pretty young woman in the village.

 

Tilik has stirred a public debate not only around representation of women and femininity but also around feminism in general. A number of feminists, including Intan Paramaditha and Feby Indirani, criticised the film for reinforcing negative stereotypes of women: that they are gossipers and annoyingly chatty, spread hoaxes, and lack media literacy.

 

Paramaditha, for example, invited her followers to situate the feminine stereotyping in the film in the larger context of cultural production, in which gender perspectives are almost absent. Feminist criticism of the film unfortunately turned into a heated, in some cases ugly, public debate involving feminists, film critics, and social media users. Even among feminists, views were divided on the film’s representation of gender.

 

The debate about Tilik is indicative of the unresolved crisis in Indonesia’s gender order. In my previous research on representations of ideal masculinities in Indonesia, I suggested that 2000-2014 was a vital period marked by a crisis in the gender order. During this period, ideological battles to secure hegemonic gender ideals intensified on various fronts, including cinema.

 

Six years on, the crisis remains unresolved, as the public debate stirred by Tilik demonstrates. This is indicated, on one hand, by the development of feminist film criticism and efforts to integrate gender perspectives into filmmaking, as a force to challenge stereotypical cinematic depictions of gender. And on the other hand, the debate is driven by a strong backlash attempting to preserve the status quo pattern of gender relations.

 

Gender order crisis is a concept in gender studies explaining processes of change in the pattern of gender relations. At the time of crisis, a gender order can be destroyed or restored by the outcome of the crisis.

 

Feminism has been an important force provoking changes in Indonesia’s “official” gender order, which centres on the family principle. The authoritarian New Order regime provided important institutional support to the maintenance of the official gender order. It did so by, for example, institutionalising men’s and women’s gender roles in the 1974 Marriage Law and supporting institutions that reinforced women’s reproductive role, like Dharma Wanita and the Family Welfare Movement (PKK).

 

Movements to advance women’s status and rights, motivated by feminist ideas, were allowed to develop only to a limited extent. For example, the regime facilitated the establishment of a junior ministry for women’s affairs in the late 1970s, following global pressure to promote women’s roles in state governance and politics. But the ministry had little power and a small budget.

 

When Soeharto’s authoritarian regime finally fell, state restrictions on feminist movements lessened. Feminism and its supporters become highly visible and stronger in post-authoritarian Indonesia. Feminists such as Musdah Mulia and Lies Marcoes Natsir were at the forefront of public debate surrounding Megawati Soekarnoputri’s rise to presidency and the affirmative action policy of a 30% quota for female candidates in elections.

 

Feminists have been instrumental in transforming the legal architecture, too, for example in the formulation and implementation of Law No. 23 of 2004 on the Elimination of Domestic Violence, and in advocacy for the gender equality and elimination of sexual violence bills.

 

In cinema, feminist filmmakers such as Nia Dinata and Mouly Surya have challenged masculine perspectives in filmmaking and representations of gender on the silver screen. Feminist film criticism, led by notable figures like Intan Paramadhita and Novi Kurnia, has also become as a strong force in raising awareness of gender perspectives and equality in cinema.

 

But the increasing visibility and significance of feminism has not been without contest. Ideological contestation surrounding gender relations has become extremely heated in post-authoritarian Indonesia. For example, growing Islamisation has fostered the development of Muslim feminist networks, while also posing challenges to the struggle for gender equality. Islamic discourse is often used to argue against laws aiming for gender equality and elimination of gender-based violence.

 

In cinema, too, Islamic discourse, among others, has been used to attack films that are critical of conventional gender relations, such as Nia Dinata’s Arisan! (2003), and Hanung Bramantyo’s Perempuan Berkalung Sorban (2009).

 

The criticism of Tilik offered by feminist film critics, and the backlash against them and feminism in general, is part of this gender order crisis. While feminist film critics attempted to inspire changes in Indonesian cinema and the broader cultural landscape, their ideas were criticised as foreign, elitist or unsuitable for Indonesia. They were accused of being social justice warriors and of ruining the fun of film consumption.

 

In several cases, the backlash against feminist film critics devolved into ad hominem attacks and catcalling. Unfortunately, such attacks are common against feminists on social media, especially those who vocally and critically engage with issues of gender inequality and gender-based violence. For example, Indonesian Solidarity Party (PSI) politician Tsamara Amani has repeatedly been subject to the same treatment when she has posted support for gender equality and the bill on the elimination of sexual violence.

 

Feminists and their opponents are engaged in a fierce battle for public opinion. Feminists are trying to inspire changes to realise gender equality, while their opponents attempt to preserve the established gender order. Advances in information and communication technology have made these ideological battles more visible and able to generate more extensive public engagement.

 

By placing the public debate around Tilik in the context of the gender order crisis, we can see that Indonesia is undergoing a critical period of social change. The deeply rooted pattern of gender relations fortified by the New Order is no longer taken for granted, despite its continued dominance. The official gender ideals projected by the state are being strongly challenged by emerging alternatives.

 

However, as the gender order crisis is unresolved, we are yet to see whether the existing gender order will be fundamentally transformed. What is certain, however, is Tilik will not be the last film to spark controversy for its depiction of gender relations.

 

Evi Eliyanah

Evi Eliyanah is a faculty member at Universitas Negeri Malang. Her research areas of interest include gender and cultural studies.

 

Source: https://indonesiaatmelbourne.unimelb.edu.au/tilik-and-the-gender-order-crisis/

Why we’ve created new language for coronavirus

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From ‘covidiots’ to ‘quarantine and chill’, the pandemic has led to many terms that help people laugh and commiserate.

 

Throughout history, challenging circumstances have given rise to new ways of expressing those challenges. George Eliot, the 19th Century writer who was famously frustrated by rigid gender and lifestyle norms, is credited with the first recorded use of the word ‘frustrating’. More recently, Brexit led to a flowering of new words, including the inevitable ‘Bremain’ and ‘Bregret’, and a repurposing of existing words, such as ‘backstop’.

While Brexit may be the closest parallel, the speed of the linguistic change we’re seeing with Covid-19 is unprecedented, says Robert Lawson, a sociolinguist at Birmingham City University. Lawson attributes this to multiple factors: the dizzying pace at which the virus has spread, its dominance in the media and global interconnectivity at a time when social media and remote contact are so important.

Many of the newly popular terms relate to the socially distanced nature of human contact these days, such as ‘virtual happy hour’, ‘covideo party’ and ‘quarantine and chill’. Many use ‘corona’ as a prefix, whether Polish speakers convert ‘coronavirus’ into a verb or English speakers wonder how ‘coronababies’ (the children born or conceived during the pandemic) will fare. And, of course, there are abbreviations, like the ubiquitous ‘WFH’ and the life-saving ‘PPE’.

Old words in a new light

Like everyone else, lexicologists are scrambling to keep up with the changes the pandemic has wrought. According to Fiona McPherson, the senior editor of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), back in December ‘coronavirus’ appeared only 0.03 times per million tokens (tokens are the smallest units of language collected and tracked in the OED corpus). The term ‘Covid-19’ was only coined in February, when the WHO announced the official name of the virus. But in April, the figures for both ‘Covid-19’ and ‘coronavirus’ had skyrocketed to about 1,750 per million tokens (suggesting that the two terms are now being used at roughly the same frequency).

Innovative signs: In the UK, 'covidiots' is being used to described those ignoring social distancing rules

All of the terms added to the OED in April, in an unscheduled update, were related to the pandemic in some way, including ‘infodemic’ and ‘elbow bump’. But McPherson notes that the only actual new word added to the dictionary is ‘Covid-19’. The others are pre-existing terms that have gained new resonance at a time when many people are subject to a ‘stay-at-home order’ (US), ‘movement control order’ (Malaysia) or ‘enhanced community quarantine’ (Philippines).

“Although a lot of the words we’re using just now and a lot of the terminology is actually older, a lot of it seems fairly new. ‘Coronavirus’ itself goes back to the 1960s,” she points out.

What McPherson calls the “nuancing of already existing words” can in some cases be subtly harmful. War metaphors invoking ‘battles’ and ‘front-lines’ are being widely applied to the pandemic, yet thinking only in terms of a wartime emergency can detract from longer-term structural changes needed. This has given rise to the project #ReframeCovid, in which linguists collect crowdsourced examples of alternatives to war language.

Inés Olza, a linguist at the University of Navarra in Spain, says she started the project spontaneously on Twitter. She understands the temptation to invoke war metaphors, especially at the start of the pandemic when they were necessary to build unity and mobilise swiftly. But “a sustained use of that metaphor and abuse of it, and the lack of alternative frames, might generate anxiety and might distort things about the pandemic”, she believes.

As well, terms such as ‘natural disaster’ and ‘perfect storm’ can create the impression that the pandemic was inevitable and unavoidable, neglecting the political, economic and environmental contexts that make certain people more exposed. Some healthcare workers have expressed their frustration at being called ‘heroes’, rather than seen as complex, frightened individuals doing a job, who need protective equipment and policy rather than relying on their own sacrifices.

In some cases the language being used isn't appreciated: this US healthcare worker is protesting against a lack of PPE

In some cases the language being used isn’t appreciated: this US healthcare worker is protesting against a lack of PPE

“Speakers are free to use the metaphors they want,” Olza emphasises. “We are not censors.” But she and some of her fellow linguists believe that it’s useful to reflect on language and to have alternative framings for discussing the pandemic – beyond militaristic language that can obscure the roles of individuals and communities, and toward expressions that communicate collective care and individual responsibility. She says that Germans have been especially good at finding non-war terms. German’s compounding of terms, for instance, has allowed for one-off words like ‘Öffnungsdiskussionsorgien’ (‘orgies of discussion’) to describe the seemingly endless policy debates over reopening.

Why humour helps

Overall, there’s a wealth of linguistic creativity that hasn’t yet entered the dictionary, but reflects the role of novel language as a coping mechanism. These innovative usages, Lawson says, “allow us to name whatever it is that’s going on in the world. And once you can name the practices, the events, the social conditions around a particular event, it just gives people a shared vocabulary that they can all use as a bit of a shorthand. I think ultimately if you can name it, you can talk about it; and if you can talk about it, then it can help people cope and get a handle on really difficult situations”.

Writer Karen Russell has found the newly ubiquitous term ‘flatten the curve’ to be reassuring – a reminder of the importance of both individual and collective action, which “alchemizes fear into action”. And both the practice and the terminology of ‘caremongering’, used for instance in Canadian and Indian English, allow for an alternative to scaremongering.

Beyond earnest words like these, a kind of slightly anxious humour is central to many of the ‘coronacoinages’. The German ‘coronaspeck’, like the English ‘Covid 19’, playfully refers to stress eating amid stay-at-home orders. The Spanish ‘covidiota’ and ‘coronaburro’ (a play on ‘burro’, the word for donkey) poke fun at the people disregarding public health advice. ‘Doomscrolling’ describes the hypnotic state of endlessly reading grim internet news. Lawson’s favourite, ‘Blursday’, captures the weakening sense of time when so many days bleed into each other.

I don’t think that by having a little bit of light in the dark, people are making light of the situation – Fiona McPherson

Australian English, no stranger to light-hearted abbreviations, has produced ‘quaz’ for ‘quarantine’ and ‘sanny’ for ‘sanitiser’. Queer and black communities, so often a wellspring of linguistic innovation, have given rise to ‘Miss Rona’ as a slang term for the virus. And for the unsayable, there are always emojis. The folded hands emoji, the medical mask emoji, and the microbe emoji (yes, that exists) have all become more popular during the pandemic.

Some of these emojis and terms might seem flippant, but “I don’t think that by having a little bit of light in the dark, people are making light of the situation”, says McPherson. Lawson agrees: “If you can laugh at them, it makes things more manageable almost, and just helps with people’s psychological health more than anything else.”

Linguists believe that many of the terms currently in vogue won’t endure. The ones with a stronger chance of sticking around post-pandemic are those that describe lasting behavioural changes, such as ‘zoombombing’, which is influenced by ‘photobombing’ and describes the practice of invading someone else’s video call. McPherson reckons that ‘zoombombing’ could become a generic term (like ‘hoovering’ up a mess) even if the company Zoom loses its market dominance.

Ingenuity with vocabulary can also communicate that the current hardships, like many of the coronacoinages, won’t last forever. Olza has taken to referring to the tasks on her ‘corona-agenda’, which can be a subtle way of asking for people’s patience with her temporarily disrupted schedule. Eventually “I will get my usual agenda back,” she says hopefully.

Until then, bring on the quarantinis.

 

Source: https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20200522-why-weve-created-new-language-for-coronavirus?fbclid=IwAR3THL4GNH09TJFD2ieXlBN1basBk-8m6TPO4S2dSzzpvGfWsld-j7UQvOM

Hard times for pesantren facing Covid-19

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As Indonesia began the new school year this month, face-to-face classes were still on hold. Most primary and secondary students in the public system are still required to join lessons online.

 

No in-depth research has been done on the impact of the Covid-19 pandemic on educational institutions in Indonesia but it is likely that Islamic boarding schools, or pesantren, are the worst affected, not least because most are simply not able to teach online.

 

I asked managers at 150 pesantren in several regions across Indonesia about their experiences during the pandemic. All were part of a network run by the Centre for Study of Islam and Society (PPIM) at Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University (UIN) Jakarta, where I work.

 

My brief survey produced some interesting results. Unlike state schools, many pesantren have already reopened to students for face-to-face learning. This is true even in regions regarded as Covid-19 “red zones”, like Jakarta and East Java. Pesantren managers said they reopened because of pressure from parents who wanted their children to return as soon as possible.

 

But there were other reasons for re-opening, too, and one of the most important relates to the unique character of pesantren as community business institutions as well as religious educators. “Pesantren have to think about the economic realities of people whose livelihoods depend heavily on the school operating, such as teachers, traders who supply goods, and the surrounding communities who open food stalls and other businesses to meet the needs of the boarders,” one manager said.

 

The unique character of pesantren also explains why they have been hit harder by Covid-19 than other schools, especially state schools.

 

First, as one manager complained, the funding for pesantren education comes mainly from student fees and community donations. “At state schools it is easier because the teachers’ salaries are paid by the government. Pesantren cannot pay wages if there are no boarders.” Considering that many students at these schools are from underprivileged backgrounds, with families likely suffering the heavy economic impacts of Covid-19, we can assume that this will have affected pesantren revenues too.

 

Second, in the new Law on Pesantren (No. 18 of 2019), pesantren are described as having five distinctive structures: 1) kyai (Islamic scholars and religious leaders) as figures of scholarly authority; 2) the mosque as the centre of activity for religious teaching; 3) santri, or boarders, who study in the pesantren; 4) a curriculum based on kitab kuning, or classic Islamic scholarly texts, and on Islamic studies; and 5) dormitories for the students.

 

This means education in pesantren takes place not only in the classroom, but in also everyday interactions, while playing sport, and while sharing space in the dormitories. This is what another manager meant when he said: “In pesantren, we practice 24-hour education.” It means official advice to practice physical distancing to prevent the spread of Covid-19 has not been easy for pesantren managers to apply in reality, especially at the many pesantren where there are lots of students but only limited dormitory facilities.

 

Third, pesantren have very limited capacity to make use of information technology and conduct online learning. Most have very little information technology infrastructure, and the digital literacy of teachers and students is often weak. In fact, in many of these schools, students are not even allowed to use gadgets like mobile phones and laptops, as they are considered distractions. In any case, many students’ families cannot afford electronic devices, even for learning purposes.

Gontor under pressure

So how have pesantren fared in practice? One notable example is the well known Gontor Modern Pesantren in Ponorogo, East Java, which saw a cluster of Covid-19 cases, starting from a single student who was infected via his family. According to the school’s Covid-19 spokesperson, Adib Fuadi Nuriz, all students and teachers who contracted the virus have fully recovered and have since returned to the pesantren.

 

Students returning to Gontor in the new school year have had to self-quarantine at home for 14 days and undergo a PCR test before being allowed back. The school also arranged special transport to pick up students from cities across Indonesia to prevent the risk of contracting the virus on the road.

 

Once they arrive at the pesantren, students are required to follow health protocols, such as wearing masks, washing their hands regularly and practicing physical distancing when praying.

 

What is interesting about this case is that Gontor Modern is likely the most modern, best-equipped and well-prepared pesantren in Indonesia, complete with strict health protocols and its own Covid-19 taskforce. Despite this, 86 students still contracted Covid-19. What must the situation be like for other pesantrens that are nowhere near as well funded or well prepared?

 

The Gontor Modern case is a warning that Islamic boarding schools across Indonesia urgently need help. The government has already allocated Rp 2.3 trillion (AU$215 million) to help pesantren tackle Covid-19, but considering the risks they face, these funds will be stretched very thin.

 

The Covid-19 crisis has demonstrated that the government now needs to work closely with pesantren to develop a roadmap for handling unexpected challenges. It has also exposed a desperate need to raise digital literacy and access to information technology in pesantren, while still protecting the special character of these schools.

Source: https://indonesiaatmelbourne.unimelb.edu.au/hard-times-for-pesantren-facing-covid-19/?fbclid=IwAR38yEQp2SkTC1HWsu_xCcBNuX9U8o28pwBM_DLt9VNXumZ5Jq6OA74diBU

Child marriage surges amid Covid-19 and growing conservatism

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Indonesia is experiencing a surge in child marriages. By June, 24,000 applications for permission to marry underage had been lodged with district and religious courts this year – more than two and a half times the total number for the whole of 2012.

 

This escalation goes against significant recent improvements in the legal framework, policies and public campaigns, as well as the government’s stated aim to reduce the prevalence of child marriage from 11.2% to 8.7% by 2024.

 

Court clerks cite teen pregnancies and last year’s amendment to the 1974 Marriage Law as reasons for the higher number of requests to marry young.

 

Under the 1974 Marriage Law, the minimum age of marriage was 19 for boys and 16 for girls, provided they had permission from their parents. The 2019 amendments raised the minimum marriageable age for girls to 19, with parental permission, bringing it into line with the minimum for boys (Article 7(1)). However, the revised law still allows parents to ask courts for special dispensation for their children to marry before 19 if there are “pressing reasons” (Article 7(2)).

 

Many factors drive child marriage in Indonesia. Poverty, education, the stigmatisation of sexuality outside marriage, religious convictions, local perceptions about marriageable age, and even ‘mutual love’ (suka-sama-suka) among teen couples all play a role in rates of child marriage.

 

The Ministry of Women’s Empowerment and Child Protection has expressed concern that increased economic pressure from Covid-19 may be leading parents to push their children to marry young, to reduce the economic burden on their households. A trend that idealises young marriage, promoted by conservative religious groups and on social media, is another factor.

 

The Manpower Ministry reported that more than 3.5 million workers had been laid off by 31 July, with the number predicted to rise to 5.5 million by year-end. Indonesia’s poverty rate is expected to increase to 9.7 per cent by September, meaning that 1.3 million more people will be pushed into poverty.

 

The impacts of this for children are frightening. Unicef predicts that the increase in poverty in Indonesia will worsen child malnutrition, affecting children’s physical and mental development. It will increase the risk of 9.7 million children dropping out of school. Economic decline, combined with lack of formal education, may drive parents to urge their children to marry young, especially girls.

 

At the same time, Indonesia is experiencing a surge of religious conservatism that is driving a backlash against legal efforts to support gender equality and end child marriage. For example, the ‘Indonesia Without Dating’ (Indonesia Tanpa Pacaran) movement encourages young adults to avoid dating and focus on serving God. It has attracted more than a million followers on Instagram. Its social media content pairs fairy-tale images of romantic love with slogans that encourage young marriage as a way to avoid the temptation of pre-marital relations.

 

An idealised view of young marriage is also promoted by social media influencers. Sabrina Salsabila, a teenager from West Java who married at 16, has amassed more than 74,000 subscribers on YouTube and more than 133,000 followers on Instagram, where she shares airbrushed images of her glamorous, globetrotting life as a young bride. Despite facing some public criticism, her young followers continue to express their desire to follow her path.

 

Conservative family values may also be a factor. A study of 61 dispensations for underage marriage in 2017-2018 conducted by students and a lecturer at Gadjah Mada University’s Faculty of Law found that the majority of those marriages were instigated by parents who felt that their children had dated long enough, and were concerned about the potential for pre-marital sex. In cases of teen pregnancy, child marriage was pushed by families as an immediate solution. In other words, some families’ moral values conflict with legal protections against child marriage.

 

Further, Indonesian family law is a complex patchwork of national, customary (adat), religious, and Dutch colonial laws. While the revised Marriage Law sets a clear minimum age of 19 for boys and girls, and only allows child marriage with court approval, adat and religious laws have their own definitions and guidelines. Although the courts do not recognise them, these alternative legal systems are another cause of the high number of underage marriage applications across Indonesia.

What can be done? 

The amendment to the Marriage Law, and a subsequent Supreme Court regulation that provided guidance for judges in deciding marriage dispensation proceedings, were hard-won achievements in the fight to end child marriage in Indonesia. For more than 40 years, through five administrations, the Marriage Law remained unchanged, as lawmakers and politicians avoided the sensitive issue.

 

If it were not for the efforts of a relentless civil society movement that drafted and promoted amendments to the Marriage Law, and a group of victims of child marriage who filed a judicial review application with the Constitutional Court, these changes would never have happened.

 

As the government responds to Covid-19, efforts for economic recovery must include assistance to prevent more families falling into poverty, as well as efforts to ensure children’s right to formal education is fulfilled. Further work must be done to provide adequate and sensible sexual and reproductive health education in schools and communities.

 

Addressing conservative religious and customary values is a much more challenging task. The government cannot rely on top-down, bureaucratic programs to address the issue. Local context matters. The government should facilitate village and religious leaders, parents, teachers and young people to come up with community-based programs to respond to the local situation.

 

Victims’ stories of child marriage and the impact it had on their lives were compelling for the Constitutional Court when it decided the marriageable age of 16 for girls was unconstitutional. Victims should be provided with more opportunities to tell their stories to their peers, to debunk false images of blissful child marriage.

 

It is also essential to create a broader and more frequent discourse on child marriage, providing opportunities for conservative groups to sit together with opponents of child marriage. Influencers could also be recruited to spread messages on social media to counter the narrative of conservative groups.

 

Indonesia has made remarkable progress in improving the legal and policy framework to protect children from child marriage. But as recent figures have shown, policy change is not enough on its own. To prevent further backsliding, a serious effort will be required – and soon.

 

Source: https://indonesiaatmelbourne.unimelb.edu.au/child-marriage-surges-amid-covid-19-and-growing-conservatism/?s=08

COVID-19 kills as stigma harms families and society

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On June 17, Kompas TV reported that hundreds of people had intercepted an ambulance and threatened to set it on fire and forcibly remove the remains of a person who had died after being exposed to COVID-19. It seems they thought they would suffer major problems if the body was buried under COVID-19 protocols. They would, perhaps, be under constant observation by public health personnel and the COVID-19 task force, and their village might be locked down. They might be prohibited from leaving their homes or their neighborhood. They felt they might be shunned by residents of other villages and not even allowed on the roads passing through other villages. Not only might they be ostracized, but the acknowledgement that one of their residents had died of COVID-19 could lead to restrictions on their access to normal activities, including earning a living.

Elsewhere, in a separate report, a COVID-19 victim’s family forcibly brought the remains home from the hospital and prepared the body for burial in accordance with their religious beliefs. They feared that the treatment of the body at the hospital had not followed the procedures required by their religion since the family had not been allowed to witness the process. They could not accept the fact that the body had been placed in a coffin, which they associated with the burial traditions of another religion. The family worried that they would be ostracized because the body had not been prepared according to religious tenets.

Such incidents as these, I believe, require a solution, because seizing mortal remains in this way is extremely dangerous. It was reported that 15 of the people involved in the process of bathing and wrapping the body later tested positive for COVID-19, and their village did, in fact, become a cluster under observation.

During my studies of Medical Anthropology in Amsterdam, we discussed topics such as these in our epidemiology class, viewing them as a cultural issue. “Illness” is actually more than merely the physical condition of a person who is unhealthy. It also involves traditional and cultural values and ways of thinking, which cause the illness to carry a range of other problems, such as prejudice and stigma.

One of the most ancient stigmas was that associated with leprosy. Historically, leprosy originated in Europe, the Middle East, Africa, Latin America and Asia, particularly India, and then spread throughout the world, including to Indonesia. This disease arrived with the era of colonialism in the 19th century. The bacterium responsible for the disease was first identified by a Swedish scientist in 1837. The traffic of persons between continents in the context of colonialism brought a variety of diseases with it caused by bacteria such as leprosy. The response required not just addressing the disease caused by the “leprae” bacteria but also addressing the additional disasters caused by fear and stigma. To address the spread of the disease and also to stop the “hunting” of lepers, the colonial government built special leprosy hospitals. This followed the model set by a Catholic order that built leper colonies on isolated islands. To reduce stigma and ostracism, these special leprosy hospitals were sometimes called “Lazarus Homes”, taking the name of Saint Lazarus, the patron saint of lepers.

Going beyond the issue of disease, leprosy later became a term to convey racial hatred. Leprosy was used as a metaphor to justify the ostracism or eradication of groups seen as belonging to the “other” on the basis of race, ethnicity or other distinguishing features. Even though leprosy can now be controlled with treatment and quarantine, this metaphor for hatred is still used as an excuse for eliminating others.

In the history of communicable diseases, the stigma is often more malevolent than the disease itself. People living with HIV provide a good example. The legendary singer Freddie Mercury had to keep his illness a secret until just before he died. Although the stigma of persons with HIV is not quite as severe as that of leprosy, a person still needs to think very thoroughly before publicly declaring they have HIV or even a disease considered more common, such as tuberculosis. The “informed consent ” procedure is therefore applied to protect a person’s confidentiality.

Stigma arises along with myth and prejudice. Stigma can be so strong that the patient’s family may also suffer from it. They may repeatedly deny or cover up the fact that someone in their family suffers from a disease that is stigmatized. Experience teaches us that the impact of stigma is often more severe than the disease itself. The sick person will be isolated, shunned or treated as an enemy. The family also suffers shame and humiliation because of the origin or cause of the disease. The custom of pillorying persons with mental problems is one such form of hiding shame. Similar things are often done when a family member has a physical or mental disability.

This sense of shame associated with illness is predictable given the social pressures that are experienced, even though it is not justified. Such feelings are often a form of cowardice of the healthy when they are around someone who is ill. It seems they are unable to imagine the multiple layers of consequences they would face if they did not cover it up. I remember when I was young and living in a village, there was a commotion over the death of a man who died in a firewood storage shed in the middle of a field. It seems the family was trying to hide this old man, a distant relative who was staying with them, because he suffered from acute tuberculosis. The family was afraid they would not be allowed to use the village well. In addition, they were embarrassed that a family member had TB, a “poor people’s disease”. When I was in junior high school, a student below me died from bleeding when her parents tried to perform an abortion because she was pregnant out of wedlock. She was only 13 at the time. The family concealed the pregnancy and did not take her to a doctor when she suffered severe bleeding – all out of a sense of shame.

Feelings of shame or a fear of stigmatization and its consequences, are not only experienced by patients and their families. In the case of COVID-19, fear of being isolated spreads to the wider community, giving rise to collective denial. In other cases, this is done by the authorities in the name of political and economic stability. So, in this situation, the handling of COVID-19 requires not just information about how to combat the spread of the disease but also honesty.

Explanations are needed that will change people’s attitude about COVID-19 so it does not lead to stigma and ostracism. In this regard, the handling of COVID-19 must not only be done by the Ministry of Health but also by institutions that deal directly with the public, such as the Ministry of Home Affairs and the Ministry of Religious Affairs. Here, the methods of NGOs that work to combat discrimination and hate speech can also be employed. Cultural experts must join the struggle! Distancing, yes; ostracism, no!

***

Lies Marcoes is a researcher at Rumah Kitab, Jakarta. The original Indonesian version was published on the Rumah Kitab website on June 18.

Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not reflect the official stance of The Jakarta Post.

 

Source: https://www.thejakartapost.com/academia/2020/06/19/covid-19-kills-as-stigma-harms-families-and-society.html?fbclid=IwAR1rVhvaM9sbLOQiJ6UpBe-uWxN76qbXgYT2Rtsw3C9oMUWweHQEESdL-uY

What the Pandemic Reveals About the Male Ego

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Why are the rates of coronavirus deaths far lower in many female-led countries?

By Nicholas Kristof

Opinion Columnist

President Tsai Ing-wen of Taiwan at a military base this spring amid the coronavirus pandemic.

Credit…Ritchie B. Tongo/EPA, via Shutterstock

 

Are female leaders better at fighting a pandemic?

I compiled death rates from the coronavirus for 21 countries around the world, 13 led by men and eight by women. The male-led countries suffered an average of 214 coronavirus-related deaths per million inhabitants. Those led by women lost only one-fifth as many, 36 per million.

If the United States had the coronavirus death rate of the average female-led country, 102,000 American lives would have been saved out of the 114,000 lost.

“Countries led by women do seem to be particularly successful in fighting the coronavirus,” noted Anne W. Rimoin, an epidemiologist at U.C.L.A. “New Zealand, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Iceland, Norway have done so well perhaps due to the leadership and management styles attributed to their female leaders.”

Let’s start by acknowledging that there have been plenty of wretched female leaders over the years. Indeed, according to research I once did for a book, female leaders around the world haven’t been clearly better than male counterparts even at improving girls’ education or reducing maternal mortality.

There has been solid research that it makes a difference to have more women on boards and in grass-roots positions, but evidence that they make better presidents or prime ministers has been lacking — until Covid-19 came along.

It’s not that the leaders who best managed the virus were all women. But those who bungled the response were all men, and mostly a particular type: authoritarian, vainglorious and blustering. Think of Boris Johnson in Britain, Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei in Iran and Donald Trump in the United States.

Virtually every country that has experienced coronavirus mortality at a rate of more than 150 per million inhabitants is male-led.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that some of the best-run places have been run by women: New Zealand, Germany, Taiwan,” mused Susan Rice, who was national security adviser under President Barack Obama. “And where we’ve seen things go most badly wrong — the U.S., Brazil, Russia, the U.K. — it’s a lot of male ego and bluster.”

I think the divergence has a great deal to do with that ego and bluster.

“We often joke that men drivers never ask for directions,” observed Dr. Ezekiel Emanuel of the University of Pennsylvania. “I actually think there’s something to that also in terms of women’s leadership, in terms of recognizing expertise and asking experts for advice, and men sort of barreling ahead like they got it.”

He has a point. Those leaders who handled the virus best were those who humbly consulted public health experts and acted quickly, and many were women; in contrast, male authoritarians who botched the response were suspicious of experts and too full of themselves.

“I really get it,” Trump said when he visited the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in March. Surrounded by medical experts, he added, “Maybe I have natural ability,” and he wondered aloud if he should have become a scientist.

(Given that Trump said in January that Covid-19 was “totally under control,” he has his answer. And peer review might not have been kind to his ideas about bleach.)

Jacinda Ardern, prime minister of New Zealand.

Credit…Pool photo by Mark Mitchell

Angela Merkel, Germany’s chancellor.

Credit…Pool photo by Andreas Gora

While women have generally outshone men as international leaders, that does not seem true within the United States. Some female governors have done better, others worse, so there isn’t an obvious gender gap at home.

It’s also possible that this isn’t about female leaders but about the kind of country that chooses a woman to lead it.

Companies with more female executives on average perform better than those with fewer women, but analysts think that the reason isn’t just the brilliance of women leaders. Rather, companies that are culturally open to having senior women are also more willing to embrace other innovations, and it may be this innovative spirit that leads to higher profitability. Likewise, countries willing to elect female prime ministers may be those more inclined to listen to epidemiologists.

Yet I think that there’s also a difference in the leadership itself.

“Women lead often in a very different style from men,” said Margot Wallstrom, a former Swedish foreign minister, citing examples from Norway, Germany and New Zealand of women with low-key, inclusive and evidence-based leadership.

Wallstrom also noted that public health is a traditional “home turf” concern for many women leaders. Grant Miller, an expert in health economics at Stanford University, found that as states, one by one, granted the vote to women in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, those states then also invested more in sanitation and public health — saving some 20,000 children’s lives a year. Boys were thus huge beneficiaries of women’s suffrage.

One trap for female politicians is that brashness can be effective for male candidates, but researchers find that male and female voters alike are turned off by women who seem self-promotional. That forces women in politics to master the art of communicating effectively in a low-key way — just what’s needed in a pandemic.

“Perhaps the skills that have led them to reach the top,” said Rimoin, the U.C.L.A. epidemiologist, “are the same skills that are currently needed to bring a country together.”

The Times is committed to publishing a diversity of letters to the editor. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. Here are some tips. And here’s our email: letters@nytimes.com.

Nicholas Kristof has been a columnist for The Times since 2001. He has won two Pulitzer Prizes, for his coverage of China and of the genocide in Darfur. You can sign up for his free, twice-weekly email newsletter and follow him on Instagram. His latest book is “Tightrope: Americans Reaching for Hope.” @NickKristof•Facebook

Source: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/06/13/opinion/sunday/women-leaders-coronavirus.html

The personal price of lockdown

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By NIKEN KUSUMAWARDHANI

Indonesia must strengthen its anti-domestic-violence services during the coronavirus crisis

 

Widespread restriction of mobility has been required to deal with the spread of COVID-19, including stay at home orders, but not all homes are safe, Niken Kusumawardhani writes.

The chance to be able to stay at home in safety during lockdown is truly a privilege. The fact is, under quarantines women carry the burden of caregiving, both for children and the elderly, and face a higher risk of unintended pregnancies and domestic violence. Without well-established emergency services and shelter systems, women locked up with abusive husbands are becoming unwitting victims of the pandemic.

COVID-19 has brought a lot of uncertainty, and has placed limits on choices that people can make. During this time, perpetrators can be triggered to try and regain sense of control and power over their lives, and this can manifest itself in abuse.

A combination of distress, both economic, from lost work or higher costs, and emotional, from increased isolation and confinement, the risk of domestic violence has risen considerably during the pandemic crisis.

Over the years, domestic violence has been the most prevalent type of violence against women in Indonesia, and a recent report shows that during the first month of limited mobility in Jakarta, numbers of reported cases of domestic violence, rape, and sexual assaults have dramatically increased compared to the usual figures.

The cultural taboo against revealing marital problems has become the main barrier in Indonesia for filing reports of violence, causing domestic violence to be severely underreported. Even among victims who come forward, only a handful report to police. Research has found that one of the main barriers preventing women from reporting to police is unfamiliarity with the procedure.

Another barrier for women is financial dependence. There are fears that reporting abuse may land their husband in jail, and the victim will be left with limited resources to survive. This situation will only get worse as the pandemic progresses, as some women who become unable to work will be even more financially dependent on men, and find it even more difficult to leave if their home becomes a toxic environment.

Failure to deliver services for domestic violence survivors during the pandemic may increase the severity of violence cases, and eventually put more burden on the already-strained national health system. As large-scale social restrictions have been imposed in several major cities in Indonesia, it is imperative that governments categorise services for domestic violence victims as essential.

The availability of emergency safe houses and psychological services that are easily accessible by women impacted by domestic violence must be considered a priority for Indonesian policymakers during the coronavirus crisis.

The government must also allocate extra spending to deal with the domestic violence wave that will accompany the rest of the crisis. Unfortunately, none of the 405 trillion rupiah spending for the COVID-19 pandemic is dedicated to anti-domestic violence initiatives.

Before the pandemic, safe houses were only available in some districts, with varying quality and capacity. As construction of new safe houses will take a long time, transforming hotels into a potential safe house for survivors fleeing domestic violence is a more feasible option for the duration of the pandemic.

The government could also use the extra spending to pay for accommodation, food, and other essential needs for women who are forced to leave their homes due to domestic violence.

Recently, the Indonesian government launched a hotline service to connect psychologists with people who need mental health support during the pandemic, including those impacted by domestic violence. This is a great step, but it will still be difficult for victims to call the number while locked up at home with their abusers.

Features such as online chat services, texting, or the usage of secret code words during a call to discreetly seek help would make it easier for victims to reach out, and simple to implement. In addition to psychologists, the hotline service should also be backed up by a team of police and health workers who are well-trained in responding to domestic violence. Formation of this team may require additional economic resources but is surely important enough to be funded using the extra spending set aside for the pandemic.

Initiatives at the grassroots level can help strengthen existing anti-domestic violence measures during the coronavirus crisis. Steps taken by civil society groups, rather than government, to help survivors of domestic violence have started to flourish, especially in Greater Jakarta, the epicenter of the pandemic in the country.

As  some villages already implement their own measures to ensure distancing and caring for infected neighbours, they should also incorporate anti-domestic violence initiatives into their activism in the community.

For example, village volunteers and neighbourhood watch members could be educated, empowered to detect signs of violence, and then maintain regular communication with the neighbours. Village chiefs and community leaders should also increase their readiness in providing safe houses and receiving report from survivors.

More than just a global health issue, the COVID-19 pandemic has created serious disruption for so many aspects of everyday life. In the middle of high death tolls from the disease itself, it is easy to overlook the scale of what COVID-19 is doing to those who do not contract it.

Policies designed to limit mobility in the pandemic should not come at the expense of the safety of women, and Indonesia must use this hard time as an opportunity to strengthen its domestic violence services. A failure to provide comprehensive domestic violence services will create greater loss for Indonesia, both to its health care system, and society, and amount to an act negligence toward its own people.

If you or someone you know are experiencing domestic violence in Indonesia and require support, you can contact P2TP2A or Unit Pelayanan Perempuan dan Anak (PPA) Polda for help. In Australia, you can find resources to get support here or dial 1800 RESPECT.

Source: https://www.policyforum.net/the-personal-price-of-lockdown/?fbclid=IwAR0atPWbATut3NEH_Gsr3f1smWlq_0DWujoUNqAlpBh9Oqw7WX90XoEm9tU

Why Are Women (Still) Comfortable in Islam?

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By Lies Marcoes (Researcher, Rumah KitaB)

Please show where and how women are placed with dignity in the conceptual framework (epistemology) of Islam? This question resounded in my mind following the discussion of Dr. Zahra Ayubi’s book Gendered Morality: Classical Islamic Ethics of the Self, Family and Society, (Columbia University, July 2019). This is not some strange or eccentric query, but rather an accusation that demands an honest answer. Where?The virtual discussion was held on the morning of 20 May 2020 by WE LEAD, an empowerment network of seven feminist NGOs, three of which are Islam-based. We all perceive the strong rising tide of fundamentalism that threatens women’s bodies and existence as well as the diversity of Indonesia. This was truly a very special discussion, in terms of the quality of the book, the discussants, and the dialogue. Dr. Ayubi herself participated throughout the discussion, even though it was before dawn in California. The discussion was led and notes were provided by Ulil Abshar Abdalla, M.A., who has for the past several years been an expert on Imam Ghazali’s work Ngaji Ihlya. It was important to have kyai Ulil involved, because one of the texts discussed in Gendered Morality is the works of Abu Hamid Muhammad al-Ghazali, better known as Imam Ghazali. Meanwhile, Dr. amina wadud (who officially prefers her name written without capital letters), serving as one of the discussants, led the discussion straight to the heart of the problem. She asked Dr. Ayubi to explain about her motivation, the basis of her arguments, and her analysis of the three texts of tasawuf (mysticism) she explored: Kimiya’i Sa’adat by Imam Ghazali, Akhlaaq-i Nasiri by Nasiruddin Tusi, and Akhlaaq-i Jalali by Jalaluddin Davani. These last two books are more popular in Iran.In his introduction to the discussion, kyai Ulil- and I concurred,  explained that mysticism has long been considered a discipline that is friendly toward women – for example, by presenting the “feminine side” of God. For many Muslim feminists, tasawuf is a branch of knowledge that can help to console them in their frustration with the teachings of Islam in other areas, which are often misogynistic and patriarchal. For example, in fiqh or dogma, women are discussed by first of all positioning them as subordinate to men. A woman is the property of her father or of some other man in his line of descent, or of her husband. Women are deemed to be only half the equal of men, and this assumption pervades practical matters such as giving testimony, inheritance rights, polygamy, and not being allowed to lead communal prayers. Sachiko Murata’s book The Tao of Islam is a study on Islamic spirituality that explores the balance of Yin and Yang and the masculine and feminine aspects in the characteristics of God. Other books, such as My Soul is a Woman by Annemarie Schimmel, also explore the feminine aspect in Islamic spirituality. But Dr. Zahra’s study and analysis leads to a very different conclusion. The construction of the teachings on akhlak (ethics), as explored in these three mystical works, is full of male-centered bias. The entire conceptual framework of thinking in mysticism about ethics solely discusses how men should behave and achieve superior moral character. In her book, she presents evidence of how these medieval Islamic intellectuals created a system of ethical philosophy that inherently has gender implications by ignoring the experience of women as subjects.

Ayubi’s study is very important and counts as new because until now, scholars of Islam who explore the issues of gender have generally criticized the patriarchal interpretations of the Qur’an, the hadith, or traditions of fiqh. In the Sufi teachings as portrayed in the three works she studied, the ideal concept of a human is a man who is able to control his passions. Such an attribute can only be achieved by the elite (the nobility, higher social classes), because only these upper classes are considered intellectually capable to grasp the concepts of philosophy and to achieve realization as persons of noble character.

 

Methodologically, what Ayubi has done is to “interrogate” the text. To be able to analyze how gender is understood in the texts, she first examined the masculinity and the class bias contained in the texts, particularly how men – and specifically, men from the elite class, in terms of wealth, education, and power – are conditioned from birth to become patriarchs/ leaders in society. It is important to recognize here that the issue is not simply that women are not included in a given text, but rather how, overall, the texts on ethical behavior require a certain form of relationship that is based on the subordination of others (for example, wives or slaves) to men in the effort to become more ethical.

 

According to Ayubi, in the understanding of mysticism, the studies of akhlak and fiqh occupy different “strata”. Fiqh is seen as discourse on ethics for the common people, who do not need heavy ideas but just require practical guidelines on what is and is not permitted; in contrast, akhlak is seen as discourse on ethics that is formulated by philosophical thinking, and therefore is intended only for the upper classes/ nobles. In her research, Ayubi concluded that the discourse on ethics in tasawuf suffers not only from male gender bias but also from class bias, because it is oriented toward the male elite. Obviously, the discussion of akhlak does include some discussion of women, and also of slaves. But the main thrust of these studies is on how a man should act ethically when facing (the temptations of) women or slaves. Hence, women are discussed in their role as the touchstone to test the quality of a man’s ethics, as a direct object to test the purity of men’s souls.

 

The concept of akhlak in mysticism is “refinement of nafs” (purification of the heart). Kyai Ulil added that the process of purification of the heart in tasawuf consists of three concepts: takholi (cleansing the heart of negative characteristics), takhali (filling it with good characteristics), and tajali (the peak of human endeavor, becoming a person who always acts ethically). amina wadud explained how this relates to the concept of Insaan Kamil, the ideal person, which revolves around purification of the hearts of men. According to Zahra, this “refinement of nafs” is in fact a concept that is solely for cleansing the hearts of men. In this way, no different from the epistemology in the fields of fiqh and tafsir, the texts on akhlak in tasawuf are full of misogyny and gender bias.

 

According to Dr. Ayubi, essentially the discipline of ethics (akhlak) offers a basic perspective on the meaning of being human, especially in the concept of dien according to Islam, which offers a way and a path of life for all humans. But apart from this rich discourse on ethics, there are still many other assumptions that need to be unpacked so that the humanity of every person can be fully recognized, so that this discourse can contribute to answering how to achieve the superiority and nobility of humankind in the perspective of Islam, i.e. as insaan kamil as mentioned by amina wadud.

 

Dr. Ayubi notes that in these texts, the question of gender can be raised not only in those matters that often discuss women, such as marriage, but in fact in all aspects discussed in the texts. Everything includes the issue of gender. She sees that, first, although the texts she studied were written in Persian, in which the pronouns do not literally distinguish between masculine and feminine, when we read them in context it is evident that these texts specifically refer only to males. For example, when discussing how to be a better person and Muslim, or when discussing the concept of nafs (the psyche) and how to control it, what is actually meant by the text is how to become a better Muslim male and be able to control one’s nafs. As another example, in the discussion on society, such as how to be a good leader and how to deal with opponents, the entire context is men’s leadership in society.

 

Second, the construction of akhlak in Islamic tradition as a way of life has to date been an exclusive effort. The ethical discourse aimed at purifying and upgrading oneself continues to exclude other groups based on gender, ability, rationality, social class, and race.

 

Rationality is one aspect that causes women to be treated unequally in the epistemological constructs of tasawuf, as in the other epistemologies (Fiqh, Aqidah, Philosophy, Politics). In fact, all these epistemological constructs focus on rationality. Perhaps this is why women are excluded in the texts. In fact, rationality should have no gender and need not always follow the same path.

 

But women’s reproductive capabilities, such as menstruation, pregnancy, giving birth, postnatal confinement, which are recognized in the text of the Qur’an as extremely burdensome events, “wahnan ‘ala wahnin”, have been used as a unilateral argument that women’s rationality is lower. This also relates to the ways in which women are obstructed in performing worship. The reproductive events that women experience have been used as a judgement on their inequality with men. Their essential ability has become a stigma implying that women are less rational than men, as well as further implications departing from the same prejudice – doubting their rationality.

 

For Dr. Nur Rofiah, one of the initiators of KUPI (Congress of Indonesian Women Ulama), Zahra’s book further reinforces her view that there are problems within Islam’s system of knowledge, including in mysticism, which has until now been considered neutral. It turns out that tasawuf is also characterized by a masculine awareness (using males as the standard). For many centuries, the experience of women with their bodies and their reproductive capability has not been taken into account in the system of teachings/ knowledge of Islam. The long history of human civilization, including Islamic civilization, is characterized by a tradition that “does not treat women as human”. This gives rise to a collective view (including in women’s own thinking) that men are considered the standard for women’s humanity.

 

Yet women’s biological and social experiences, such as giving birth and nursing their children, as well as their social implications, are never experienced by men. Women’s experience with reproduction seldom even enters into men’s awareness. Meanwhile, men hold strategic positions, including in constructing the concepts of knowledge. It is this situation that creates the gaps and differences in determining the standards of benefit in gender relations. The concept of “maslahat” (benefit, advantage) relies entirely on the standard of males. The most obvious example is that when determining permission for polygamy, in terms of both ethics/ fiqih and akhlak, polygamy is justified because women have certain time restrictions for engaging in sexual relations. Rather than having some empathy for women who are menstruating, pregnant, or in post-partum seclusion, men perceive that these obstacles interfere with their own benefit, and they therefore formulate their rights themselves so that they can continue to enjoy having sex whenever they feel they need it. On this basis, they formulate polygamy as a right that is permitted for men. Another example is marriages between young girls and adult men. This practice, which creates suffering and trauma for the girls, is considered beneficial because such marriages bring benefit to men, who feel they have the right to repeatedly deflower virgins by marrying young girls!

The importance of reproduction for the survival of living creatures, which brings with it many biological experiences for women, will never be compatible with the concepts of akhlak according to masculine bodies and experience. For amina wadud, a rereading of this issue requires us to radically integrate the bodily experiences of all humankind (not just women) in constructing an understanding of humankind, insaan kamil, and then enhancing it so that spiritual refinement is not allocated only to formal rituals of worship.

 

Returning to the question I raised earlier, if women are treated so badly in the epistemology of Islam, why are women (still) comfortable being in Islam?

Dr. Zahra Ayubi stated that texts such as the ones she explored should not automatically be ignored. An effort is needed to reexamine them critically and in depth, and to raise critical questions at a more philosophical and cosmic level. We can ask what the ethical basis is in interpreting the meaning of being a Muslim, what is the purpose of human existence, and what it means to surrender oneself to Allah. She recommends that Muslim intellectuals should collectively and sincerely think about a more inclusive philosophy of ethics that does not merely construct happiness based on the concept of use of reason (such that rationality holds the most important position and neglects other kinds of experience). The current definition of akhlak is problematic, because it excludes the experience of women.

 

Ideally, the texts on akhlak should be able to acknowledge the diversity of humankind – not just in terms of gender, but also race, ability, and class. The recognition of this diversity could give rise to a diversity of standards – not just a single standard for achieving “refinement”. And this would be more appropriate, because the various differences, social constructs, and structural challenges will lead to differences in defining the obstacles each individual faces in achieving the potential of their nafs.

 

I held a virtual discussion with several of my feminist colleagues. They provided some answers that seem quite reasonable to me. The most common answer was that women lack the courage or willingness to leave Islam, because the ties that bind them are so tight and strong. Imagine: from the day she is born, the first stones are laid in the walls that guard her; she is the daughter (binti) of a particular father, and the entire family line of the patriarchal hierarchy feels they have rights over her. Starting even as a baby, she is told of her obligation to maintain the dignity of the family, and then of ever-widening circles, until she must protect the reputation of the entire “Muslim community”. If she chooses to become an apostate, for example, how many people will feel they have the right to punish her? In this sense, the question of “comfortable or not” becomes irrelevant.

Second was an answer which asserts that within religion there are in fact aspects of affection, warmth, a feeling of peace, a devout relationship between individual women and their God. This experience is not codified as a discipline of knowledge, nor is it institutionalized. This is because women’s experience is not known by the men who have for so long constructed the epistemology of Islam. These aspects of warmth in religion live and are passed on as a secret among women from generation to generation. The experience of reproduction is something only they experience, which they do not share with those who will never be able to understand it (men) and who consider it a taboo subject. They choose to maintain an internal love, with their Creator, whom they treat as their beloved.

Another option is to leave Islam and take up some other religion or ideology that defends women, such as secular philosophy and thinking that is based on the legal system. But such an option does not necessarily provide space for women. And finally, and I think this is the path that is now being pursued by feminist Muslims, including Dr. Zahra Ayubi: seize the tafsir (interpretation)! The epistemology of Islam already offers a wealth of methodologies that can be criticized and reused to provide a critique that presents the experiences of women as valid truth. In this way, the epistemology of Islam can be reexamined and reconstructed! []

 

NU Must be Present for Urban Working Class

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“In the old days, as far as you could see the rice fields, that area was all ‘NU [Nahdlatul Ulama] territory’. But now, along with the shrinking rice fields, the only ones who study and worship in NU style are in the outlying areas, or those that are well established and want to preserve the memories of their home villages. Meanwhile, most workers follow the Salafi style in Quran studies and worship.”

This hypothesis of one of our fellow researchers clearly needs to be tested, but recent research findings by Rumah KitaB that women laborers in Karawang and Bekasi in West Java are very active in Salafi pengajian (religious study groups) seem to confirm this statement. NU is Indonesia’s largest Islamic organization, known for its moderate teachings and practices, while Salafi is known for a more rigid understanding of Islam.

Three Rumah KitaB researchers have been observing industrial areas since January, taking the daily pulse of women working in local large factories. They observed how these women workers or former workers defined their lives: the effect of the industrial era and industrial area on their socioeconomic life and their existence as women; and whether any sense of restriction is caused by increasingly rigid religious views, or by attitudes that are more intolerant of women. The researchers are still exploring the answers, but there are some intriguing indications.

One researcher reported that almost all the religious study groups attended by the women workers were “kajian sunnah Salafi”. This refers to study groups following the Salafi belief that the only authentic Islamic teachings are those derived from the Salafi era — the time closest to the life of the Prophet Muhammad. We therefore refer to them as fundamentalists.

On Mondays through Sundays, dozens of these kajian sunnah are found in mosques in housing complexes and in company mosques. In the areas studied, the busiest time for these sessions is Saturday, when 17 groups meet in one industrial area.

Our researchers collect posters of the sessions which listed the topics under study. Most discuss tauhid, the principles of strict monotheism. Various terms translate these principles considered as central to pure tauhid. Phrases such as “fear of bid’ah” or heretical practices and rituals, “never be a musyrik” or someone who worships anything other than God, or “must use a clear reference”, signal their utmost caution and rigidity in practicing Islam. As Salafis, they clearly believe the most correct religious teachings are the ones they consider most authentic. And this is where their intolerance shows.

Their sessions are deadly serious; with almost no joking around, unlike scenes in women’s religious study groups often shown on television, which are full of joyous laughter, typical of cultural religious study sessions in NU circles.

Another theme of the Salafi study groups relates to “correct” practices of daily worship: the right way to perform ablutions, the right way to pray, to dress, to raise a family, and so on. Naturally, it is studies on women that are presented most often, including the obligation to wear a full body covering (jilbab syar’i) plus hijab.

Through their mobile phones, the women can access and select various study themes. And in every study activity, they diligently pay attention, take notes, and ask questions on slips of paper.

So why is the NU style of study and worship no longer suitable for the urban working class in these former NU strongholds? Why has the NU model of pengajian been pushed into the outlying areas? The working class seems very keen on the sunna style of study because it gives them definite answers: lawful or unlawful, you may do this, you must not do that.

Their lives as workers follow the rhythm of working life, measured in minutes and hours. This “instant” type of study seems to fit with their rhythm as urban dwellers with drained energy. They are only interested in definite answers and no longer have time to follow the NU model of study, which provides alternatives. As newcomers from villages, not all of whom are familiar with the pesantren (Islamic boarding school) tradition, they are uninterested in a traditional model of study that discusses the classical texts word by word. They need answers directly relevant to their current lives as city dwellers who need something to hold onto in a life full of gray areas.

This situation is clearly different from when they lived in the villages, where life is regulated by the farming seasons, the rhythms of the five daily prayers, and participation in pengajian as a customary communal activity.

Historically, the NU founders aimed to maintain the traditions upheld by the rural agrarian poor. But these poor people have now moved to the cities, following the loss of their rice fields and economic resources in the villages. They have become the urban poor who no longer depend on agriculture but instead on industry.

Has this change been captured not by NU but instead by proponents of the Salafi? Some Salafi consider politics as bid’ah (heresy); consequently workers are forbidden to rally even for their own rights and interests. And this is perhaps why business owners cultivate them, or at least tolerate them.

The hardships faced by poor families and women workers in urban areas mean they seek a way out to improve their lives. The working class struggle cannot be constantly denied in the name of maintaining stability. And just like in the villages when the poor had to face landlords or high prices of production inputs, NU should be present among the urban working class and defend them when they face disadvantageous labor regulations.

The shift of the interest of many workers, especially women, to Salafi-style pengajian should not be seen as a simple individual preference of any available stream of Islam; since the nature of Salafi teachings, which emphasize the superiority of their group and their sense of being the most authentic in practicing Islam, is the root of intolerant religious attitudes.

And everyone knows that intolerance never leads to anything good in the life of a pluralistic society like Indonesia’s.

 

Lies Marcoes

 

Sumber : https://www.thejakartapost.com/academia/2020/03/14/nu-must-be-present-for-urban-working-class.html