Asia and the curse of Islamophobia
Over twenty years ago, Samuel Huntington warned that the world faced a future that would be dominated by the 'clash of civilisations'.
'The
fault lines between civilizations are replacing the political and
ideological boundaries of the Cold War as the flash points for crisis
and bloodshed', Huntington proclaimed. 'The Cold War began when the Iron
Curtain divided Europe politically and ideologically. The Cold War
ended with the end of the Iron Curtain. As the ideological division of
Europe has disappeared, the cultural division of Europe between Western
Christianity, on the one hand, and Orthodox Christianity and Islam, on
the other, has reemerged. The most significant dividing line in Europe,
as William Wallace has suggested, may well be the eastern boundary of
Western Christianity in the year 1500.'
Huntington suggested that
the conflict along the fault line between Western and Islamic
civilisations had been going on for 1300 years. After the founding of
Islam, the Arab and Moorish surge west and north only ended at Tours in
732. The balance between Christianity and Islam see-sawed across Europe
to the Middle East until the Western powers established control over the
Middle East, Northern Africa and the Balkans in the nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries. After World War II, the West began to
retreat; 'the colonial empires disappeared; first Arab nationalism and
then Islamic fundamentalism manifested themselves' while the West became
heavily dependent on the Persian Gulf countries for its energy; the
oil-rich Muslim countries became money-rich and, when they wished to,
weapons-rich.
Thus,
Huntington reckoned, the 'centuries-old military interaction between
the West and Islam' was unlikely to decline: rather it could become more
virulent. We were set for 'no less than a clash of civilizations — the
perhaps irrational but surely historic reaction of an ancient rival
against our Judeo-Christian heritage, our secular present, and the
worldwide expansion of both'.
On
the face of it, Huntington's hypothesis might seem to have been
prescient. The Iraq wars, the shock of the September 11 attacks on New
York and Washington and the long and drawn out war against al-Qaeda in Afghanistan all might seem to fit within Huntington's frame.
The truth, of course, is more multi-textured and complicated.
For
one thing, as George W Bush declared at the beginning of the War on
Terror after September 11: 'Ours …is not a war against Islam'. Political
leaders, intellectuals and analysts struggled against the flawed idea
that violence against the established order in the West, or in Asia,
derived from 'Muslim rage' or 'clash of civilisations' and sought to
maintain a proper distinction between the Muslim faith and some of its
radicalised followers. For another, it was plain for all to see that
Muslim states or states with dominant Muslim populations, from Indonesia
to Pakistan and Egypt, were threatened by the same radical violence.
But such complex lines of battle were bound to be difficult to maintain with clarity.
Now, as James Piscatori argues in this week's lead essay,
there is a danger of succumbing to the darker prospect. 'In the face of
the frontal attacks on free speech in Paris and Copenhagen, horrific
videos from the Islamic State, and the mass kidnappings and murders of
Nigeria's Boku Haram, nuance has seemed to evaporate', writes Piscatori.
'The rise of PEGIDA in Germany, opposed to what they see as the
Islamisation of Europe, and arson attacks on mosques in famously
tolerant Sweden indicate that Islamophobia has found new life'. The
threat of 'Islamic radicalism' morphs each term with 'unintended
consequences'. The Islamic terrorist too easily becomes 'so pervasive a
figure of fear that it has given a kind of back-door permission for
bigots to see fifth-columnists where there are none and for governments
to smear domestic enemies as jihadists'.
Islamophobia,
of course, had never gone away. And sometimes those same leaders, who
try to make the right distinctions, stumble in accidental accusation
where none is called for. In Australia, leaders of the Muslim community
were outraged when Prime Minister Abbott let slip: 'I've often heard
Western leaders describe Islam as a 'religion of peace'. I wish more
Muslim leaders would say that more often, and mean it.' Australian
Muslim leaders and scholars have, of course, spoken out against jihadist
violence and the head of Australia's security agency acknowledged the
centrality of support of the Muslim community in the campaign against
violence and extremism.
The
fear of Islamic radicalisation, says Piscatori, is clearly a fact of
life throughout Asia, even of course in states with Muslim majorities.
He reports polls from Pew that
show that 66 per cent of people in Bangladesh and 42 per cent of people
in Pakistan held unfavourable views of al-Qaeda. In Southeast Asia, the
allegiance of groups such as Jemaah Islamiyah to the 'Islamic State'has
claimed attention. Broader public attitudes matter more. In Indonesia,
in fact, 56 per cent of those polled viewed al-Qaeda unfavourably, and
in Malaysia, only 18 per cent of people had a favourable view of it.
Piscatori
points out that the threat that has been constructed in policymaking
circles in countries where Muslims are in a minority has abetted two
kinds of Islamophobia — reactive and state Islamophobia. Reactive
Islamophopia is now widespread in Europe. In Myanmar the Rohingya
Muslims have been subjected to systematic repression. The picture in
China is more variegated.
As
Piscatori concludes, 'Islamic State, with its confronting ideology,
enigmatic caliphate, and brutal tactics, has virtually single-handedly
undone the positive work on attitudes towards Muslims and Islam that has
been done since the beginning of the millennium'. But, as he says, the
War on Terror has also played its insidious if inadvertent part, with
its exclusive focus on security and the pretext it provides for both
reactive and state-sponsored anti-Muslim sentiment and actions.
Political
leaders in our region might help to check the conflation of Islam with
violence and radicalisation if they took the opportunity, at an East
Asian Summit say, to join in common cause with a plurality of
states (some with Muslim majority populations and others with Muslim
minority populations) against radical violence and in favour of
religious tolerance and mutual respect.
Peter Drysdale
Editor
6 April 2015
Editor
6 April 2015
Islamophobia in the era of Islamic State
5 April 2015
Author: James Piscatori, Durham University.
For
decades, and especially since 11 September 2001, many academics,
policymakers and activists have struggled against what they consider to
be unacceptable attacks on Muslims and Islam itself. Over a decade
before President Obama used the same words, President Bush said of the
War on Terror, ‘Ours is…not a war against Islam’. It became commonplace
to distinguish, as they both did, between the faith and its radicalised
followers and to question formulations like ‘the roots of Muslim rage’
or ‘clash of civilisations’ as causal explanations for violence.
But
in the past six months, in the face of the frontal attacks on free
speech in Paris and Copenhagen, horrific videos from the Islamic State
(IS), and the mass kidnappings and murders of Boku Haram, nuance seems
to have evaporated. The rise of PEGIDA in Germany, a group opposed to
what it sees as the Islamisation of Europe, and arson attacks on mosques
in famously tolerant Sweden indicate that Islamophobia has found new
life.
As
much as the ‘Islamophobia industry’ — as it is derisorily named by its
critics — shifted official attitudes in Europe, North America and
Australia, Islamophobia never went away. The semantical distinction
between the faith, which is worthy of respect, and adherents of the
faith who commit violence in its name and who should be stopped, became
lost in what social scientists call the securitisation of Islam.
The
political construction of the threat of ‘Islamic radicalism’ has had
unintended consequences on conceptions of Islam, often with the blurring
of the two terms in practice. The threat has become so entrenched and
the Islamic terrorist so pervasive a figure of fear that it has given a
kind of backdoor permission for bigots to see fifth-columnists where
there are none and for governments to smear domestic enemies as
jihadists.
Islamic
radicalisation and fear of it are certainly facts of life. The anxiety
is pronounced even in states where Muslims are in a majority. Poll data
for 2014 show that 66 per cent of people in Bangladesh and 42 per cent
of people in Pakistan held unfavourable views of al-Qaeda. In Southeast
Asia, the allegiance of groups such as Jemaah Islamiyah to IS has gained
considerable attention, but broader public attitudes seem below the
radar. Polling data indicate
that 56 percent of Indonesians viewed al-Qaeda unfavourably, and in
Malaysia, only 18 per cent of people had a favourable view of it.
But
the constructed threat in policymaking circles where Muslims are in a
minority has abetted two kinds of Islamophobia — reactive and state
Islamophobia.
The
former is seen, for example, in Europe. The growing numbers of Muslims
have cast the policies of multiculturalism into doubt and have unleashed
cycles of mutual suspicion in which Islamophobia carries disturbing
echoes of earlier — and now resurgent — anti-Semitism. Muslims, like
Jews have been for generations, are said to be resistant to
assimilation, antithetical to common values, and a threat to national
security. While the demographic impact can be debated — the European
Muslim population is projected to rise from its current 4 per cent to 8
per cent of the total population by 2030 — the point has always been
about society’s attitudes towards a minority. Even in the United States
where the protective legal environment is strong, Muslims are the least liked religious group.
In
the Asian states where Muslims are also in a minority, many of the same
concerns are felt. In a Japan traumatised by the gruesome beheadings of
two of its citizens in early 2015, mosques, particularly in the Aichi
prefecture, have been subject to intimidation. There have also been
right-wing demonstrations calling for curbs on immigration. The number
of Muslims is very small — 130,000 people, representing 0.1 percent of
the Japanese population — but a forward policy in the war on terrorism
may lead to a further targeting of Japanese civilians in the region and,
by way of almost inevitable reaction, complicate social relations at
home.
State Islamophobia is more disturbing. Rohingya Muslims in Myanmar,
for example, have been subjected to systematic repression. They have
been denied citizenship on the pretext that they are illegal Bangladeshi
immigrants, and in 2014 the very term Rohingya was banned as a term of
affiliation in the national census. Médecins sans Frontières has said
that Rohingyas are the most in danger of extinction among the world’s
minorities.
In China, there are differences of approach to the various Muslim ethnic groups,
but the worldwide designation of Islam as first and foremost a security
issue strengthens the government’s controlling hand. The ‘terrorist’
label is frequently applied, especially to activists in Xinjiang.
Constraints have generally been imposed on who can go on pilgrimage to
Mecca, mosque sermons, and the practice of Ramadan. Popular culture,
such as television programming, comic books and cartoons, often
reinforces negative stereotypes.
While
these policies may be thought to be conducive to internal security,
they may complicate China’s external policies. Chinese workers built the
Mecca Metro designed to facilitate the pilgrimage, and have been
engaged in large-scale construction elsewhere, such as the Grand Mosque
in Algiers. Having increased its trade with the region by some 90 per
cent between 2005 and 2009, China is now the largest overall exporter to
the Middle East. A state policy that is seen to be regressive on Muslim
issues, as it in fact is, runs the risk of being counter-productive
economically and politically.
IS,
with its confronting ideology, enigmatic caliphate, and brutal tactics,
has virtually single-handedly undone the positive work on attitudes
towards Muslims and Islam that has been done since the beginning of the
millennium. Forceful reactions to IS are certainly necessary. But we
would be remiss if we failed to acknowledge that the War on Terror,
supposedly not directed against Islam, also has an insidious, if
inadvertent, effect by focusing attention exclusively on security, and
providing in that way a pretext for both reactive and state-sponsored
anti-Muslim sentiment and actions.
James Piscatori is Professor of International Relations at Durham University.
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