THE kerfuffle up north, between the Johor Sultan Ibrahim Ibn Sultan Iskandar and constitutional law expert Abdul Aziz Bari, on Arabisation and its effects on Malay culture has piqued interest here at home. Non- Muslims and even non-Malay Muslims, like me, are observing keenly. But let’s not dance around the issue. Public interest on the matter here is likely heightened more so because of the threat of Muslim extremists than purely a sense of nostalgia. Rightfully, methinks. So let’s frame the issue accordingly.
First thing to note, the Quran is in Classical Arabic. Our translated copies are never our primary texts. When our sermons are given, the verses are always recited in Arabic followed by the translation. The vast majority of Muslims recite the verses in its original Arabic during the five daily prayers. Although many may not know the language, part of our education includes learning what the verses mean. It’s an integral part of daily Muslim life.
So while comments like “we must not allow Arabic to be used” may seem to be an obvious course of action, it is actually misguided.
However, regarding the increased usage of Arabic terms in place of existing local terms, matters are less clear. (For example, “iftar” instead of “buka puasa”, “ana” instead of “me”, “anta” instead of “you”.) Is it born of a desire to be more religious, and confusing religiosity with using the Arabic language day to day? If so, some education will sort this out. If not, could it just be a consequence of globalisation where Muslims around the world are communicating with each other more than ever and so resort to the more commonly understood Arabic terms? Then, we have a non-issue, I think. Or is this a result of hardliners insisting that the use of any term other than the Arabic one is wrong? In that case, we have a problem.
It’s one thing to defer to Arabic terms when referring to Quranic concepts and completely another to substitute the pronouns in daily conversations (“ana” instead of “me”). But we also have to ask how widespread this is or is it just a passing fad? These questions need to be answered before we can meaningfully address the issue – if there is any in the first place. Hopefully, someone’s researching this somewhere.
With regard to cultural artefacts like clothes, there may be a hint of hypocrisy when non-Malays, like me, exhort our Malay friends to protect their culture from foreign influence. That line of argument is best avoided. Because you know, Indians and Chinese here wear kurtas and cheongsams every day. And our schools are at the forefront of preserving cultural identities with their ties and blazer… which by the way really is the best possible attire for restless kids in a tropical country, no?
That said, there is a problem when the Arabic jubah is worn not for reasons of fashion or personal taste, but because it’s seen to be holier than wearing the Baju Melayu. Is the Baju Melayu any less than the Jubah in adhering to the Islamic ideal of modesty? Anyone who has seen the outfits will surely reply with an emphatic no!
No conflict between faith and culture
My family and I are Bengali Muslims and we see no conflict between our culture and faith. Traditionally, Bengali women wear sharis, a single piece of cloth about a metre wide and up to eight metres long. It’s wrapped around the waist with the end draped over the shoulder. The shari is worn over a petticoat and blouse piece. The cultural norm is to wear a cropped, short sleeved blouse. The final ensemble leaves the midriff exposed.
My mother, a strict Muslim, believes in leaving only the face and hands exposed but sees no conflict with her heritage. She merely ensures that her blouse piece is not cropped, that the sleeves are longer, and styles her headscarf such that it complements the shari. The sheer variety of her stash of scarves never ceases to amaze me! My father and I are much simpler though: we pull on our Kurtas or Fotuas over the nearest pair of pants we can find before heading for Friday prayers.
It is fallacious to wrap Arab culture together with Islamic religiosity so much so that following Arab customs is perceived to be the height of religious expression. Seeing the two as one and the same is problematic at the very least because it helps fulfil one of the core aims of extremists: To create a homogeneous, monolithic supranational Muslim community based on the exclusivity of the outward forms of faith while debasing the much harder, more inclusive, inward function of faith.
And so we have come to the nub of the issue – how do we tackle it? It’s not easy but it’s clear. Focus on educating the inner function of faith and the outward forms will take care of itself. Cultural and religious norms often merge to form distinctive practises. Understanding the principles of the faith will enable us to distinguish the practise of our faith from imported culture and decide for ourselves how we want to live.
Diversity forms a unique culture
There’s more to it than just the religious approach. Culture transcends attire and a sprinkling of words. Poetry, art, folklore… These are just as important in shaping the Malay Muslim identity. In all honesty, can Arabisation take all that away unless the cultural gatekeepers, that is the community itself, allows it to happen?
Islam has its intellectual traditions of debate and discussion and openness that really applies to any culture without eroding it. Local Muslim intellectuals and religious people taking the lead to establish centres of excellence that reflect Malay society and culture goes a long way in helping to form a uniquely Singaporean Malay Muslim culture.
Perhaps ending with a Quranic verse is apt: “Another of his signs is the creation of the heavens and earth, and the diversity of your languages and colours. There truly are signs in this for those who know” [30:22].
Do we really want to lose that diversity?
Featured image: Xi’an by Julie Laurent, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.