IT WAS a tough Ramadan month.
First came the Manchester Arena bombing just days before the start of the fasting month on May 26. Children as young as 8 were among the dead. Then the truck bomb that killed 90 in Kabul three days into Ramadan. The day after, a car bomb ripped through an ice-cream parlour in a predominantly Shia area of Baghdad just as families were breaking their fast. The London bridge attack where terrorists drove a van to mow down pedestrians was followed by a similar attack against Muslims outside a mosque in London as well.
Video clips of the various attacks circulated on Facebook and other websites. The ones I saw displayed neither gore nor bloodshed. But the screams of fear and anguish, my god, the screams.
The screams that echoed in my head when news broke in Singapore of the young single mother who had planned to travel to war-torn Syria with her four-year old child. Just over a week later, we found out about the Sunni Muslim auxiliary police officer who wanted to wage a holy war against the Shia Muslims in Syria. The families of both extremists knew about their radicalisation but did not report them to the G. Eventually, both of them were detained under the Internal Security Act (ISA).
What madness possesses someone to want to travel to war with her child, or to wage violence on people he’s never met? I cannot empathise.
But I can empathise with the family members who did not report the radicalised individuals. In fact, as much as I detest terrorism, I cannot honestly guarantee that I would turn in my own brother should he ever – God forbid – harbour such plans.
I would try my best to reason, to love, to cajole my loved one away from radicalisation, no doubt. But I don’t think I would be able to consign him to a cell away from family to suffer at the hands of stern-faced wardens – that’s how I imagine detention to be. I would likely be blind to the impact of his radicalisation and tell others: You don’t know him, he’s not like those ISIS guys, he’s a good kid, merely misguided.
What are echoes of screams from far away lands in the face of memories and love and kinship?
But again, I might be hasty in thinking it would be a cell for him. There’s an in-between solution: the Religious Rehabilitation Group (RRG).
Voluntarily set up by Muslim scholars and teachers in Singapore, it has been actively rehabilitating extremists since 2003. By the end of 2015, 57 radicals had been rehabilitated with only one who relapsed and had to be detained again. Prime Minister Lee had called it a “resounding success”.
Detention seems so final. But rehabilitation is hopeful. More should be told about its work so that, again, God forbid, I would be able to say: “Help me, help my brother. Let’s work together.” This would give the Muslim community a sense of empowerment, rather than fear the proverbial late-night knock on the door.
Truth to tell, most of the times the issue of Muslim extremism feels like an intractable problem I have no control over.
Over time, I’ve come to realise that I unconsciously compensate for this lack of control. For example, I become needlessly argumentative whenever I think someone is being critical of Muslims. An honest discussion would have been more fruitful or even just letting the casual remark pass.
I daresay this is the case for many other fellow Muslims. We know we are Muslims, and we want to make sure others recognise us as such. Then again, there would still be a question mark over the degree of Muslim-ness.
The Geylang Bazaar this year for example stirred controversy for having too many new-fangled food and too few traditional dishes. Additionally, questions were raised about the halal status of stalls at the bazaar after a WhatsApp message, based on a blog post, indicated which stalls had questionable halal status.
It was clear from the blog post that the writer meant it as a guide to help Muslims make a personal choice, but the tone and context of the write up was not reflected in the Whatsapp messages. For instance, the messages labelled certain stalls as non-halal. But the blog post itself made no such claim. Instead the writer said that she could not verify if some stalls were halal or not. The writer had also urged that readers “verify with the stall yourselves before deciding to purchase from them” because “halal is everyone’s personal responsibility”.
The misleading Whatsapp messages prompted the writer to remove the list of stalls she could not verify as halal and replaced it with the following words: “There have been some irresponsible sharing of this information on Whatsapp and Facebook Groups. Our list and our words have been mutilated and spread around. We do not condone irresponsible sharing of information without the accompanying knowledge that enrich the reader.”
It’s a big bazaar selling everything from food to furniture to fashion to insurance. There were even a few car dealerships. In all, TMG counted 561 stalls of varying sizes. About 205 sold food and beverages. Only four had the Muis halal cert or sticker visible: One Indian-run stall, one Chinese-run stall, two Malay-run stalls. Eight displayed “Muslim-owned’’ signs. There may have been more as over 20 stalls were closed when TMG visited. Out of 61 non-Malay run stalls in total, 50 had no clear signs to indicate its halal status. Malay run stalls may not necessarily be Muslim-owned and vice versa.
Frankly, I wouldn’t have checked for the halal status of the food at the bazaar if no one had raised the issue. It seemed so simple to me before this episode. The bazaar had to be halal. After all, the bazaar pops up only during ramadan, that too in the Malay area of Geylang Serai. It was the one place in Singapore where I thought I could indulge myself and try every interesting thing that caught my eye without worrying about its halal status.
To be sure, there are practical considerations. Muslim stall owner Mr Muhaimin Baledram said it would not be possible for a bazaar this large to be purely Muslim-owned. Chinese vendors had to fill the stalls.
At the very least though, there should have been clear signages like “Muslim-owned”, or “no pork no lard” and so on at all the stalls so that Muslims can make an informed decision. Without them, Muslims would simply walk past the stalls – we’ve been deprived of our ability to choose. No one expects to have halal options in Chinatown but I think Muslims have a right to know about the halal status of the stalls at the Geylang Ramadan bazaar.
The controversy prompted a response from Dr Fatimah Lateef, MP for the Geylang Serai area, on the need to be inclusive in multi-racial Singapore. She also pointed out that the bazaar has been called the Geylang Bazaar and not Ramadan Bazaar for a few years now. The comment was more than a little “off’’. If it was not a Ramadan bazaar, then why has it only ever been held during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan?
I can’t help but feel that the Muslim-ness of the bazaar is in retreat, losing to commercialism. Then semantics came into the picture, to justify the bazaar offerings.
Perhaps, next time, organisers will set up a simple committee to canvass views and explore solutions that take into account heritage, communal feelings, as well as business constraints. This a form of empowerment for the wider Muslim community – and empowerment can work wonders.
I attended some inter-faith and intra-faith iftars where I met young Muslims actively working to address the problems faced by the community.
The Muslim Collective for example, is an informal group of young Muslims who came together to strengthen relations across the various Muslim communities. They had organised a series of intra-faith sessions that enabled participants to break bread together and have genuine conversations that dispelled stereotypes. It’s a stark contrast to the Sunni Muslim auxiliary police officer who wanted to wage war on Shia Muslims in Syria partly because he did not consider them Muslim enough.
Social enterprise SDI Academy teaches Bangladeshi foreign workers English language skills. On Hari Raya, the founder of SDI, Mr Sazzad Hossain organised house visits to a few Singaporean Muslim homes. The aim, said Mr Sazzad, was for the migrant workers to “share the joy of the festive season” with Singaporeans, as well as for the Singaporean hosts “to have a better understanding of the migrant workers”. A good step especially since just two years back, 27 Bangladeshi workers were caught by the ISD for extremism. Initiatives like SDI’s help build trust.
The youths I met at these events were far more confident and self-assured than Muslims I usually meet online, at weekend madrasahs, or the various Muslim talks and seminars that I have attended over the years. They were also more willing to speak openly and critically about sensitive issues affecting the Muslims. I am convinced it’s because they are engaged and working towards solutions to problems the community faces. In other words, they are not insecure about their Muslim-ness because they are empowered.
This is the complete opposite of the position I had found myself in through most of Ramadan this year. The back-to-back news of terror attacks and ISD arrests was dispiriting. The challenges facing the Muslim community felt insurmountable. What could I, a single Muslim, ever hope to achieve? Better to focus on quiet prayer and detach myself from the world, I thought.
So I’m really glad I met these Muslim youths before Ramadan ended, or the air of melancholy I had found myself in would not have dissipated.
Yes, it was a tough Ramadan. But it ended on a hopeful note, thankfully. You see, rather than burying my head in the sand, I’m now looking at volunteer opportunities dealing with problems facing Muslim communities. I’m looking for ways to be empowered.
This article was first published on The Middle Ground (TMG), June 29, 2017
Featured Image: Maghrib at Sultan Mosque, by Suhaile © All rights reserved 2019