Sometimes a word just creeps up on you and you don’t even know where it came from. That was how I felt upon hearing the word ‘Islamist’, a term which has suddenly become the word du jour in international politics and the world media, in light of the popular revoutions in Tunisia and Egypt. The western media also seem to use the term retrospectively when reflecting upon the rise of Turkey’s current government and its ‘Islamist’ agenda.

What is the difference between Islamist and Islamic? The Western media seems to use ‘Islamist’ to refer to a political movement that seeks to implement Islamic values in its administration. Can Islamist and Islamic be used interchangeably? I think in most cases they can be, but ‘Islamist’ has a certain sensational ring to it – alarmist, abrupt and dangerous. Many countries in Europe are governed by Christian Democratic parties, yet nobody labels them Christianist.

Islamist is the latest term in a long line of labels the Western world haphazardly applies to a religion and a people they never bothered to understand. A few years ago it was ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ – used to refer to those Muslims who hate Christians and Jews, ban women from driving and prevent their kids from going to school. This term is misleading because such acts do not form fundamentals of Islamic teaching but are in fact deviations from it. Another deceptive term is ‘moderate Muslims’ – referring to those who are peace loving, educated and modern. This implies that you can only be a good human being if you don’t take Islamic philosophy in its totality, but only in bits and pieces.

The popular revolution in Egypt looks set to dethrone the dictator Hosni Mubarak – who authorised the torture of his opponents and the daily humiliation of ordinary Egyptians in the hands of the corrupt police force. This has happened for three decades, with the blessings of the United States (the champion of freedom) and Israel (the beacon of democracy in the Middle East). With the imminent toppling of Mubarak’s corrupt regime, Israeli PM Benjamin Netanyahu is now warning of the possible takeover of radical Islamic groups a.k.a Islamists that could create chaos in the world. In fact, the one who creates the most chaos is this country Israel, who imprisons and kills and evicts people from their homes. This is a nation which adopts lying as its state policy and then protests when nobody believes them.

The current government of Turkey led by Recep Tayyip Erdogan and his AK Party was elected on the back of support by observant Muslims there. Through its leadership, Turkey is now a more open society, a booming economy and a facilitator of peace and dialog in the Middle East. Thus it comes as no surprise that Turkey is increasingly looked upon as a model Muslim society.

Yet there are those for whom Islam is an avowed enemy, and they will seek to misrepresent Muslims in any way possible, resorting to desperate measures when all else fails. One such candidate is the Middle East Forum, which sees as its mission, among others, combating lawful Islamism (whatever that means), fighting radical Islam, working for Palestinian acceptance of Israel, robustly asserting U.S. interests vis-à-vis Saudi Arabia and monitoring the spread of Islamism in Turkey.

To create alarm and animosity against Muslims, it resorts, in typical fashion, to hyperbole, the most ridiculous of which is this: “Today, Turkey has over 85,000 active mosques, one for every 350 citizens—compared to one hospital for every 60,000 citizens—the highest number per capita in the world and, with 90,000 imams, more imams than doctors or teachers.” The author deliberately uses the word ‘active’ to create the illusion that mosques are some sort of hotbed of rebel activity, when mosques are simply houses of worship. She makes a comparison between mosques and hospitals, imams and teachers to give the impression that we Muslims don’t value health and life, that we favour religion over education. This is such a ludicrous comparison, and it shows either a lack of understanding of Islam or deliberate ignorance in order to create hostility against Muslims.

The author further states that “The Friday prayer attendance rate in Turkey’s mosques exceeds that of Iran’s”. So what? Is that a bad thing? It is, if you have an eternal hatred towards Islam and the very sight of people praying in mosques makes you grit your teeth in anger. Perhaps that is why the people manning the Middle East Forum and others of their ilk, are so anxious about the possible rise of Islam that they would misrepresent the religion and its followers in whatever way they can, even if it means forsaking their intellectual reputation.

They can call us Islamists, Islamic fundamentalists, moderate or secular Muslims. But we know what we are, and what we’re not.

I was rushing back to the home of my couchsurfing host in Cevizlibağ, where he was preparing dinner for the two of us. It was 8 in the evening – the peak hour of pleasure – when Istanbullus would be out celebrating the end of the day with their friends and family over dinner, coffee, or a game of backgammon. In any case, my tram – the T1 line connecting the glitzy district of Beyoğlu with the working class suburbs around Zeytinburnu – was always packed with passengers. Finding a seat is as rare as finding sahlep (a restorative hot winter drink) that’s been made with real wild orchid roots, rather than the pedestrian version crudely thickened with cornstarch.

Rare, but not impossible. Stepping into the tram, I caught sight of an empty seat and having meandered the streets of Istanbul the whole day, I quickly dropped my bum to proclaim that This Seat Is Mine! As the tram advanced across stations – Sirkeci, Gülhane, Sultanahmet, Çemberlitaş – more people got in and I started feeling a pang of guilt seeing the other passengers squashed up and barely able to stand. I took a newspaper, Radikal, left by someone and pretended to read it so that the standing passengers wouldn’t harbour resentment against this comfortably seated foreigner.

I soon got tired of reading things I don’t understand; I looked around me and noticed a pretty Turkish girl standing about 1 or 2 metres away, in a red top and a yellow jacket. At the next stop, Beyazıt, an old woman, small and hunched and fragile, got on the tram and I quickly offered my seat. The girl seemed to smile, I’m not sure if giving up seats was a rare gesture in Istanbul, but I always appreciate a beautiful smile especially when in foreign lands. I stole quick glances at her and maybe it’s just me but she seemed to be always looking in my direction too.

A passenger got up from the seat next to where she was standing, and an elderly man gestured for her to take it. She refused, telling him to take it instead, addressing him as ‘Baba’ – father, though also used in Turkey for senior citizens as a sign of respect. I thought to myself what a nice person she is, and I may have inadvertently smiled.

Haseki. Fındıkzade. Çapa-Şehremini. We were approaching my stop. My host would’ve finished cooking by now and is waiting for me. Yet I wished the journey would stretch for longer. At Topkapı, the second last stop, the old woman whom I gave my seat to earlier got off. The girl turned to me and asked in Turkish if I wanted the seat (I think that’s what she said). I replied back in English “It’s OK, I’m getting off at the next stop”. She sat down. I wasn’t even sure if she understood me. The automated voice inside the tram announced: Cevizlibağ.

I alighted. The tram whizzed past. How long would I remember her face?

I’m sitting at my desk recounting this story to you because I’m taking a break. I’ve just finished going through Chapter 12: Fruits and Vegetables of my Beginners’ Turkish lessons on a free website. The next time I visit Istanbul, I will speak Turkish.

To read my article “My First Words In Istanbul” featured in NewsFlashMedia, click here.

One of the highlights of my trip to Istanbul is visiting the many mosques that dot the city and dominate the skyline. The imperial mosques were built during the illustrious period of the Ottoman Empire, when the Sultan and members of his family – in particular the wives and daughters – would build mosques as a service to God and to ensure safe passage to Heaven.

Stretching my neck gazing towards the dome that aspires for the heavens, I found myself stirred with awe at the possibilities of human ingenuity. Yet for all of man’s artistic imaginations inscribed and imprinted on those domes, they pale in comparison to the infinite marvel of the night sky, dotted by a thousand twinkling stars. For the complexities of God’s creations are matched only by their sheer simplicity and neat ordering.

The intricate calligraphy, the blue tint of Iznik tiles, the stained glass with myriad colours – their beauty inspire servitude to the cause of God and serve as a reminder that we are inheritors of a legacy proud in its accomplishments and timeless in its appeal. Yet it is vital to understand that this heritage is not static; that Muslim glory does not end with the Umayyads, the Ottomans or the Malaccan Sultanate. It is, or rather, it can be dynamic and current. More importantly, what sustains this glory is not only in the treatment of fellow Muslims but rather the inclusion of non-Muslims into this domain.

The rise of humanity’s hubris parading as ‘rational thought’, and the issues of terrorism and collective Muslim poverty have led some to associate Islam as a menace, a scourge of civilization and a philosophy for the unthinking. Yet it is heartening to see that for all the denigrations and distortions, people still congregate to mosques to pray – the most public display of religious servitude. The Islamic prayer itself is remarkably simple yet powerful in its symbolism; for whether you’re a Sultan or the poorest beggar in the empire, all prostrate before God.

Blessed is He Who made constellations in the skies, and placed therein a Lamp and a Moon giving light;

And the servants of (Allah) Most Gracious are those who walk on the earth in humility, and when the ignorant address them, they say “Peace!”

Surah Al-Furqan (The Criterion), verses 61-63 (25: 61-63)

Translations of the Quran obtained from Center for Muslim-Jewish Engagement, University of Southern California

One of the reasons for my fascination with Turkey is that I believe they are at a very important crossroads in their modern nation’s history. I remember reading a news article a few years ago, about the quiet revitalisation of Turkey’s economy, spearheaded by the devoutly Muslim mercantile class in the Turkish heartland of Anatolia. This section of Turkish society is also responsible for bringing to power the current Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and his Justice and Development Party, whose ideology is guided by Islamic values and principles.

Now, that quiet revitalisation has taken on full steam, with Turkey’s economic growth coming only second to that of China. The global economic crisis that has weakened much of Europe has helped Turkey occupy a central position in the world stage, yet its growing influence is most palpable in the Muslim world, especially the chaos-ridden Arab street. Turkey’s assertiveness in the flotilla hostage crisis against Israel has won it admiration from the Arabs, desperate for leadership lacking among its own rulers.

During my visit to Istanbul I witnessed for myself the growing sense of confidence among Turks, a sentiment best summed up by its PM when he remarked that “we are a people who have built a civilization and are the very description of civilization”.

This effervescent sense of self-assurance got me reminiscing about my time growing up in Malaysia, at a time when we too, were experiencing dizzying levels of economic growth. Led by a PM for whom the world was his oyster, Malaysians were infected by a giddy sense of daring achievement, the intoxicating dream of unlimited potential. We were the small yet ambitious nation, a country blessed with a strategic geopolitical location and the inheritors of grand civilizations past. Our successes in international badminton and the unstoppable construction of highways, bridges and towers were captured in our battle cry – Malaysia Boleh! Malaysia Can! Beautiful in its succinct bravado and infinite possibilities…

Yet along the way we seemed to have lost our direction. With Mahathir gone from the front stage – and with him his authoritarian grip on the country – we were left in this transitory period approaching a democracy. A democracy characterised more by bickering than by intelligent debate, a newfound liberty that was used to complain about what was wrong rather than do what is right.

With this dejected sense of collective uncertainty, the once proudly proclaimed Malaysia Boleh! degenerated into a sarcastic retort, used to highlight the Malaysian ability for bad behaviour and mediocrity. Malaysia Boleh! was used to accompany photos of garbage on the streets, of sex scandals by politicians and the drop in rankings of local universities. Perhaps this was a necessary correction to bring us back to the ground from the dizzying heights of inflated national ego of the 90s, yet I feel it is time we dust ourselves from the ground, stand tall and seek the possibilities that a blessed land and a people rooted in civility bring.

I see in the Turks a reflection of ourselves not too long ago. A people confident in their ability and strident in charting their destiny.

We can do anything. We are Malaysians.

My memoirs on Istanbul are also published on NewsFlashMedia, where I occasionally contribute my musings.
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Crossing the Bosphorus, which separates the European and Asian parts of Istanbul, is one of the best and cheapest ways of absorbing the panoramic views of the city. Taking the ferry from Eminonu in the European side to Uskudar, I could see in the distance the silhouette of Topkapi Palace, Aya Sofya and the Blue Mosque, Istanbul’s three must see destinations. Not far away, perched in its lonesome on a commanding hill is the exquisite Suleymaniye mosque, the crowning glory of the Ottoman architect Mimar Sinan.

That Istanbul traverses both the European and Asian landmass is symbolic of the position Turkey occupies in the world – a bridge between East and West, a composite of the two but never truly belonging to either. This manifests itself in the character of the city; the stately European buildings competing with domes and minarets for glory, right down to the faces of Istanbullus themselves, the progeny of cultures of the East and the West intermingling and settling in this land that has bore witness to conquest and downfall from both sides.

There is an ongoing debate in Europe around Turkey’s bid to join the European Union. Many in the EU are opposed to the idea for various reasons, some valid while others less so. I used to think it will be good for Turkey to join the European Union, but lately I’ve been having doubts. Is it wise for Turkey to anchor itself so strongly to the West – a West that is declining in fortune – when it can be part of something greater? Turkey is neither of the East nor of the West, and that is its greatest strength.

Last month I had the pleasure of realising one of my dreams, to visit the ancient yet thoroughly modern city of Istanbul. My first taste of this city was both innocent and grand – a few long years ago I stumbled across a photo of the Aya Sofya in a tourism ad announcing Malaysia Airlines’ inaugural flight to Turkey. The sight of this magnificent building – once a Byzantine church and an Ottoman mosque in its illustrious history – made me shiver at the idea of humanity’s talents and ambitions in its search for intimacy with the one Creator.

Yet for all its history, past upheavals and prosperity, malign and decline, my friends would ask me when I tell them of my travel plans, “Why Istanbul?”

To me, this seemed like the most absurd enquiry. Why not Istanbul? My long distance affair with this city, built up over years through photos and articles, only made such ignorance the more palpable. The friendships I made with Turkish–Australians cured the heartache yet made the longing even more intense. But then I realised that, for many people outside Europe, Istanbul and Turkey are still very foreign, and nowhere near the familiarity that they feel for places like London and Paris. I sometimes wonder if it wasn’t for the chance encounter of that Malaysia Airlines tourism ad, would I feel the same way about Istanbul. Yet the greatest moments in life are often sparked by unexpected discoveries. And so in the next couple of photos I hope to relive and perpetuate the memory of my too-short visit to Istanbul, carrying with me the promise of visiting it again someday.

]]> http://kampunghouse.wordpress.com/2010/12/27/notes-on-istanbul/feed/ 0 5294301739_733e78bcd0 kampunghouse http://kampunghouse.wordpress.com/2010/08/30/scenes-from-a-footy-match/ http://kampunghouse.wordpress.com/2010/08/30/scenes-from-a-footy-match/#comments Mon, 30 Aug 2010 11:22:32 +0000 kampunghouse http://kampunghouse.wordpress.com/?p=1290 ]]>

Last weekend I went to the footy match between Collingwood and Hawthorn, two big Melbourne teams, of which I support neither (I go for the St Kilda Saints!). I became a footy fan during my years at uni, where I’ll have the TV switched on to a match while I’m cooking. Curiosity turned to interest, and the next thing you know my heart was pounding as I watch the teams fight over the ball during the last minutes of the game. Aussie rules football, as it’s popularly known, is played throughout Australia, although the state of Victoria, and specifically the city of Melbourne, is the spiritual centre of the game. Whenever I go to stadiums I like to divert my attention occasionally to the other spectators, and I always wonder what sort of lives they lead. Do they have similar lives to me? Are they happier? What do they normally eat for dinner? What kind of challenges are they facing? How do they cope with tragedy? I try to capture this curiosity of mine into some of the photos below, while in others I try to bring out that surge of adrenalin that you get in a live event – the overwhelming crowds, the deafening roars of the fans, and the vast space dedicated to seeing a horde of men chasing after a very tiny ball.

Over the past few months I’ve had to entertain the increasing likelihood of leaving Australia and returning to Malaysia. Although Malaysia is a wonderful country to grow up, I’ve always cherished the egalitarian ethos prevalent in Australian society, and most Western cultures in general. In contrast, Malaysia has a very hierarchical structure, and there is a large distance between those in power and the less powerful sections of society.

The extent to which the less powerful members of organizations and institutions accept and expect that power is distributed unequally is represented by the Power Distance Index (PDI), developed by Dutch organizational sociologist Geert Hofstede. Countries or organizations with a low PDI score accept and expect a more equal, or flat, distribution of power; subordinates are comfortable questioning those in power; likewise those in authority seek consultation with lower-ranked members. Low PDI cultures are more egalitarian and democratic.

On the other hand, high PDI cultures accept and expect a more unequal, or hierarchical distribution of power. It is not the norm for subordinates to question the decisions made by those in power. They accept their status as lower-rank.

Australia (36), New Zealand (22), Nordic countries (18-30s) and USA (40) are low PDI countries while China (80), Mexico (81) and Russia (93) are high PDI countries. The Southeast Asian region, like most of Asia, is a high PDI culture, with Indonesia (78), Thailand (64), Singapore (75) and the Philippines (94) scoring well above the world average of 55. But Malaysia takes the cake with a maximum PDI of 100.

This notoriously high score is reflected in every facet of our society. In schools, especially boarding schools, the phenomenon known as ragging (or hazing) is an accepted ritual of the orientation process. In the workplace, employees are discouraged from questioning or critiquing senior-level colleagues, and still in many families children are expected to do whatever their parents tell them to, with very little consideration for the child’s wishes. This could be anything from studying a certain degree (usually law or medicine) to marrying (or not marrying) a certain someone. In both cases more often than not it boils down to status.

For status is a coveted treasure hunted down with great zeal by many a Malaysian. The institution of royalty in the 9 states facilitates this hunt by generously handing down titles like Datukships, Tan Sri-ships and Tun-ships as if they were promotional vouchers, to members of the public deemed to have contributed to the country. Except the criterion for selection has been, for many years now, extremely lenient. But despite the overflowing Datuks, Datins, Tan Sris, Puan Sri, Tuns and Toh Puans, the vast majority of Malaysians still value these titles, and if you can’t be one, then you have to know one. That in itself is a great social marker and thus you have neighbours boasting to one another about how they are somehow related to so-and-so Datuk.

I was fortunate enough to have grown up among fellow Malaysians for whom subservience and sycophancy that was otherwise prevalent in our society was a rather dated concept. I hope that should I return home, this strain of thought would have permeated deeper into the Malaysian consciousness so that we can strive for greater equality between those in authority and those lesser ranked.