On Leftism and Love

Not only is a fighting faith possible, but it may in fact be the most effective vehicle for bringing us closer to a prosperous world. 

Every once in a while I am overcome by the realization that the highest form of good I can achieve in my life is to love unconditionally. On the rare occasions when I see this truth clearly, I am taken aback and frankly ashamed of how rarely I am conscious of this ideal. In far too few of my interactions with fellow humans does my heart "burn with loving kindness" (as my Baha'i friends like to say) for everyone I interact with.

I genuinely believe (though rarely remember) that all minor objectives that are worth fighting for in life boil down to this single objective of unconditional love. But don't get me wrong; in our current political and social environment, love cannot be just an escape from oppression but a confrontation of it. Obviously, we do need love in itself in times of hardship, but no, love is not all we need. We also need resistance. We also need organization. We also need vocal and relentless dissent to fascism, bigotry, and all their ugly cousins. This is because we need good schools and good jobs and good healthcare, and we need them to be equally accessible for everyone.

But as I see it, at the end of the day, these goals are still all simply stages and prerequisites to achieve the overarching ideal of love.

When all progress is achieved: a thought experiment

Imagine a world where "progress" succeeds. Obama's "baton" is indeed repeatedly handed off in a relay of socioeconomic progress until, some day, the anchor crosses the finish line. Fukoyama is finally redeemed; history is over. Equality is a social fact. The ghost of Tomi Lahren is uncomfortably quiet because the PC left is no longer “whining.”

Granted, this type of vision of future hardly seems imaginable right about now; I don't know about you, but some of my basic presuppositions about history, progress, and the future of humanity have recently been shaken pretty hard. But, despite the likelihood that there will always be certain groups dominating and exploiting others (or that climate change will lead to a future without humanity), engaging with this imaginary utopia can help us contemplate what our most basic values really are.

I do think it's reasonable to assume that there could be a set of conditions that, if achieved, would render the idea of continued social progress incomprehensible. I obviously can't claim to know what a perfect world / utopia would actually look like—though if you asked me now, I might say something along these lines: the provision of quality education and healthcare to all people in the world; the elimination of all forms of systemic and personal discrimination; the elimination of poverty. Clearly the content of the conditions themselves is subject to debate, but our working assumption here is that there are—in the abstract—conditions that would fulfill requirements for "utopia."

So once those "created equal" are actually treated equally, what's next? We'd guess that a strict Marxist would essentially retire. If our end-game is defined by material conditions alone, then there’s nothing left to fight for. Even more contemporary socialists, who incorporate more than money and capital into analysis of power relations, would basically have their cause solved at this point. They could essentially just sit back and enjoy utopia.

In my mind, however, the next frontier must be altruism. Once we've learned not to value certain fellow humans over others, the goal posts should naturally shift to not even valuing ourselves over fellow humans. Just like the utopia itself, I am not claiming that this widespread altruism is actually achievable, but it is certainly an ideal that can be approached.

The alternative to this vision of altruism would be an individualistic and hedonistic leftism, where the ultimate goal would be to create a world in which people had equal opportunity, but in which the common person felt no individual responsibility to maintain the wellbeing of their fellow humans. I believe that this would bring us to a world where we are indeed equal but not fully prosperous.

In this context, prosperity is not complete with just economy or physical well being (as this would obviously already be achieved in our imaginary utopia). Instead, by prosperity, I mean the realization of communities of people that are happy, fulfilled, and have support from loved ones. To achieve this kind of prosperity, we would need to love each other, nurture and support each other, encourage creativity, embrace difference, and welcome excellence in all its forms.

Love as a goal

As I see it, this prosperity would be built through a culture of altruism. The principles of this altruism would need to be founded on mutual love. Practically, this type of mutual love is most readily found in religious belief systems.

To create a fully prosperous world would necessarily require altruism. Altruism, in allowing us to care about the welfare of others as we would ourselves, enables the creation of social support networks that go beyond the limits of narrow self-interest. If we were willing to make minor sacrifices so that others could make major gains—a fairly frequent condition—we would logically be able to collectively accomplish much more.

This type of altruism would be enabled by love as a motivating factor. As Freud said, “At the height of being in love the boundary between ego and object threatens to melt away”—i.e. love creates altruism. This love would be conceptualized in the form of universal human solidarity. The limits of this solidarity would need to surpass most existing models like tribalism or nationalism, which still find some humans to designate as Other. While history is rife with examples of those who were altruistic for the sake of their particular group, only truly universal love would transcend all boundaries. (Let’s take another moment to remember that while this is realistically an unachievable ideal, in pinpointing that ideal we may attempt to approach it.)

Ultimately, the greatest potential for building such an ethos of universal love lies in religious belief. Despite the current weakness of most faith-based leftist movements (on which more later), faith-based traditions are rich with radical political ideas, calls to altruism, and messages of unconditional love. In Matthew 19:21, Jesus preached that “If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor." I would even include humanism under the umbrella of “religious belief” (on the condition that it finds a way to command the type of dedication that historically only religion, tribalism, and nationalism have); indeed, Voltaire wrote, “Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.” Only in such a morally demanding belief system—regardless of whether we find in it origin stories and the Almighty—do we find the means capable of engendering a culture of mutual love that can open the door to widespread altruism.

Love as method

If love is our (ultimate) goal, then I think it’s worth briefly discussing the role and importance of love as a method towards reaching that goal. As a means to achieve the egalitarian, prosperous, and loving world we strive for, we can’t forget to be loving along the way as well. The Dhammapada reminds us that “hatred does not cease by hatred at any time: hatred ceases by love, this is an eternal rule.”

While this sentiment clearly sounds nice, there are also concrete ways in which this principle manifests in current social struggles. Research shows that if we actually want to reduce bigotry, in most cases the most effective way to do so is not by calling people out for being bigots, but by constructively engaging with these people and reminding them of the humanity and inherent dignity of all people. (Obviously, the burden of such patient engagement should fall primarily on the shoulders of allies rather than the targets of bigotry themselves.)

While the role for love in the realm of interpersonal relationships is fairly evident, it may be harder to employ when dealing with larger structural issues. Certainly, we should not even imagine that indigenous Americans would have been able to disrupt construction of the Dakota Access Pipeline through reasoned appeals to the government. Here though, we can remember that aggressive, harsh action is often required, but that doesn’t require us to hold hatred towards any person. In Gandhi’s description of “the devotee” (which I hope he would not object to us equating here with “the activist”) he calls them “versed in action and yet unaffected by it.” This detachment and commitment to love is certainly not necessary for an activism—hate towards oppressors has undeniably accomplished tons historically—, but I personally believe it to at least be beneficial to the activist themself. 

Opening the Door to Faith-Based Resistance

On the night of the presidential election, Brookings scholar Shadi Hamid wrote on Twitter, “We need a fighting faith,” lamenting the impotency of political liberalism in the face of fascism [my wording]. This criticism realistically extends to secular leftism as well. We forfeit a large amount of rallying potential when we abandon the concept of Truth. If Truth doesn’t exist, we’re left with moral relativism, and in a world where what’s right is completely subjective, then is any of this really worth all the fuss?

In long-run, center-left managerial technocracy won't defeat ideology, religion & identity. We need a fighting faith. Back to drawing board

— Shadi Hamid (@shadihamid) November 9, 2016

Of course, there have been and there are fighting faiths. Liberation theology in Latin American saw Christ as a revolutionary figure. Gandhi rallied millions with his concept of Satyagraha, a social movement explicitly grounded in a Truth-claim. Ali Shariati wrote of “Red Shi’ism” and conceptualized tawḥīd as a liberating ideology.

Despite the historical prevalence and success of fighting faiths, they are currently undeniably weak. I see this situation as based on a few different factors. First off, Marx calling religion an “opiate” was certainly not helpful to the spread of his ideas among the passionately religious. Recent history has also frequently pitted these groups against each other, with the Cold War positioning the Godless socialists against the God-fearing capitalists (which may in itself happen to be an inheritance from that momentous statement from Marx). At an American domestic level as well, however, moneyed interests were working to forge a Christian creed of libertarianism in order to fight unions and the welfare state. As a result, the reality we all live in is one where, ironically, to have faith is rarely to fight. And even if it is, fighting for one’s faith is almost always seen as fighting for one’s religious identity—defending Islam from Ahok’s “blasphemy”—and far less frequently includes a struggle for the ideas of justice and equality essential to religious teaching. What we are left with is the widespread impotence of religion in the field of social progress.

But alas, this essay strives to emphasize that not only is a fighting faith possible, but it may in fact be the most effective vehicle for bringing us closer to a prosperous world.

Yes, there are plenty of leftists (me included) who do not consistently manifest this ideal of unconditional love. Neither do the majority of religious people (again, me included). But in forgetting that love is (can be? should be?) both the foundation and the aspiration of these two projects, we sell short each of their potentials.

Post-script: reflections

I wrote this with two audiences in mind: the left and the religious.

As for the left, this is certainly not an attempt to convert secular leftists into any specific religious stream of thought. It is, however, a call for contemplation about what our basic values should be and how we can effectively spread and socialize these values.

As for the religious, this is indeed an attempt to convert people of faith to the left. In my reading of most faith traditions, I find abundant support for radical political ideas and the rejection of hedonism, materialism, and even capitalism. Except in the case of those few who take a religiously-principled quietist stance, I generally believe that most religious non-radicals would be radical (in the good way, obviously) if they reflected honestly about what their faith demands of them.

Evidently, I am far more zealous about politics than religion.

Dating and Piety among Indonesian Muslim Youth

How do young Indonesian Muslims date? How does dating relate to piety?

I have found this topic fairly difficult to write about given its intimately personal nature. It is hard to make generalizable claims from such subjective data (human experience in its most emotional state), so I feel that I genuinely lack the knowledge and authority to write most of what follows. Additionally, in analyzing dating culture, I am putting the experiences of myself and close friends under an unusually personal and uncomfortable microscope. That being said, if I have written anything that is inaccurate or misleading, or that directly conflicts with your own personal experiences, please let me know.

Regardless of difficulties and limitations, I also find this to be an important topic that deserves to be written about. Discussions of Islam and culture outside of scholarly literature rarely reach past discussions of extremism and terrorism. But if we care about studying Islam as a social phenomenon—and not just as it relates to politics and security issues—then we need to look at the many other myriad issues in which Islam intimately penetrates the lives of Muslims who are living it.

While studying abroad in Tunisia in 2014, I saw a culture that largely frowned on dating. Instead, the first openly acknowledged step in a romantic relationship was usually engagement to be married. Tunisians would inquire about others' relationship statuses not by asking whether they had a boyfriend/girlfriend, but by asking whether they had a fiancé(e). There were rumors of a former study abroad student who had gotten engaged with a Tunisian woman just so that they would be allowed to go out together and hold hands in public. While this attitude is partially attributable to local Tunisian Arab and middle class culture, it was also often explained to me by citing that "dating isn't allowed in Islam."

Similarly, although dating was fairly common among the Muslim community at my alma mater in the United States, students' relationships were usually kept secret. Understandably, privacy was seen as appropriate for private relationships, but this was also driven by a fear of the judgement of other students. As in Tunisia, this secrecy was obviously partially influenced by group dynamics and the unique cultural backgrounds of different students, but it was also certainly influenced by common legal and ethical readings of Islam that discourage dating.

But regardless of whether pre-marital romantic relationships among Muslims are called "engagement" rather than "dating" in Tunisia or whether they are kept secret from fellow Muslims on American college campuses, the fact remains that these romantic relationships do exist.

But before living in Indonesia, I was never exposed to a community of Muslims that not only dated, but did so openly and unabashedly. When living in a boarding school in Aceh (a province with a reputation for being especially "Islamic"), I was shocked to find that late high school students (in a rural area) were dating at a rate that I gauged was similar to American high school students and that their parents were usually aware and not overly disapproving of these relationships.

Indonesian dating culture

After witnessing this phenomenon during my time in both Aceh and Java, I decided to make it the focus of my final project for the CLS Indonesian summer language program in Malang. This involved carrying out interviews with students at the State University of Malang about their experiences, aspirations, and opinions about dating in Indonesia. As a result, I can offer a general (and vastly oversimplified) picture of how dating works in Indonesia (at least among typically middle class university students).

Indonesian relationships start with a process referred to as PDKT (short for pendekatan, or "getting close"). This relationship phase is not expressed as an official status, but rather corresponds to the situation where an American student might explain, "we've just been hanging out." Similarly, PDKT is vague, has no guarantee of leading to a formal relationship, and can last as long as a few months. 

PDKT is usually (though certainly not always) initiated by the man who gives (not-so-)subtle signs to the woman (I sincerely regret that as a result of my experience and access, I can only attempt to describe heterosexual relationships). These signs usually involve showing his care (perhatian) for her, which is usually demonstrated by frequently asking frivolous questions, such as "have you eaten/bathed/prayed yet?" or "are you sleepy/exhausted/bored?" These inquiries demonstrate that the well being and comfort of his crush (gebetan) are of concern to him. (These questions serve the function of the American "how are you?" or "what's up?" in that the response—almost always "good" and "not much," respectively—is not as important as the question itself having been asked.) Another characteristic of the PDKT phase is "venting" (a poor and less emotive translation for curhat, which is short for curahan hati or "pouring [one's] heart out") to each other. In a culture that discourages complaining about one's problems, mutual curhat helps signal the intimacy (abnormality, non-public-ness) of a relationship. 

Eventually, PDKT is followed up by formal dating (pacaran), in which the man and woman make a commitment to each other, are referred to as boyfriend/girlfriend (pacar), and—necessarily—express their love for each other. In Indonesian relationships (unlike in the vast majority of American ones), the word "love" (cinta, sayang, kasih) is used as soon as a couple formalizes a relationship, and its use is in fact a crucial part of the process of solidifying that relationship. (To any Indonesian readers, American couples rarely say "I love you" until at least a few months into the relationship.) Once this relationship is official, the couple participates in similar activities like those enjoyed by American couples; they eat together, go to the mall or the movies, and just hang out. (I cannot comment on the sexual lives of Indonesians. Although nearly no one admits to having sexual relations outside of marriage, when asked about the sex lives of others, most Indonesians say it is fairly prevalent.)

Not only is dating prevalent in Indonesian youth culture, but it has become a norm to the point where being single is (lightly) stigmatized. In most social groups in Indonesia, to be chronically single (jomblo) is a point of shame and can lead to becoming the butt of friends' jokes. Being jomblo is not just to be single, but to seem to be unable to attract a parter. As the popular proverb goes, "single itu pilihan; jomblo itu nasib" ("being single is a choice; being jomblo is fate").

See this Saykoji song that makes fun of Indonesian men who are jomblo:

The stigmatization of being jomblo is affected by two main cultural forces (among others). The first is prevalent homophobia. When not having a significant other can bring suspicions of homosexuality, there is an even greater shame associated with being jomblo and hence an even greater incentive to not be seen as jomblo. The second is the pressure on Indonesians (particularly women) to get married. A woman who is not married by her late 20s or a man who is not married in his early 30s will typically endure a barrage of pressure from friends and (mostly) family. To be jomblo is to be another (seemingly unreachable) step away from achieving this goal.

But what about Islam?

Now, the above description of dating practices and attitudes among Indonesian Muslim youth may reasonably beg the question: what about Islam?

I have neither the interest nor the expertise to cite Islamic jurisprudential or ethical scholarship concerning pre-marital romantic relationships. What is interesting, however, is that in most other cases I am familiar with outside of Indonesia, consciously pious Muslim communities are not as accepting of dating, and—significantly—they base at least part of this position on Islamic teaching.

This line of thought exists in Indonesia as well, but it simply isn't very popular. Certain stricter groups have opposed the prevalence of dating on the grounds that they see it as un-Islamic. While they are a minority in the overall Indonesian Muslim community, these groups have been vocal with campaigns like #IndonesiaTanpaPacaran ("#IndonesiaWithoutDating") to discourage young people from dating. Instead, they encourage them to adopt the practice of taaruf (from the Arabic تعارف for "getting to know [each other]"). As with most uses of recent Arabic loanwords in Indonesia(n), the use of taaruf connotes Islamic-ness (as opposed to PDKT, which notably has a similar denotation). Advocates of taaruf suggest that young Muslims get to know each other with marriage as the explicit goal, which should take place as soon as possible after compatibility is recognized. Any prolongation of the pre-marital relationship is seen as frivolous and as risking zina (extra-marital hanky-panky). These groups have even tried to redefine the narrative around jomblo, like in the slogan "jomblo sampai halal" ("stay single until it is permissible [marriage]").

It is important to understand the social position of these stricter groups and avoid the common mistake of using terms like "strict," "conservative," and "pious" interchangeably. It would be inaccurate to call them "conservative" as, although they are resisting cultural change, they are also demanding cultural change in the implementation of new practices like taaruf. It would also be a mistake to valorize them as somehow more "pious" that other Indonesians, although this is how they largely conceive of themselves. Among other Indonesian Muslims, however, the piety of these stricter groups can be seen as largely performative [sok taat] and not recognized as being a somehow more genuine way to practice Islam.

In Indonesia's Islamic mainstream, dating is largely seen as a cultural fait accompli and those who date are not necessarily seen as committing any sin (given they avoid zina). Outside of those aforementioned stricter groups pushing for taaruf, most opposition to dating is framed in non-doctrinal terms and is almost entirely focused on its practice among children seen to be too young. While a small minority may lament the poor religious state of Indonesians Muslim youth because of the prevalence of dating, this is not the mainstream view.

More importantly, average Indonesians are not rejecting these strict approaches on secular grounds; rather, they are asserting that this is too strict of an interpretation/application of Islam. They are not saying that Islam should not affect the private social sphere, but instead that Islam does not object to this particular private social activity. In other words, they are maintaining their conscious piety while defending dating as an Islamically acceptable social phenomenon. I remember a maulid (celebration of the Prophet's birth) ceremony at a boarding school where an Islamic preacher told the students to wait before starting to date—not on the grounds that it was un-Islamic, but because they should focus on school and pleasing their parents and that dating should come later. In a sermon that explicitly concerned how to be a good Muslim, this preacher maintained that there was in fact an appropriate place for dating.

A note on ascriptive vs. observational approaches to issues of Islam and culture

What does Islam say about dating?

Instead of trying to answer this question, I would much rather talk about the assumptions implicit in it. The above takes as a given that there is a singular "Islam" that can indeed say things. If approaching the issue through the mindset of a consciously pious believer and practitioner, this obviously must be assumed in order to come to an applicable legal or ethical conclusion. From the perspective of faith, even though there may be a plurality of interpretations, there still is an Islam that does say things.

However, if we want to approach the issue of dating as social scientists, these assumptions—and the analytical paths they lead us down—do little to help us to understand dating as a social phenomenon. In the social sciences, we should not approach Islam as a monolithic entity that has a fixed set of rules and positions on specific issues, as this external analytical imposition of our own interpretations (or selections of certain Muslims' interpretations) can blind us from the lived actual experiences of Muslims and the diversity of interpretations that they themselves develop. If we simply accepted the premise that Islam disapproves of dating, that would tell us nothing about how to understand the very real romantic lives of young Indonesian Muslims.

While this discussion may seem somewhat trivial when talking about an issue like dating, the same lesson applies to matters of greater political and social consequence as well. When a pundit asks, "Is Islam compatible with democracy?" they adopt this same unfortunate assumption that there is a singular, monolithic Islam that indeed says something about democracy. This can (and usually does) lead us to forgetting that there are actual Muslims who say things about democracy as well, and that perhaps their words are more important. Political commentators far too often turn directly to the Qur'an for answers about Islam, ignoring the social reality of Islam that is constituted by Muslims themselves. Likewise, when talking about counterterrorism, it is far less useful to have a comprehensive knowledge of early Islamic discourse on jihad than it is to know how modern Muslims actually understand the concept.

This abuse of text and disregard for lived experience and contemporary thought is the (pseudo-)intellectual fuel of the Islamaphobia movement. The ability to point out instances of violence in Islamic texts without having to engage with progressive Muslim discourse on those passages allows bigots to portray not just Islam, but also Muslims as derivatives of it (which is, of course, all orientalism sees Muslims as being) as violent and threatening.

I think it is appropriate to conclude with this sentiment from Abdelwahab El-Affendi:

Despite the achievements of scholars who have followed the sunnah (tradition) of Max Weber in using religion to explain social phenomena, it remains risky for social scientists to double as amateur theologians, especially when they want to speak in a prescriptive mode. This need not discourage us from dabbling in theology, as long as we remember that theology and political sociology are profoundly different enterprises. The greater risk is not that theology will corrupt social science, but the reverse. Social scientists have a dangerous tendency to take such theological concepts as “the rule of God” at face value and then run away with them—projecting, for example, simplistic contrasts with the political concept of “the rule of man.”

To Profit from Neither Capital nor Labor: Economic Culture in Indonesia

Indonesia's parking system and the culture of street performance seem unreasonable. But while these phenomena may not follow capitalist logic, they do make sense. 

As an American living in an Indonesian city, I regularly find myself in situations where I am expected to pay someone who, in my estimation, has not provided me with any services warranting my payment. When I hand money to parking attendants or street performers (pengamens) in Yogyakarta, I often find myself questioning whether they deserve my money. But this begs a fundamental question: who deserves money, and from whom, and when, and on what grounds?

I (along with most Americans) am accustomed to a dominant economic mindset in which payment is only necessary (and hence, deserved) on two conditions:

1. a transfer of labor for money, when the recipient of my payment provides me with a service or good, like when I pay for a sandwich or for a band to play at my birthday party; or 
2. a transfer of capital for money, when the recipient of my payment is the owner of capital that I use, such as when I pay for parking at the mall or rent a car.

In Indonesia, there is certainly an abundance of circumstances in which payment is accompanied by one of these conditions. (I regularly buy people's labor in the form of food, and I rent capital in the form of a room in a boarding house.) However, there are also numerous situations in which I find myself paying someone who—from an American capitalist perspective—doesn't deserve that money. 

Street Performers and Parking Attendants

If I eat dinner at a small roadside restaurant in Yogyakarta, I usually have three expenses: the price of the food I purchase, token change for however many street performers happen to stop by my table that night (around $0.07 each), and the fee given to a motor bike parking attendant (either $0.07 or $0.15). While purchasing food makes complete economic sense to the American mind, the latter two expenses do not fit the above mentioned capitalist conditions necessitating payment. Obviously, there are parking fees and street performers in America as well, but the social norms and economics of these phenomena are remarkably different in Indonesia.

In Indonesian, someone who sings or performs in public for money is called a pengamen. In America, a street performer usually stays in one spot (like a sidewalk or a subway station) and receives money from those walking by. An Indonesian pengamen, on the other hand, roams around the city playing in a succession of restaurants and requesting money from customers. They most often perform in groups of around three or four, but a lone pengamen is not a rare sight either.

The most evident difference between pengamens and American street performers is that, in Indonesia, you are not actually paying for them to play music or even to show that you appreciate their music; you are, in fact, almost always paying for them to go away. This reality is understood by both the pengamens and those who pay them. When a pengamen stops by someone's table, they will wait as long as it takes for at least one person at that table to put some small bills or coins into their cup, and then they will immediately proceed to the next table. In all my time in Indonesia, I have only once witnesses a customer ask and pay for a performance to continue. This is partly because the music being performed often is neither enjoyable nor intended to be enjoyable. A pengamen can even be just a single person unenthusiastically shaking a tambourine.

In America, a street performer's income is usually related to their skill and the quality of their music, as their payment can essentially be viewed as an exchange for services. This is not at all the case in Indonesia. The more irritating a pengamen is, the quicker people generally are to pay them to leave, meaning they often make more than their highly skilled counterparts. This system of street performance in Indonesia is clearly not based on a transfer of payment for the provision of services.

A group of young men working as pengamens approach people eating at a roadside stall

Payment for parking is similar. At almost any small retail or food venue in a city where someone dismounts from their motor bike, they will be expected to pay a parking attendant a fee of either one thousand or two thousand rupiahs, equivalent to $0.07 and $0.15 respectively. But a parking attendant is rarely affiliated with or employed by the establishments he works in front of, nor does he own the land that he charges people to park their bikes on. They are simply men (parking attendants are always men, and I have never seen an exception) who wear orang jackets and sit on stools watching over one or more parking areas. A common explanation is that these men are affiliated with a gangster (preman) who gives them the exclusive right to work their territory, but I have no ability to confirm this or to say how often this might be the case.

While these parking attendants clearly aren't the owners of the capital (parking space) that you are using, there is still the element (though often just the illusion) of a services-for-payment exchange. These attendants are responsible for people's helmets not getting stolen, although I've never heard of a friend having their helmet stolen after parking in a lot not guarded by an attendant. Also, when pulling out into the road, he will walk a few yards into the street, blow his whistle, and motion for cars and other bikes to slow down and give you room to pull into the street and merge into the flow of traffic. When traffic is heavy, this can be somewhat of a convenience, but merging one's bike onto a crowded street is something an Indonesian with a motor bike does countless times every day without any assistance. What's more telling is that even when the road is completely empty, the parking attendant will usually still go through the same motions of helping—or at least appearing to help—you pull out onto the street.

A man in a typical parking attendant outfit

What's interesting about both street performers and parking attendants is that there is at least the facade of an adherence to capitalist standards of payment. A parking attendant goes through the motions of seeming like he is helping you pull onto the street even if that's actually no help at all. On the surface, this is a services-for-payment exchange, but in reality, the service is of little to no real value. Similarly, a pengamen who simply shakes a tambourine until you pay them has no intention of providing a desired service (i.e. enjoyable music) to a restaurant customer, but as long as they have an instrument in their hands, there is the illusion that those paying have somehow benefitted from the interaction.

Social Welfare and Indonesian Culture

So why do Indonesians spend money to get nothing in return on such a regular basis? Clearly, there are material factors that play into these phenomena; vague rumors abound of drivers who refused to pay parking attendants and were subsequently threatened by a local gangster. In the case of paying a pengamen, when the music is unpleasant, I absolutely benefit by paying for it to stop.

But there are also social and cultural factors that seem to play an even larger role. I often ask my Indonesian friends why parking attendants and pengamens are entitled to their money. Most express frustration with having to pay them (the money may seem insignificant to an American, but when a quality meal can be found for around $0.50, paying $0.30 for parking and two rounds of pengamens can increase the cost of a meal by 60%), but they also mention that this is how parking attendants and pengamens make a living. Without these payments, most of my Indonesian friends remind me, they would be unable to support their families.

This sense of communal responsibility for the welfare of others is a sentiment held by plenty of people around the world, whether proponents of state-led socialism or the private charity system. However, there are certain elements of Indonesian culture promoting such an outlook that may partially help explain general attitudes towards parking attendants and pengamens.

In post-colonial Indonesia, political and social rhetoric emphasizes the corrupting influence of Dutch rule and the tranquil and symbiotic communality of the primordial Indonesian ethos. Regardless of whether or not this utopia ever existed, this communal spirit has become a prominent theme in Indonesian nationalist discourse. The concept of gotong royong (originally from the Javanese for "communal work," but possibly now better translated as "mutual assistance") is especially notable. When Indonesians engage in gotong royong, they gather within a community organization (whether a village, a school, or a neighborhood) and contribute labor to a common cause, whether cleaning a road or constructing a badminton court. While paying a parking attendant or pengamen seems to be the exact opposite of gotong royong (they profit without labor, rather than labor without ), it is representative of the ethics of the idea: fellow Indonesians are brothers and sisters (saudara) and share a duty to help one another.

 

It is also worth noting that Indonesians place especially high value on being ikhlas, which in Indonesian includes the meaning of being selfless and detached from whatever losses one suffers. It is likewise impolite to lament one's own misfortune. This ethic is held strongly in Indonesian culture and certainly affects attitudes towards paying a parking attendant or pengamen, but perhaps even more powerful is the social pressure that results from the expectation to be ikhlas. Payment to a pengamen always takes place on a social stage, when friends, families, or couples are eating out together, and this can result in social pressure to appear ikhlas and not stingy (pelit).

Between Capitalist Logic and Human Need

Indonesia's official unemployment rate is not high; it was calculated at 5.94% for 2014. However, an estimated 55 to 65 percent of Indonesian workers are employed in the informal sector. This means that there isn't necessarily an abundance of formal jobs, but that—as anyone who lives in the archipelago can attest to—Indonesians are extremely enterprising and manage to find a multitude of ways to profit off of whatever labor they can provide in whatever setting is available. But non-salaried workers can struggle to get by in the informal sector, with an estimated 11.2% of Indonesians still living below the poverty line (which hardly accounts for urban poverty by being set at around $22.60 per person per month).

In this kind of economic environment, where finding stable work is difficult for those without educational credentials, there are a significant amount of Indonesians who are in need of more money in order to live comfortably. Since labor for which actual demand exists seems to be limited, it makes sense that those trying to make money would move into fields of labor for which there is no real demand as long it can bring home income. Because of the cultural power of compassion and social pressure explained above, and since the Indonesian government has shown little ability to stop unofficial parking attendants from collecting fees (they have tried), these unhelpful industries can become profitable for those who get involved.

Ultimately, parking attendants and pengamens rarely provide needed or desired services to those who pay them, but this activity provides an income for those who need it. This approach does not protect or prioritize the needs of the consumer, but rather the needs of the laborer. This may be considered inefficient from a macroeconomic standpoint as it devotes resources to unproductive activity, but it would be hard to argue that parking attendants and street performers (and their families) would be better off without this source of income, at least in the short term.

From another perspective, these phenomena resemble an unofficial form of economic redistribution to the lower class. An Indonesian who frequently eats out and own a motor bike is not necessarily wealthy, but they probably have more economic stability than most parking attendant or pengamens. In a context where the state is fairly neoliberal, this represents somewhat of a (small) culturally enforced social welfare system. This is distinct from charity, in which one chooses to contribute money for no personal benefit; rather, it more closely resembles the tax system in which participation is mandatory, even though this tax is levied by social constructs rather than the state. (Parallels could be drawn to the Islamic zakat system, which is more tax than charity, although not run by a state.)

A similar struggle between the neoliberal state and a cultural system that promotes social welfare is currently on display in the debate over public transportation in Jakarta. Earlier this year, Jakarta governor Ahok proposed to eliminate small transport vans called angkots in an effort to decrease traffic and transition to the more modern TransJakarta bus system. This was met with praise by some for reducing economic and transportation inefficiency, but there has also been a strong backlash emphasizing that the policy would result in the unemployment of thousands of angkot drivers, leaving them and their families with no source of income.

Angkots in Jakarta

Who Deserves Money?

In America, when a difficult economic environment creates a dire need that neither the government nor private charities can fill, people often have to resort to begging on city streets to stay alive. In Indonesia, it is remarkable that beggars consist almost entirely of the elderly, small children, and women with babies. Aside from the fact that these groups tend to evoke the most sympathy from passersby, this also suggests that anyone who is capable of doing something other than begging is expected to do so in order to earn money.

It is not abnormal to see people dressed up in costumes at intersections walking between stopped cars to ask for money. These people don't necessarily seem to intend to entertain people in the cars, but by wearing a costume they are doing something. By simply doing something, their activities can still be considered work, rather than begging, and this preserves the dignity of the person in need of money.

As we are currently in the midst of Dhu'l-Hijjah, this attitude is highly reminiscent of the actions of Hagar upon which many of the rituals involved in the Hajj pilgrimage are based. Thirsty and left in the desert with her infant child Ishmael, Hagar had faith that God would not abandon them. However, she still ran back and forth seven times between the mountains of Safa and Marwa searching for water, only to discover the Zamzam spring producing water right where she had left Ishmael. Hagar's actions in themselves did not directly result in her and Ishmael's salvation, but she knew that to be worthy of God's grace, she needed to at least do something.

An artistic depiction of Hagar and Ishmael.

Likewise, contemporary Indonesian culture seems to dictate that in order to deserve something, one must do something (if physically able, as noted by the exceptions for the elders, mothers of infants, and children, for whom it is acceptable to beg). By maintaining the facade of providing a service such as entertainment or helping drivers pull into the street, Indonesian parking attendants and street performers deserve to be paid because they are doing something.

This system does not maximize value for consumers, but it does provide for the wellbeing of a fraction of the poor and their families while still maintaining their dignity. Parking attendants and pengamens may be resented by some Indonesians, but at least they are not seen as lazy. The same can't be said about neoliberal attitudes towards the poor in America.

Fragile Masculinity and the "Man Bun"

Guys, stop putting "man-" before everything you think sounds too feminine for you. 



As a guy with long hair, I sometimes put it in a bun. When I do, I'm inevitably told that I have a "man bun." Last year, when I worked as a nanny, people informed me that I was, in fact, a "manny."

I hadn't realized that, as a man, when I did things that are traditionally associated with femininity, I should alter the term for what I'm doing (even though it's the exact same thing) in order to not seem lady-like. For those who are as ignorant as I once was about how to defend your manhood by altering your everyday terminology, here's how it's done.

This verbal alteration (or manification, if you will) comes most often in the form of the "man-" prefix, which can be added to words like "purse," "braid," or "bun" to make sure that everyone around you doesn't question your manhood. Variations on the "man-" prefix include the "guy-" prefix (guy liner), the "bro-" prefix (bromance, brony), or even the simple "male-" prefix (male nurse). We can even get the point across just by changing the first letter of a word to an "m," as in "manny," "muggs," (Uggs worn by a dude) or "murse" (meaning either "a purse owned by a man" or "a nurse who is a man"). It may seem hard to choose, but these are all equally effective ways to reassure fellow alpha-males and potential mates that, yes, you do have a y-chromosome.

But since coming up with these new, manly words can be exhausting, it's best not to stray from the manified words we already have. So please, men with long hair, wear it in a bun constantly so that we can all easily identify you as "that dude with the man bun." Women with long hair may have the luxury of switching between buns, braids, pony tails, and just wearing it down, but it's best for bros to stay as unimaginative as possible when sculpting their scalp grass. I don't want to have to refer to you by your hog tails, stallion tail, or dronehive, because no one will know what the hell I'm talking about.

(hog tails)

(a stallion tail)

(a dronehive)

Now, strictly speaking, we know that a man doesn't carry his purse with his penis, just like a nurse doesn't take his patient's temperature using his prostate. Likewise, my testicles never really played a prominent role in my nannying. Seeing as men perform these jobs and use these products in essentially the same ways as women do, differentiating the terms based on gender may seem a bit silly to some.

Critics would even say that doing all of these verbal gymnastics is a sign of fragile masculinity. They think that us men have internalized so much misogyny that we find the prospect of doing, using, or wearing something traditionally done, used, or worn by women to be threatening. Apparently, this aversion to femininity demonstrates that—even though many men identify as feminists—we are still uncomfortable with the very idea of gender equality.

Even though the New York Times touted the man bun as a sign of someone who is "comfortable with his masculinity," critics claim that the term itself suggests otherwise. They say terms like "man bun" and "male nurse" are manifestations of some deep-seated insecurity stemming from society's pressure to constantly defend and declare our manhood. Apparently, this same insecurity is said to contribute to gun violence and rape culture.

But in response to all that, I just have one thing to say: dude, what?

What we should really be upset about is the fact that we've settled for the boring "man-" prefix, when there's so many more expressive options! Why couldn't we have called it a "don't-worry-ladies-I-do-have-testicles bun," or an "I-may-look-after-kids-for-a-living-but-I-still-pay-the-bill-on-a-date nanny." We should be able manify our words in much more creative ways! Try dumping the boring "man braid" and going for the more explicit, "still-not-as-long-as-my-penis braid."

Interested in being more explicit about the fact that you're insecure about your masculinity? Here's some more alternative manified terms to spice up your terminology when being defensive and subtly misogynistic:

• order an "I-could-chew-nails-if-I-wanted-to salad"
• protect your lips with some "dude-this-is-totally-not-lipstick chapstick"
• adopt a "not-a-pussy cat"
• drive an "I-don't-actually-care-about-the-environment-it's-just-economical Prius"
• rejuvenate your skin with some "moist(but totally not weak)urizer"
• relax with a "maybe-it-just-wanted-to-shift-positions massage"
• get a deeper clean with a "do-you-even-lift? loofah"
• jump into spring fashion by sporting some "I-DRIVE-A-TRUCK pink"
• instead of a "tank-top," wear a "wife beater" (oops! for some horrible reason, we already say that)

Ennahda's Constituents Care About More Than Just Political Islam

In articles about Tunisian Islamism and Ennahda, writers mention issues like sharia and anti-blasphemy laws far more often than lustration or coalition building; but as it turns out, the latter matter more to Tunisian Islamists themselves.

(Ennahda supporters demonstrate in Tunis, June 2014)

Ennahda Steps away from Political Islam

In a party-wide congress last month, Tunisia’s Ennahda party voted to formally split the political party from the socio-religious movement, essentially shedding the party’s identification as “Islamist.” In an interview, party president Rachid Ghannouchi explained that Ennahda will become a purely “civil” political party and that “religious activity [will become] completely independent from political activity.” He asserted that the objective of Ennahda is no longer “political Islam,” but “Muslim democracy,” a sentiment similar to that offered by Ennahda MP Sayida Ounissi in a recent piece for Brookings.

This move does not constitute a sudden shift in Ennahda’s character or policy, but rather a continuation of a general trend of Ennahda deemphasizing the importance of religion in its politics since even before the revolution. The party has repeatedly surprised observers by eschewing pursuits typical to Islamist parties; they agreed to exclude any reference to sharia from the constitution as well as to omit a previously proposed anti-blasphemy clause. More broadly, the party never launched some widespread project to forcibly Islamize the state or public sphere—as its opponents feared it would.

An Alienated Base?

Many have wondered if this slow drift away from political Islam—culminating in this recent near disavowal of it—might “alienate Ennahda’s more militant voter base.” After all, the party’s electoral support decreased by 19 percent between the elections of 2011 and 2014. After the 2014 elections, Shadi Hamid wrote, “Many Tunisians voted for Ennahda because it was an Islamist party, not in spite of it. Wanting sharia to play a larger role in politics, they grew disappointed each time Ennahda backed down.” This analysis stems from Hamid’s understanding of Ennahda as having a relatively “progressive” party leadership and “a more conservative base.” In a recent interview, Rory McCarthy similarly posits that many constituents are disappointed in the party for abandoning the “Islamizing mission that it began with.”

But this dominant analysis ignores the many other non-religious issues on which Ennahda has disappointed its constituents. By mentioning only issues of political Islam, researchers suggest that Ennahda constituents care most about religious issues like sharia. It may seem natural to assume that Islamists are primarily concerned with political Islam, but in the case of Tunisia, that assumption does not necessarily hold true. In the period since the revolution, the compromises and concessions that caused the most debate and dissent within Ennahda circles have not been on matters of political Islam, but on matters of revolutionary politics, like whether old regime figures should be allowed participate in the new democracy and whether Ennahda should cooperate with them.

During interview-based fieldwork with young Tunisian Islamists in 2015, I found that my informants were usually more concerned with Ennahda’s revolutionary credentials than its religious ones. Therefore, when assessing the decline in Ennahda’s popular support since 2011, compromises on issues of revolutionary politics should be emphasized at least as much as those on issues of political Islam.

Fear of the Old Regime

(Ousted president Zine el Abedin Ben ‘Ali)

In order to discern the priorities of Ennahda’s constituents, one simply needs to take note of what impassions them. When I interviewed young Islamists in the spring of 2015, informants demonstrated the greatest sense of urgency when discussing the risk of old regime forces regaining power. It makes sense that this would be Islamists’ top priority given the oppression many suffered prior to 2011. Much of the party’s leadership fled to exile in Europe, while many more languished in ex-president Ben ‘Ali’s prisons. But harassment was not limited to just party members and activists; women seen wearing headscarves in public could have them forcibly removed by police, and men who frequently attended morning prayers at mosques were often detained in the night without cause. These experiences help explain why Islamists are so invested in the success of the revolution; to them, old regime forces represent a threat not only to the survival of their movement, but to their very identity and way of life.

This paranoia about a return of the old regime has manifested most notably in Islamists’ concern about two main issues: lustration (purging a government of an old regime) and coalition building. By assessing constituent responses to Ennahda’s managing of these issues, it becomes clear that Ennahda has compromised on much more than its religious ideals and that its base has more reasons to be upset with the party than it simply “not being Islamist enough.”

Debates over Lustration

In 2011, Ennahda was instrumental in the promotion of a lustration law that excluded many high-level old regime figures from contesting that year’s elections. In June 2013, Ennahda’s support helped pass another law preventing old regime figures from participating in future elections. However, in light of the political crisis that unfolded that summer, Ennahda compromised and conceded that the bill would not be implemented. But by 2014, lustration was again up for debate in Article 167 of that year’s electoral code. Ennahda’s leadership held to their earlier compromise and officially opposed the article. However, many Ennahda delegates could not bring themselves to vote for the inclusion of their former oppressors, and they voted in favor of Article 167 (though the article failed regardless). This has been the only instance where a significant number of Ennahda delegates strayed from the party line, illustrating the uniquely divisive nature of this issue.

(Ennahda President, Rachid Ghannouchi)

Of the many compromises I discussed with constituents, these repeated decisions to allow old regime figures to contest elections elicited the most passionate responses. One young man called Ghannouchi a “bastard,” and multiple informants exclaimed that the party leadership had “sold the revolution!” One Ennahda legislator recalled that, even a year after the compromise had been made, she still regularly received angry emails from constituents asking why the party abandoned its principles.

Ennahda in Coalition

Since 2011, Ennahda has been part of two ruling coalitions. While both coalitions were with secular parties, only one of them caused large-scale outrage among Ennahda’s constituents.

After Ennahda won the 2011 elections, it formed a ruling coalition with the Congress for the Revolution (CPR) and Ettakatol, which have both been described as “secular revolutionary” parties. These parties had, like Ennahda, operated in exile in opposition to Ben ‘Ali’s regime. None of my informants expressed any disappointment that Ennahda’s partners in this coalition were secular, as they were satisfied with CPR and Ettakatol’s revolutionary credentials. But few were so accepting when Ennahda announced its next coalition.

After losing the 2014 elections, Ennahda joined a coalition led by Nidaa Tounes. Nidaa Tounes symbolizes, in the eyes of most Ennahda supporters, the reincarnation of the old regime. The party was launched in the summer of 2012 as a reaction to Ennahda’s success, and many of its members, including its leader, Beji Caïd Essebsi, were members of Ben ‘Ali’s party and figures in the old regime. What’s more, the party gained popularity by drumming up fears that Ennahda wanted to “reintroduce the 7^th century” by imposing a harsh form of sharia—similar rhetoric to that once used by Ben ‘Ali. After watching Nidaa Tounes win the 2014 elections, constituents were devastated to learn that Ennahda would not work in opposition to it. A few months after the coalition was announced, many of my informants were still livid about the decision. One former Ennahda supporter told me that this was the moment when she gave up on the party, as it had failed to take a stand against the old regime.

Seeing as constituents have been generally unfazed by Ennahda’s cooperation with secular revolutionary parties, but are enraged by their cooperation with a perceived counterrevolutionary party, it seems fairly clear where the priorities of the party’s constituents lie.  

A Generational Gap?

In response to last week’s decision to formally disaffiliate with political Islam, Hamid asked rhetorically, “If Ennahda continues to dilute its Islamic identity, what makes Ennahda, Ennahda?” While this question reflects a common assumption that the essence of Ennahda lies in the realm of religion, the examples above demonstrate that the party’s primary appeal in contemporary Tunisia lies more in the realm of revolution. Why, then, do scholars like Roy and Hamid put forth such different conclusions than I have about why Ennahda has lost support since 2011? One possible explanation is our difference in sample populations. The answer to Hamid’s question (“What makes Ennahda, Ennahda?”) would differ significantly depending on who one asks.

While my research focused solely on Islamists under the age of 25, Hamid meets mostly with upper-level party leaders and Roy’s interviews with Ennahda constituents focus on those who were imprisoned under the old regime, making them at least one generation above all of my informants. This age difference is crucial, as it marks the difference between those to whom Ennahda primarily constitutes a social movement with religious objectives and those to whom it is primarily a political party with revolutionary objectives. Older constituents came of age when there was no reasonable hope of actually seizing political power, so they focused on advancing an Islamist social project. However, most younger constituents became acquainted with Ennahda as a revolutionary political actor during the fervor of 2011, so they see this as the essence of the organization.

This generational gap hypothesis is especially interesting in light of the party’s recent separation of political party and social movement. While older constituents may see this move as an abandonment of Ennahda’s primary purpose (social transformation), younger constituents can more easily tolerate the party’s eschewing of an Islamist social project, as this does not prevent it from serving its primary role as a political force.

But this generational gap hypothesis will remain nothing more than a hypothesis in the absence of more extensive comparative ethnography among different age groups of Ennahda constituents.

Islamists beyond Political Islam

While older Ennahda constituents may be more likely to be motivated by religion than younger ones, this certainly does not mean that the revolutionary nature of Ennahda is not similarly important to them. They suffered oppression first-hand under the old regime, so they are similarly motivated by a strong desire for Tunisia not to relapse to secular dictatorship. While my research focused specifically on youth, Monica Marks comes to a similar conclusion after working with older party leaders and constituents:

Many of the toughest debates inside the party and sharpest criticisms of its leadership have come from Ennahda members upset not about sharia or classic so-called “Islamist” issues, but about the party’s seeming over-eagerness to compromise with figures from the old regime.

While religion plays a key role in Ennahda’s appeal, it is by no means the sole or even primary motivator for most supporters. Observers regularly point to Ennahda’s departures from hardline Islamist positions and assert that its constituents must be mad, but they rarely acknowledge the importance of other compromises made by Ennahda since 2011—specifically those concerning revolutionary issues.

Simply because someone identifies as an Islamist, we cannot reduce all of their interests to political Islam. Islamists can express themselves politically without it necessarily being a manifestation of their Islamism. In the case of Tunisia, those who identify as Islamists tend to—for historical and contextual reasons—have a dire investment in the success of the revolution and in the preservation of the democratic political system. This does not mean that Ennahda constituents are no longer Islamists, but it indicates that there are many non-religious issues that they also care about and rally around.