"We’re Muslims, but Islam here isn’t like Islam in Arabia.”
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| From the film Ayat-Ayat Cinta (Verses of Love, 2008): Fahri (Fedi Nuril), an Indonesian studying in Egypt, overlooks an Arab man beating and shouting at his wife in the streets of Cairo after she drops a bag of groceries. |
"Indonesian Islam represents the values of Islam that are tolerant of other religions,... accepting of local culture, compatible with the age of nation-states, and willing to work together with those of other faiths in order to strengthen the Unitary Republic of Indonesia. This clearly shows a different face of Islam from that found in the Middle East, which shows itself to be intolerant, full of violence, and bloody..."
-From the book Archipelago Islam (2015, pg. 14)
There is a dominant theme throughout much of Indonesian Islamic discourse—from casual conversation to popular media to academia—that paints Islam in Indonesia as being different from Islam elsewhere in the world. This self-identification as being distinct from, and indeed usually superior to, Islam in other countries is a mindset that I call Indonesian exceptionalism. And when casting Islam in Indonesia as exceptional (exceptionally moderate, tolerant, peaceful, egalitarian, etc.), a caricatured version of "the Arabs" is repeatedly used as the foil. Arabs are the object of uncritical stereotyping in Indonesia, and are generally painted as lacking the many virtues that Indonesian Muslims possess. This differentiation is accentuated nowhere more emphatically than in the realm of women's rights.
It’s understandable why Indonesians would want to distinguish themselves as practicing a unique type of Islam. The images of “Islamic terror” and “misogynistic Islam” that permeate international media don’t go unnoticed by Indonesian Muslims, who then feel the need to assert that this doesn’t represent them. But rather than defending Islam as a whole from Islamophobia, the usual response is to assert that Indonesian Islam is nothing like the Islam one sees in the news—nothing like the Islam over there in Arabia.
After spending about a year in Indonesia, I have on countless occasions heard something along the lines of, “we’re Muslims, but Islam here isn’t like Islam in Arabia.” This sentiment has come up in conversations with close friends, classmates, academics, Islamic education teachers, and random people I happen sit next to on a train or at an angkringan. Naturally, as a white foreigner, I am far more likely to have this explained to me on a frequent basis, but this just shows how much this narrative is aimed at defending the image of Islam in Indonesia.
There are obviously concrete differences in how Islam functions as a social phenomenon here as opposed to elsewhere in the world. However, the point of this post is not to discuss how Indonesian Muslims actually differ from others, but rather to focus on how their own self-image paints them as being different—especially compared to Arabs.
In order to distance Indonesian Islam from Arabian Islam, the former is painted as modern, moderate, tolerant, peaceful, and progressive while the latter is imagined to be more medieval, extreme, intolerant, violent, and misogynistic.
Indonesian and Arabian Islam in the Indonesian imagination
The concept of an exceptional Indonesian Islam tends to be strongest among “traditionalist” Indonesian Muslims, who center their religious experiences on unique localized practices. This faction frames “tradition” as the distinguishing factor for Indonesian Islam, and they celebrate the unique local Islamic traditions that exist throughout the country (though with a dominant focus on Java), such as slawatan (see the video below), tahlilan, yasinan, reverence for ancestors, and certain types of dzikr. Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), the largest traditionalist Islamic organization in Indonesia, recently launched a campaign called Islam Nusantara, meaning "Archipelago Islam" (read: Indonesian Islam), which is portrayed as exceptionally tolerant and peaceful.
(Slawatan: An Indonesian Islamic music genre where Arabic and Javanese lyrics praising the Prophet are accompanied by a drum ensemble. Skip to 0:54 to hear the drums kick in. Skip to 1:02 to see a dude making funny faces. Skip to 2:05 to hear the language change from Arabic to Javanese.)
This image of exceptional Indonesian Islam is pitted directly against an image of Arabian Islam. In a 2015 NU-published book entitled Archipelago Islam, the writers explain that Islam in Indonesia coexists harmoniously with local cultures because "it did not come directly from the Arabian peninsula" (pg. 89). Through interlocutors in central Asia and north Africa, they explain, Indonesia received an Islam that was both tolerant of and rich with diversity.
After these traditionalists, the second (though much smaller) contingent of Muslims in Indonesia are generally called "modernist." Represented by organizations like Muhammadiyah and Persis, modernists tend to frown upon (or condemn, in some cases) activities like NU-style slawatan that they consider pseudo-Islamic, having no basis in original Islamic texts. Although modernists are understandably less likely to insist that Islam in Indonesia is "different" in essence compared to Islam in Arabia or elsewhere, they still differentiate themselves. Just last week, a prominent intellectual in the Yogyakarta branch of Muhammadiyah told me (without being prompted), "I think Islam in Indonesia is quite different from Islam in the Middle East. Here, I think the majority is moderate; tolerance is pretty good."
(Disclaimer: the characteristics of contemporary traditionalism and modernism in Indonesia are not necessarily reflective of what the terms might intuitively suggest. I use these terms here for the sake of simplicity and to stick to popular usage. For more on differences between groups and factions within Indonesian Islam see Bruinessen 2013. There are also other factions of Islam in Indonesia, but when discussing mainstream Islamic discourse, those within the families of traditionalism and modernism still dominate.)
While Indonesians often proudly emphasize the vast diversity of religious life in their country, the Arab world is frequently portrayed as a monolith. What I have been rendering as "Arabian Islam" is the vague term Islam di Arab (Islam in Arab). In Indonesian, Arab can also be the name of a place, sometimes meaning Saudi Arabia, sometimes meaning the entire Arab world, and most often with the speaker not being aware of or concerned about the difference between the two (much like the use of "Arabia" in English). The imprecision of this term contributes to Indonesians' monolithic image and wide misunderstanding of the Arab world. For example, one can say, "In Arab, women aren't allowed to drive," and the listener could reasonably assume that this applies to Egyptian, Algerian, and Emirati women as well. But even aside from issues related to Islam, per se, Arabs are generally stereotyped as angry, violent, and unable to control their emotions.
Just like in America, most respect for nuance goes out the window when talking about the Arab world. Because ISIS cuts off people's heads, and because ISIS is centered in "Arabia," ISIS's brand of Islam has come to represent Arabian Islam in the minds of many Indonesian Muslims. A line in Archipelago Islam matter-of-factly refers to Islam in the Middle East as "intolerant, full of violence, and bloody" (pg. 14).
The irony here is that both Islamic factions mentioned above largely employ approaches to Islamic knowledge and practice that were developed by Arabs (and some Persians). Traditionalists refer mostly to the great scholars of the Islamic golden ages, and are generally said to follow the kalam (theology) of Abu Hasan al-Ash‘ari (an Arab), the fiqh (jurisprudence) of Muhammad al-Shafi‘i (an Arab), and the sufism of Abu Hamid al-Ghazali (a Persian). Modernists, on the other hand, trace their intellectual heritage back to the Islamic reformist movement of the late 19th and early 20th centuries and hold great respect for Jalaluddin al-Afghani (a Persian), Muhammad ‘Abduh (an Arab), and Rahid Rida (an Arab). Needless to say, all Indonesian Muslims also revere the Prophet Muhammad (an Arab). Despite this common respect for historical Arabs (and even many contemporary Arab scholars), these are not the figures that dominate narratives about and caricatures of "Arabian Islam." It's as if there's an Arab intellectual elite that commands the respect of Indonesian Muslims, but these Indonesians have somehow conceptually dissected these scholars from the societies in which they live(d).
Most Arab Muslims refer to these same Islamic scholars and texts. But there is a widespread misconception in Indonesia that Wahhabism is the dominant stream in the Arab world (which, again, makes sense if we mistake it with Saudi Arabia alone). "Wahhabi" becomes erroneously synonymous with "Arabian Islam" in general, and it is now generally used as a vague pejorative to disagree with anyone a bit more conservative or purist than you. Traditionalists, for example, will frequently subtly imply that modernists are Wahhabis. (On the historical nuances of the relationship between Islamic modernism, Salafism, and Wahhabism, see this fantastic book by Henri Lauzière.)
Women's rights as a rhetorical battleground
One of the most frequent ways Indonesians distinguish their Islam from Arabian Islam is through the language of women's rights. Given dominant western and international narratives that claim Islam to be a misogynistic religion, Indonesians tend to respond by asserting that any perceived misogyny is just a remnant or product of Arab culture. In his book, Teologi Feminisme Islam, Syarif Hidayatullah writes:
"...we can draw a firm line between the perspective of the Qur'an and the biases of the culture that surround it. This makes clear the difference between the true Islam of the Qur'an and the Arabized form of Islam—which offers a patriarchal understanding of gender that discriminates against women. This patriarchal and discriminatory interpretation has gone on for centuries without the realization of the Islamic ummah, to the point where they valorize pre-Islamic Arab traditions that completely reject the equal role and status of men and women." (pg. 60)"
He then goes on to explain the brutality of pre-Islamic Arab culture towards women, and contrasts that with the respect women are granted by Islam.
At a university seminar in Yogyakarta last November, young scholar and kyai Irwan Masduqi offered a similar explanation. The Qur'an, he explained, was meant to liberate women, but then "ulama over there in Arabia" created misogynist interpretations by incorporating aspects of their own culture, like the myth that a woman's libido is seven times greater than man's, which led to sexual repression. He then went on to talk about how Indonesian female migrant laborers in the Middle East are typically treated poorly and sexually abused.
These explanations do not deny the discrimination and oppression experienced by many women in Indonesia—they simply blame it on the Arabs. Misogyny is never approached as an issue of local cultures in general, but of Arab culture in particular. Indonesians, absolved of any agency in the process, are portrayed as simply the inheritors of misogynist Arab-made interpretations.
Above, Syarif Hidayatullah and Kyai Irwan are participating in intellectual Islamic feminism, a movement that exists mostly in academia and some parts of civil society. But the act of comparing women's rights in Indonesia and Arabia is popular far beyond this intellectual discursive sphere.
Above, Syarif Hidayatullah and Kyai Irwan are participating in intellectual Islamic feminism, a movement that exists mostly in academia and some parts of civil society. But the act of comparing women's rights in Indonesia and Arabia is popular far beyond this intellectual discursive sphere.
Narrative on screen: Indonesian and Arabian Islam as portrayed in Verses of Love (2008)
Ayat-Ayat Cinta (Verses of Love, 2008), directed by Hanung Bramantyo, is a Indonesian commercial film that, upon it's release, became the highest grossing Indonesian film of all time. The plot centers on Fahri (Fedi Nuril), an Indonesian student studying at the Islamic university Al-Azhar in Cairo, and it depicts his interactions with Arabs, fellow Indonesians, and other foreigners. The film is a very unsubtle depiction of Indonesian stereotypes, and employs many of the characterizations of Arabs mentioned above.
Throughout the film, there are few Arab characters portrayed positively. On the contrary, Fahri is consistently valiant, patient, and kind. As a result, multitudes of women fall in love with him and see him as the perfect Muslim man.
In one scene, Fahri sees an Arab man scream at and beat his wife in the street after she drops a bag of groceries (see screenshot at the top of the page). As they walk away, we see the woman gaze at Fahri helplessly. In another scene, another Arab man begins to shout at a niqabi woman (who we later learn is named Aisha) who gave up her train seat for an elderly American tourist, who the Arab man calls a "kafir" and blames for the deaths of Muslims in American wars." The man raises his fist to punch Aisha, but Fahri steps in to explain that Muslims must be fair and follow the sunnah of the Prophet. The Arab man then punches Fahri and walks away yelling "Allahu akbar." Aisha looks at Fahri longingly, and when they meet again later she tells him, "I rarely meet a muslim like you" (read: "all the Arabs I know are angry and intolerant"). On another occasion, Fahri saves an Arab woman (Nurul) from her abusive father and so she also falls in love with him, saying "you are truly a man with great morals." Later, we watch Aisha gaze longingly at Fahri as he cites the Qur'an to explain why Muslim men shouldn't beat their wives.
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| From Ayat-Ayat Cinta: Aisha (Rianti Cartwright) gazes longingly at Fahri as he stands up to the angry Arab man on the train. |
Throughout the film, Fahri is the heroic depiction of the imagined Indonesian Islamic ethic. He is the ideal Indonesian Muslim man, the perfect imam. And our hero repeatedly meets his foils in angry, misogynist Arab men. Indonesian women viewers are clearly supposed to be thankful that their husbands are Indonesian, not Arab.
It's worth noting that not all popular media depicts Arabs this way. The angry, misogynist, and violent traits of Arab characters were especially emphasized in Ayat-Ayat Cinta mainly because it served as a plot device. On the other hand, in another film about Indonesians studying in Cairo, the two-part Ketika Cinta Bertasbih (When Love Reads God's Name, 2009) by Chaerul Umam, I noted no negative portrayals of Arabs whatsoever. It is also common to use oppressive husbands as foils for protagonists in Indonesian Islamic cinema, such as in Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (The Sinking of the Van Der Wijck, 2013), by Sunil Soraya, in which a drunk, unsupportive husband is cast against another loyal and loving man. But in keeping with Indonesian exceptionalism, the antagonist is westernized while the protagonist is an Islamic scholar.
It's worth noting that not all popular media depicts Arabs this way. The angry, misogynist, and violent traits of Arab characters were especially emphasized in Ayat-Ayat Cinta mainly because it served as a plot device. On the other hand, in another film about Indonesians studying in Cairo, the two-part Ketika Cinta Bertasbih (When Love Reads God's Name, 2009) by Chaerul Umam, I noted no negative portrayals of Arabs whatsoever. It is also common to use oppressive husbands as foils for protagonists in Indonesian Islamic cinema, such as in Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (The Sinking of the Van Der Wijck, 2013), by Sunil Soraya, in which a drunk, unsupportive husband is cast against another loyal and loving man. But in keeping with Indonesian exceptionalism, the antagonist is westernized while the protagonist is an Islamic scholar.
Also, while Arabs' bear the brunt of stereotyping, other ethnicities can be lumped in with them for being vaguely Middle Eastern as well. In the two-part 99 Cahaya di Langit Eropa (99 Lights in Europe's Sky, 2013 & 2014) by Guntur Soeharjanto, a Pakistani character is easily angered by racist comments of a white character, whereas the Indonesian male Muslim protagonist is consistently calm and charismatic in the face of Islamophobia. (Again we see the parallels with western demonization of not only Arabs or muslims, but of anyone who might looks like them as well.)
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| Tenggelamnya Kapal Van Der Wijck (2013) |
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| Ketika Cinta Bertasbih (2009) |
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| 99 Cahaya di Langit Eropa (2013) |
(I refer to the above films as "Islamic cinema" because they all infuse romantic or dramatic plots with religious themes. Or in the case of 99 Cahaya, the plot is explicitly about religion.)
A theme among all these male Muslim Indonesian protagonists is that they embody the virtue of being sabar, or patient. To be sabar in the face of adversity (or someone just being an asshole) is one of the most valued traits in Indonesian (and especially Javanese) culture. These similar male characters in Indonesian Islamic cinema both contribute to and demonstrate the supreme importance of kesabaran (the noun form, patience) to both the producers and consumers. On the other hand, male Arab characters in Indonesian cinema, while occasionally not being portrayed as unrestrained monsters, are never written with the supreme virtue of being sabar.
Global narratives on Islam, misogyny, Arabia, and Indonesia
This narrative of the exceptionally moderate/tolerant/peaceful nature of Indonesian Islam has gained traction outside of the country as well. In a 2015 clip from CNN that went viral on Facebook and Twitter, Reza Aslan responds to claims that Islam is misogynistic by pointing to Indonesia (among other countries) as a sort of utopian counterexample to "Iran and Saudi Arabia." At one point, Aslan even proclaims that, “[in] Indonesia, women are absolutely, 100% equal to men.” Granted, CNN anchors Alisyn Camerota and Don Lemon were saying some pretty ignorant and Islamophobic things, but many of Aslan’s responses are simplistic and erase/ignore the experiences of actual women. I know plenty of Indonesian feminist activists who would be happily out of a job if women were in fact “absolutely, 100% equal to men."
(Aslan mentions Indonesia at 2:35 and 5:30)
On one hand, this incident shows how neglected Indonesia is in the field of Islamic studies. Aslan is not alone in his ignorance; Indonesia is regularly plucked out as an example of a “free, tolerant, peaceful Muslim society” whenever that description suits the narrative of some scholar or journalist who has otherwise spent little to no time in the country. On the other hand, this interview reflects the dominant narrative of an exceptional Indonesian Islam, which has by now gone international.
And if Westen observers agree with the narrative that Indonesian Islam is completely tolerant and egalitarian, then they certainly agree also that this is an exception to Islam elsewhere, most notably in Arabia.
And if Westen observers agree with the narrative that Indonesian Islam is completely tolerant and egalitarian, then they certainly agree also that this is an exception to Islam elsewhere, most notably in Arabia.
The lasting weight of colonial feminism
It is impossible not to note how these Indonesian narratives mirror and interact with Western stereotypes about Islam and Arabs and their supposed misogyny. The term "colonial feminism" was introduced by Leila Ahmed in her book Women and Gender in Islam (1992). In it, she writes:
"The idea that Other men, men in colonized societies or societies beyond the borders of the civilized West, oppressed women was to be used, in the rhetoric of colonialism, to render morally justifiable its project of undermining or eradicating the cultures of colonized peoples..."
In our case, Indonesians clearly don't seek to (nor are they in the position to) "undermine" or "eradicate" Arab culture. What we are dealing with here is not colonial feminism per se, but inherited colonial feminism. Indonesians have been exposed to western colonial feminist discourse that paints Islam as misogynist. Their response: rhetorically carve themselves out as exceptional from the rest of Islamdom and then point an eager finger back at their fellow Muslims. Just like imperialism co-opts feminist rhetoric, Indonesian Islamic discourse often adopts the language of feminism simply to demonize Arabs and Arab culture. While real feminism values the rights and wellbeing of women, colonial feminism and its inheritors demote these goals to mere symbols in an inter-civilizational spitting match.
