Over the last few days, we witnessed Abu Eesa’s vicious attacks (without provocation) on feminists and the International Women’s Day, and the public outrage and criticism of the Al-Maghrib instructor that followed.
The public outrage at Abu Eesa’s posts and comments triggered the fans of the star shaykh to come to his defense. The fans of the revered teacher could not understand what had gone so terribly wrong that people were outraged. At the same time, people like myself have been trying to make sense of the defense and counter-attacks launched by Abu Eesa’s fans.
I thought the episode was very instructive. In the following lines, I am going to share some of the lessons I have learnt for myself, and problems I have identified for future advocacy and efforts at informing and changing public opinion. Perhaps others affected by the episode will benefit too.
Human beings are vulnerable
Owing to his influence in the community and the fact that outsiders would readily view him as the spokesperson for Islam, I couldn’t help criticizing him in the strongest of terms. Yet I was constantly alarmed as he slipped down the slope and got more and more vicious that human beings are truly vulnerable. What happened to Abu Eesa can happen to anyone of us. May the divine protect us all from taking a silly position, then getting stuck with it out of false pride. May the divine protect Abu Eesa in future, and everyone of us from getting caught in this kind of a mire.
Abu Eesa’s defiant tone in his “apologies” (that merely seemed like efforts at damage control in terms of his fan club) and people’s commentary on that helped me understand and register what fauxpologies (or fake apologies) are like, and what would make a good apology.
Partisan behavior keeps us from seeing an ally’s misconduct
I was startled that Abu Eesa’s students and fans could just not see what had gone wrong. It was impossible for them to see what the stakes are when a shaykh with more than 40K followers on Facebook badmouths feminists and others concerned on the IWD. I was reminded how important it is sometimes to distance ourselves from an organization or a personality to be able to speak the truth, to be able to condemn what is wrong.
I want to share a story from my own life to illustrate the point: I was once a member of an organization that has championed the establishment of sharī‘ah for seven decades. I felt uncomfortable with a number of things on various occasions, but I was finally thrown off when a member of the organization honor-killed his wife and the president of the regional chapter arranged for him to be flown back to his country before the sun rose. The dead wife was flown back too. Police investigation and justice was impeded. When I confronted the president, he explained he didn’t want the sister’s body to be demeaned by post-mortem exams. I protested; the president pretended to share concern. Other members seemed to agree that that was the best course of action so the organization’s reputation and their “efforts in God’s path” are not jeopardized. I left the organization, and the fellows went on with their advocacy for “sharī‘ah”. The partisans of this organization could not see anything wrong with what they did – they could justify and explain it. This is how far partisan behavior goes if it is unchecked.
I wish for everyone including myself to be protected from such partisanship that keeps us from calling what is wrong as wrong, even when some of God’s expectations are compromised and the reputation of the zher dīn is at stake.
Poorly-developed sensitivities is another issue
Not all people who couldn’t see what was wrong with Abu Eesa’s comments and “jokes” were his fans or students. They were nonetheless unable to see what was so wrong with Abu Eesa’s “jokes” that people were furious. While they thought Abu Eesa’s critics were “vile”, they couldn’t see, for example, how problematic it was for Abu Eesa to ascribe “kufr” to people of certain persuasion and call them “femi-Nazis” or “enemies of Islam and the orthodoxy”.
To me, this seems like a problem with our sensitivities. People (including Abu Eesa himself) did not see anything wrong with what happens (or turned) to be a misogynistic sense of humor, just as some people (especially in other parts of the world) are not sensitive to a racist sense of humor. They don’t trivialize it – they genuinely think it is trivial and that others are making a big deal out of nothing.
Yet our sensitivities change. For each one of us, there are things that we thought were alright once upon a time, but we no longer feel the same way. We know better as we grow. And our sensitivities at any given point indicate our stage of development. This provides an avenue for future advocacy and education of the community. The sensitivities of the individuals that make up the community must improve.
Forgive and forget! Really?
It was amazing to see how people pleaded for Abu Eesa to be forgiven, even before he had offered an apology, or a fauxpolgy. Human beings make mistakes, we were told. To attack and “smear” a “teacher” was not Islamic etiquette, people said.
What people do not realize is that an influential “teacher” who poses to be the sole authoritative voice of God and does not hesitate from calling others “enemies of Islam and the orthodoxy” cannot be excused for ill-considered public conduct. People of influence must be held accountable. If we were to spare the “teacher” due criticism and outrage, we would be condoning their attitude and endorsing their representation of Islam.
Moreover, I wonder if people are equally forgiving towards those who are not dressed right (in a kufi, a beard, and a long robe). I wish we offered such forgiving attitude to the weak and the vulnerable. I wish religious parents did not disown their kids who, they think, have strayed from the right path. I wish we were forgiving and loving towards fellow Muslims who did not “look” Muslim enough. I wish we were forgiving and sympathetic towards ordinary non-Muslims around us. To have a dismissive, mocking, or harsh attitude towards people whose īmān we judge is less than ours is not Islamic behavior.
To me, such idea of forgiveness seems misplaced. Forgiveness is best reserved for the weak and the vulnerable, for those who have the humility to admit that something went wrong on their part. As one friend said, “let’s not romanticize the notion of forgiveness, without justice: it only deflects [attention] from the larger, pervasive issues at hand.”
The offence was public, but the protest be private?
Abu Eesa was irresponsible and outrageous on a public forum, yet he has demanded (in his third “apology”) that the “public figures, commentators and Shaykhs” who have gone public with their disapproval and criticism should have contacted him in private first.
A marker of the privilege that Abu Eesa enjoys is the fact that his fans were ahead of him in asking his critics to “privately inbox him”, and that he was (graciously?) offering apologies to people who wrote to him in private. How does one make sense of that? Perhaps Abu Eesa is a demigod, and protection of his honor (like other demigods) is a priority for some people.
Criticizing the critic: what is that like?
People who came to Abu Eesa’s defense not only urged his critics to desist from the “smear campaign”, but also attacked them. Even Faraz Rabbani, himself a shaykh, had to take some heat. As one friend said, it was ok for Abu Eesa to say whatever he wanted in public, but not ok for others to criticize (or insult) him. The “honor” of the powerful patriarch, and therefore of the community, was at stake! Sure he crossed the line, but how can we bash a “teacher” who has contributed so much.
A friend shared a profound insight on this attitude:
This same attitude also has real, devastating effects just as passing off the misogynistic comments as “sarcastic humor” does! A woman once roomed with me after leaving her abusive husband, her pain and isolation was worsened by the fact that her particular Muslim circle completely abandoned her on account of her calling the police on him. She had betrayed Islam and done a disservice by calling outsiders rather than dealing with it at the mosque, they said.
Airing dirty laundry, disunity
One of the people who were very uncomfortable with public criticism of Abu Eesa beautifully expressed her concern by sharing this picture on the right.
People thought the episode showed how “disunited” and “pitted against one another” we were as a community. We were only fueling negative portrayal of Islam in the media.
Regrettably, this line of thought is rooted in a morality that revolves around a primordial chauvinism (or ‘aṣabīyah) for the community. In this framework, the interest of the community is best served if we keep our problems out of the public sphere and appear “united”. The same mindset seeks to protect the “honor” of a patriarch who abuses a girl at home – because the honor of the girl as well as the family supposedly issues from the honor of the patriarch. It is in nobody’s interest to talk about it. Thus, sexual abuse of young girls (and less so boys) continues unabated in societies that operate like this.
On the other hand, people who like to generate public discussions on issues of concern situate themselves in a different framework. They believe that the interests of the community are best served by standing up for justice and testifying to what is true, even if it goes against our own selves, our parents, or others near and dear to us (Q4:135). Here public debate is a virtue, not a vice. As Hind Makki pointed out in a recent post, public conversations are essential to raising awareness about challenges we face, which then leads to action on ground. Public debate is indispensable for transparency and accountability. The community is apathetic and dead when it excuses a star shaykh (a demigod) for outrageous comments without regard to the consequences in terms of people’s experiences, shaping of the fans’ attitudes, and reputation of the community and the religion; and it is alive and vibrant when it actively engages on issues within and without. After all, the ummah of the praised prophet cannot agree on error, and differences in the ummah are God’s mercy.
Is public shaming necessary?
Granted that public debate is essential, can we not avoid public shaming of individuals? We should whenever we can. Yet sometimes, it is inevitable. Abu Eesa, for example, invited trouble with his increasingly vicious “jokes” and sarcasm – he was adamant. Some people would not change their ways until someone shocks them. The organization that I was once part of (and that I have talked about above) needs to be exposed and shamed: in the process, they will either change their ways, or lose relevance. Similarly, apathetic members of the community have to be shocked out of their insensitivity and slumber.
The logic of “Is that your biggest concern?”
While the debate about Abu Eesa’s “jokes” went on, people were concerned if this was the biggest problem faced by the community. While it is good to review our priorities from time to time, it is not a good idea to point at injustices in Syria and Palestine, for example, to detract attention from real social problems at home that require one to change one’s attitude and lifestyle at a personal level. Perhaps we like to wait until all of world’s problems are solved so we can postpone working with ourselves for ever.
Yet I believe a lot of people do not mean to escape or detract attention from social issues at home – they genuinely think that the issue at hand is trivial. This is again a problem with sensitivities. It will only change when people know better and have developed greater sensitivities. And that will take time. For those concerned, it is an avenue for sustained efforts over a long period of time.
Using Qur’anic-Islamic terminology to discredit critics
Besides Abu Eesa’s aggressive attacks on feminists and those who have a “secular agenda”, the shaykh himself and others at Al-Maghrib have used the term fitnah to describe the episode. In this kind of presentation, Abu Eesa becomes the victim and his critics the perpetrators of fitnah. I believe sober people should refrain from eliciting such support from the sacred sources.
There are numerous terms and verses in Qur’an (2:11–12 and 2:204–206 among them) that believers could hurl on one another when they dispute. It is convenient and intuitive to stigmatize the opponent as betraying the faith. Abu Eesa didn’t seem to hesitate from that, but I am glad none of his critics employed such cheap rhetorical tactics.
I believe that the terms and verses of Qur’an and the prophetic anecdotes that offer such potential are best reserved for self-examination.
Every public act is either good or bad shahādah
Like the Children of Israel in the past, God has made the followers of the blessed prophet Muhammad a central nation responsible for establishing testimony on fellow human beings (Q2:143). We establish testimony with our words and deeds; people witness our lifestyles and persuasions, and we witness theirs. Human beings’ mutual witness and testimony will serve as God’s justification (ḥujjah) on the Day of Judgment to reward or punish individual human beings.
In this scheme, every act of ours is either a good testimony or a bad testimony. Good testimony would facilitate people in drawing closer to the divine, and bad testimony would dissuade them – in the latter case, we shall bear some responsibility for their mistrust in the creator.
When an influential teacher is reckless in their public statements, they are establishing bad shahādah on humanity. The moment we afford them immunity from criticism, we have prioritized community chauvinism and partisanship over the creator’s dual expectation of upholding truth and justice and establishing sound testimony of faith on fellow human beings.
I hope the least that will come out of this episode is that Abu Eesa and other members of the religious establishment will exercise caution in future. Abu Eesa may seem intransigent at this point, but the constructive parts of the criticism will hopefully sink in and he will be a better person in future. The atmosphere of accountability is likely to persist too. And that means a change in the course of the community, a step forward.
Peace to all those concerned and affected by the episode, including Abu Eesa.
