Where do you begin to write about religion and society in a country where the two are so intertwined and you're trying not to cover the same ground as your colleagues? For this first letter, I'll string together a few first impressions to develop in subsequent dispatches. The place to start is Cairo, erstwhile capital of the Arab world, a city tinged with religiosity, tempered with cynicism, and fraught with identity crises.
In Egypt, as in much of the Middle East, public political participation is not particularly welcome. Demonstrations are (barely) allowed, to vent popular anger and also allow a public forum for intimidation by security services—the 25 to 1 ratio of police mainly serves to remind people of their place. But through the institutions of Islam—despite the fact that the government funds imams and mosques—people find outlets for their opinions and dissent and places of assembly where the Emergency Law has suspended assembly for decades. Mosques are more than just religious centers; they are community centers, where people will eat meals, nap during the day, teach lessons, or relax. At Al Azhar Mosque and University, the institutional home of orthodox Sunnism in Egypt, children will slide in stocking feet over the polished marble courtyard that is filled with kneeling penitents on Friday.
The main opposition party in Egypt, such as it is, is the Muslim Brotherhood, which has been banned, persecuted because they have committed acts of terrorism and violence and later publicly renounced them. They hold a small voting bloc in the Egyptian Parliament, where they push for a more independent judiciary, increased freedom of political participation and other civil rights, like any opposition party—they even publicly hedge over whether they pursue an Islamic state or not. The Brotherhood presents a case of cognitive dissonance for those of us from the West who would like to see real liberal democratic reform in the Middle East but feel uncomfortable approving of an organization whose early leading light, Sayyid Quttb, laid the intellectual foundation for the anti-Western Islamist political actors who present a violent challenge to our way of life. If today they embrace democratic methods—and claim broad popular support—where can we stand?
An interesting regional counterpoint is Hezbollah, whose recent conflict with Israel have raised their popularity, and that of their leader, Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah, in Egypt—it is not uncommon to see posters of Nasrallah in city streets—despite the fact that Hezbollah is a movment of Shi'ia Islam, not Sunni, the predominant branch of Islam in Egypt. Hezbollah had the opportunity to renounce violence and integrate fully into the Lebanese state but didn't take it. Now, though they have membership in the Lebanese government, their independent militias and social services act as a shadow government, even forcing major changes in foreign policy, as the world saw last summer.
The other major religious group in Egypt is the Coptic Christians, making up about a tenth of the population. Sporting cross tattoos on their wrists or hands, they are accepted in general society but need to fight for their political rights; the ability to build churches and practice their religion has been thwarted by the government. They, like most Egyptians, aren't fans of President Hosni Mubarak, but their international politics are more varied: After meeting a Copt and telling him I was from America, I prepared for the inevitable explanation that I, too, am not a fan of President Bush but was surprised to see the man give the US president a thumbs up: in their eyes, he has done a lot of good for Christians.
The student body at the American University in Cairo (AUC), as my fellow AUCians will no doubt note, is a rarefied group: mainly the children of Egyptian elites (with the exception of scholarship students) they are particularly caught in the web of globalization. Born Egyptian, Arab, and Muslim, they speak English and often other languages, and, surprisingly, no small number of them have problems navigating the formal Arabic that is the lingua franca of the educated Arab world. They shop in Dubai or Europe, travel abroad, and don't identify easily with the vast and frustrated (economically and politically) mass of Egyptians who lack their advantages, and who they—Egypt's aristocracy—will be expected to lead as many of them follow their connections into the government, business, and the media. But many care about politics—mostly foreign politics, now focusing on Israel and Lebanon, since they can express themselves more freely that way—and there are conservatives, liberals, and even a Muslim Brothers front on campus. Given the political chaos that will follow the death of Mubarak in the next decade or so, they have much uncertainty ahead.
This is a gloss of the trends in religion and politics I've encountered thus far in Cairo. In my next missive, I promise a more detailed look, but it wouldn't do to leave you without some sketch of the big picture. I'm looking forward to reading the letters from the other members of the network, and hope everyone is having a good stay abroad.
The main opposition party in Egypt, such as it is, is the Muslim Brotherhood, which has been banned, persecuted because they have committed acts of terrorism and violence and later publicly renounced them. They hold a small voting bloc in the Egyptian Parliament, where they push for a more independent judiciary, increased freedom of political participation and other civil rights, like any opposition party—they even publicly hedge over whether they pursue an Islamic state or not. The Brotherhood presents a case of cognitive dissonance for those of us from the West who would like to see real liberal democratic reform in the Middle East but feel uncomfortable approving of an organization whose early leading light, Sayyid Quttb, laid the intellectual foundation for the anti-Western Islamist political actors who present a violent challenge to our way of life. If today they embrace democratic methods—and claim broad popular support—where can we stand?
An interesting regional counterpoint is Hezbollah, whose recent conflict with Israel have raised their popularity, and that of their leader, Sheikh Hassan Nasrallah, in Egypt—it is not uncommon to see posters of Nasrallah in city streets—despite the fact that Hezbollah is a movment of Shi'ia Islam, not Sunni, the predominant branch of Islam in Egypt. Hezbollah had the opportunity to renounce violence and integrate fully into the Lebanese state but didn't take it. Now, though they have membership in the Lebanese government, their independent militias and social services act as a shadow government, even forcing major changes in foreign policy, as the world saw last summer.
The other major religious group in Egypt is the Coptic Christians, making up about a tenth of the population. Sporting cross tattoos on their wrists or hands, they are accepted in general society but need to fight for their political rights; the ability to build churches and practice their religion has been thwarted by the government. They, like most Egyptians, aren't fans of President Hosni Mubarak, but their international politics are more varied: After meeting a Copt and telling him I was from America, I prepared for the inevitable explanation that I, too, am not a fan of President Bush but was surprised to see the man give the US president a thumbs up: in their eyes, he has done a lot of good for Christians.
The student body at the American University in Cairo (AUC), as my fellow AUCians will no doubt note, is a rarefied group: mainly the children of Egyptian elites (with the exception of scholarship students) they are particularly caught in the web of globalization. Born Egyptian, Arab, and Muslim, they speak English and often other languages, and, surprisingly, no small number of them have problems navigating the formal Arabic that is the lingua franca of the educated Arab world. They shop in Dubai or Europe, travel abroad, and don't identify easily with the vast and frustrated (economically and politically) mass of Egyptians who lack their advantages, and who they—Egypt's aristocracy—will be expected to lead as many of them follow their connections into the government, business, and the media. But many care about politics—mostly foreign politics, now focusing on Israel and Lebanon, since they can express themselves more freely that way—and there are conservatives, liberals, and even a Muslim Brothers front on campus. Given the political chaos that will follow the death of Mubarak in the next decade or so, they have much uncertainty ahead.
This is a gloss of the trends in religion and politics I've encountered thus far in Cairo. In my next missive, I promise a more detailed look, but it wouldn't do to leave you without some sketch of the big picture. I'm looking forward to reading the letters from the other members of the network, and hope everyone is having a good stay abroad.
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