Author: Jayson

From Poverty to Riches

Note: This text was prepared recently but recalls a personal trip I took with my family to visit Maghagha during the Coptic Christmas holiday in January 2010. While there we visited Holy Family sites, but also a rapidly developing pilgrimage center focused on the memory of Fr. Abd al-Masih al-Manahari. Upon watching the film produced by the church commemorating his life, these two sources combined to inform this text, replete with personal reflection and photos.

The Coptic Orthodox Church possesses a strong monastic spirit which esteems abandoning the pleasures of this world in preference to those of the hereafter. Yet even in this world God is believed to compensate his servant with spiritual riches which satisfy far greater than any earthly lucre. Not all are called to this life; few can even imagine themselves in pursuit of it. Nearly all Copts, however, find in those who dedicate their lives entirely to God a source of spiritual proof of faith, for which glory is given to God, much of which flows through his servant. This human-directed commemoration is known as al-magd al-batil, or vainglory, which these servants spend their life escaping. Upon their death, however, they can no longer flee.

The Egyptian countryside is dotted with churches built upon or in proximity to the tombs of these saints. Most of these figures lived centuries ago, during the times of monastic establishment or widespread martyrdom. Certain saints have more modern origins, such as during the Islamic ages even through the colonial period. The sites have become places of pilgrimage to which Copts journey to remember their lives, seek their intercession, and receive their miracle-working power. In an earlier essay I wrote about our first encounter with such miracle stories, in which the bodies of many of these saints are preserved from decay. Westerners in general find it difficult to give credence to these stories, imagining them to be vestiges of a bygone era in which scientific inquiry was less developed. Even Western Christians, who are more inclined to believe in the possibility of the miraculous, find little similarity between this understood pre-modern faith and their own. Yet the saying is often repeated here: God never leaves himself without a witness.

The witness to faith through miracles is not understood as a foundational phenomenon only. The first Christians preached Jesus, “who was a man accredited by God to you by miracles” (Acts 2:22), and their own authority was established as “everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles” (Acts 2:43). Salvation, “first announced by the Lord, was confirmed to us by those who heard him … testified by signs, wonders, and various miracles” (Heb. 2:3-4). Paul confirms that these miracles are, in fact, “the things that mark an apostle” (II Cor. 12:12). Copts celebrate their communion in “one holy, catholic, apostolic church”, and trace the succession of their leadership all the way back to Mark, through the ages in direct connection to this apostolic authority. Christianity was confirmed in the beginning through miracles, and its proof continues to be found in God’s concern exhibited through his saints, both living and dead. This witness elevates Christianity from a philosophy to a divine reality, incumbent for belief by all humanity. The level of witness may ebb and flow, but it never disappears.

Scanning the modern age in Egypt, however, may question this conviction. The tombs of the saints are testified to as places of miracle, drawing even Muslims to petition God through these Christian wonder-workers. Yet where are the living witnesses? At one time these saints were flesh and blood humans—devoted, no doubt, to the complete service of God, but no different than their common neighbor. That is not a fair claim, however, for they were different from most men in their voluntary poverty, and if the stories are to be believed, in their ability to petition God for direct and indubitable intervention in the lives of those around them.

This dependence upon the miraculous, coupled with a scarcity of living saints, has contributed to the growing popularity—and wealth—of locations surrounding the holy tombs. When one asks for intercession it is usually accompanied with a vow to be fulfilled sometime after the miracle has been received. This can be in the form of a service rendered, prayers offered, or money donated to the church housing the tomb. There is no scandal here; no one is getting rich off of these stories. Monies are applied to build and repair the church of the saint, with legitimate concern to accommodate the ever increasing number of pilgrims, as well as to assist the poor in the area. Yet the living saint would have cowered at the thought of receiving ‘compensation’ for his expression of grace, let alone the attention which would be afforded him. This is al-magd al-batil which kept most of these saints ever in search of obscurity. With their bodies in the ground, no matter how well preserved, the magd can finally accumulate.

During the season of Coptic Christmas we had opportunity to travel to Maghagha to stay with Fr. Yu’annis, a priest who introduced us to many of the Christian sites of the area. You can read about these accounts here. He also spoke with us about the best practices for church building as well as what Christians should do following the horrific events of Nag Hamadi, which you can read here and here. He also brought us to a modern day pilgrimage site, such as described above, located in the village of Manahara. The story which follows is an account of the life of Abd al-Masih al-Manahari, as depicted in a film, produced under the supervision of Bishop Mina of the diocese of Girga, who researched his life and recorded the stories attributed to this remarkable man.

Abd al-Masih al-Manahari was born in 1892 near the village of Mattai, in the governorate of Minia, located 150 miles south of Cairo. As the only son in a family with several daughters, he caused much consternation to his father for his preference to visit the local monastery over devotion to the family farm. Yet God blessed the production of the farm for his oversight, and whenever his father would limit his time in the monastery several cattle would die. As he grew older he wished himself to become a monk, but could not obtain his father’s permission. Though he loved his boy, he knew that monks neither married nor owned property, so the farm would pass to others, and who would care for him as he aged? In desperation the father brought him a young woman who offered herself to his son, but he refused, sending her away with great pain in her stomach until she publically repented in front of his father, at which point he prayed for her and she was cured. Angry with his father, but knowing also his fears, he asked if he could be released to the monastery if God granted his mother a son in his stead. When his father said yes, he declared it would be so, and shortly thereafter a second boy was born to the family.

Abd al-Masih, which translates into ‘Slave of the Messiah’, then traveled to the Monastery of Fr. Makarius, located in Wadi Natrun in the desert between Cairo and Alexandria. Here he studied from the established monks, serving them but also distinguishing himself as a man of spiritual insight. Here he learned the lesson of al-magd al-batil, which oddly enough drove him away from the monastery. Knowing the honor received by monks he sought to flee to become a hermit in the desert. Upon his return, however, he overheard people speaking about him as the great monk dedicated only to God. Paradoxically, he thought the only place to escape was the world, so he departed to live in the village of Manahara, dressing as a monk, but under the guise of tomfoolery.

Everywhere he went Abd al-Masih mentioned he wished to get married. For a monk this was akin to giving up his vows, so he presented the image of a man with worldly wishes. He always turned down any proposal received, but his reputation began to be established in the village. Furthermore, he would pay the children a small amount of money to dance around him and call him ‘the crazy monk’. Yet at the same time his concern for the people around him became known through small miracles he would work on their behalf. He would present an amount of money to a needy family, matching exactly their debt without any details being exchanged. He would restore a chicken to life when it died in advance of the holiday. He would even be witnessed praying through the night with holy lights surrounding him, once even being seen in communication with the Virgin Mary.

Some of his miracles were for his own benefit, as God enabled. On one occasion he knelt by the river bed and asked the fish to jump directly into his basket. Another time he demonstrated he was as the holy saints of the monastic establishment, able to traverse great distances in minimal time by transforming himself into a bird. To cap his life he gave two great prophesies, which established his recognition by God as a saint. In the first he was comforting a fellow monk who was overlooked for service, telling him he would be appointed a bishop when the otherwise unknown monk so-and-so became pope. No one believed him, but not long afterwards Pope Kyrillos VI was installed, and he appointed Bishop Mina, the very one mentioned above, to his post.

In the second Abd al-Masih received two visitors in approach of the Easter feast, each one vying to invite the monk to his home. Abd al-Masih refused them both, declaring he had a prior engagement, in that he was to be married on Easter, and in fact, one of the two was to join him that day. The colleague in question nodded solemnly, for by now it was well known that this was no crazy, deviant, marriage-bent monk, but a man fully dedicated to God. As predicted, Abd al-Masih’s desire was finally fulfilled, as on Easter, April 14, 1963, he was wedded to his beloved, joining the saints in communion as the bride of Christ. His friend died that same day.

While Abd al-Masih lived in Manahara he occupied only a small room in which he would sleep, eat, and pray. When we visited his now vast and grand pilgrimage site, this room is preserved in its original form, as a reminder of his poverty and humility. It is a stark contrast to the grandeur of the palatial church and complex now surrounding it, especially the bookstore which sells tacky trinkets with his face printed on mugs, ornaments, and pictures of remembrance.

According to local testimony, however, the place deserves its laud. Fr. Yu’annis told me the story of how this complex came to be. One day after Abd al-Masih’s death, the regionally unknown saint appeared in a vision to a local embroiderer named Mukhtar. He had been praying for a cure for his cancer, and in his moment of despair Abd al-Masih materialized before him, and handed over his shawl, telling him to lay it on his stomach and he would be healed.

In the film this shawl figured prominently in Abd al-Masih’s first miracle, which began cementing his reputation in the village. A young girl was suffering from a violent illness and was at the point of death. The family had brought doctors but each one left saying that the matter was now in God’s hands. The girl’s mother implored her husband to call upon the village monk, of whom it was said he was one of God’s saints, but he resisted knowing him only as the ‘crazy monk’. When her pressings finally caused him to yield Abd al-Masih came and knelt beside her, laying his shawl on her head, and prayed to God. Miraculously, the girl arose, and the two of them exited the room together to be met by the rejoicing parents.

With Mukhtar, however, Abd al-Masih gave not only a healing, but also a commission. Upon granting his shawl he spoke to Mukhtar, authorizing him to use it for the healing of all who needed help, accepting no money. At the end of his instructions he disappeared, but left the shawl behind. With this word Mukhtar began his thereafter daily practice of taking the shawl to Abd al-Masih’s grave, entrusting it to the religious authorities for application of healing according to their wisdom, returning at the end of the day to take it home with him again. It is said that upon his death, Mukhtar will bequeath the shawl to the bishop.

Over time Abd al-Masih became far more famous in death than he had ever been in life, and the miracles performed through his shawl outnumbered those performed during his days on earth. Fr. Yu’annis confirmed personally the miraculous healings. On one occasion he invited Mukhtar to come with him, with the shawl, to his village of Qufada. One woman there had been suffering from a steady hemorrhage, but upon being touched in faith by Abd al-Masih’s shawl she was healed, and remains in good health to this day. Furthermore, Fr. Yu’annis declared that the body of Abd al-Masih has been miraculously preserved by God from decay, and is displayed publically once a year on the anniversary of his death. In this manner God honors in perpetuity the glory of his saints.

Be it God’s intention or not, this process also contributes to the glory of their surroundings. Here is a picture of the residence in which Abd al-Masih spent his days:

Following the work of Mukhtar and Abd al-Masih’s shawl, in the late 1960s this church was built on the site:

By no means is this an ostentatious display, but it does depict a progression from the single room residence and decrepit church (no picture) in which Abd al-Masih worshipped. Consider, however, the most recent building project on the site of this mendicant holy man’s grave:

In addition, consider how this man, once ever on the run from al-magd al-batil, is now commemorated throughout the site. Here is his original photo compared with the iconic image by which Coptic Christians choose to remember him:

Other images from the pilgrimage site include:

Here are his relics, to which people come to seek his intercession. Behind the priest on the green board is the Arabic text of a song of praise to Abd al-Masih, which commemorates his virtues.

It is difficult to reconcile these images with the reality of his life. A man of simplicity, poverty, and humility becomes the focal point of a dazzling, luxurious, personal cultic center. Yet at the same time, the extraordinary nature of his life suggests the appropriateness of commemoration. Certain questions demand further study:

Did Abd al-Masih al-Manahari truly conduct the miracles attributed to him in the film? These are verified through the research of Bishop Mina, but how thorough were his methods? Such an account can be built only upon personal testimony; were the subjects of his inquiry predisposed to interpret events as miraculous? Could they have invented certain tales fitting within the known pattern of saintly powers? Is there any hint of duplicity, if not for personal benefit then for that of the church and the faith? Or was Abd al-Masih truly one of God’s witnesses?

Is the story of the apparition to Mukhtar to be believed? How did the shawl come into his possession? It existed previously somewhere after the death of Abd al-Masih; wherever that place was, presumably it is no longer there. What of the continuing miracles? In at least one case, there is a credible personal testimony, received by a friendly priest in whom no duplicity was noticed. Is there a power of belief that itself produces miraculous results? Once the history/legend is sufficiently produced, can the best examples of these accepted tales fuel a continuing mania? Is his body truly preserved? April 14, apparently, produces yearly verification.

Supposing these accounts to be true, what does it mean? If Abd al-Masih was a saint, commended by God in both life and death, is this for his memory, or for a greater purpose of establishing the veracity of Orthodox Christianity? To what does Abd al-Masih witness? Orthodox Christianity generally holds itself to be the true expression of God’s religion, as spoken before, attributed by miracles. Yet how should the miracles of other expressions of faith be considered? Is there a difference in degree between the Christian Protestant faith healers and the Islamic Sufi awliya’ salihiin (literally, good guardians, functioning in a role similar to that of Christian saints)? Are all non-Orthodox, or at least all non-Christian, miracles demonic? Does God need this witness at all, from anyone?

Finally, what interpretive light does this phenomena shed on the miraculous in historical religion? Firstly, is Abd al-Masih a verification of the stories of the centuries old saints, such as Anthony, George, Bishoy, and Abanoub? Or might he serve as a modern example of how their reputations were created and preserved? Secondly, does the comparison carry backwards even to the founding of the faith in the miraculous stories of Jesus and the Apostles? Historical and apologetic studies have dealt with the second question in depth; presumably anthropological and sociological studies have dealt with the first. What are the results?

Without having studied the modern disciplines of the first question, and with some previous reading in the theological and critical disciplines of the second, I see four possible answers. The first is that of complete verification; Abd al-Masih, like the apostolic witnesses before him, was used by God to demonstrate the ‘rightness’ of Christianity. The second is its opposite; though many involved may have been honestly duped, Abd al-Masih, or at least the religious leaders who co-opted his story, was a charlatan and a deceiver. The third returns to a religious response, but one less exclusivist. God has mercy on humanity through many paths; Abd al-Masih was his agent to serve the Orthodox Christians of Manahara and Upper Egypt, though other figures are equally his ‘witnesses’. The fourth seeks to preserve the sincerity of the stories with respect to scientific realities. Psychological and psychophysical studies are necessary to determine how such events can be unanimously testified but yet scientifically impossible; Abd al-Masih tapped into a power that is part of humanity but as of yet is alien to measurement.

For now evaluation of these results is not possible, as further study would be required. What is most interesting is the picture of Abd al-Masih as an example of Coptic spirituality. Celibate, mendicant, and sensitive to the divine, he represents the ideal Christian picture which most are not able to replicate. In return for his sacrifices he enjoyed special favor, which was used primarily to bless others, but from which he enjoyed extraordinary communion with God. Upon his death this favor continued, at which time his legend rapidly spreads. The Christians who are not able to follow his example signal their approval by visiting his grave, seeking his intercession, and donating to his remembrance. In a world lacking an abundance of saints (is it not always?), men like Abd al-Masih can receive the adulation of many. That this adulation results in a complete upheaval of the values they practiced while alive is simply one of the paradoxes of Coptic Christianity.

Tags Christianity, Coptic, Egypt, Manahari, Orthodoxy, Saint

Maadi Messenger Published Articles

School Kids and Microbuses

Post author By Jayson
Post date April 29, 2010
No Comments on School Kids and Microbuses

A few weeks ago we provided a look into our local neighborhood here in Maadi, Cairo, during a seven minute video tour from our apartment to my work. Click here if you missed it or would like to see it again. Today we provide an extended look at one of the more lively sections of this walk, taken from our balcony depicting the street below.

Julie provides the commentary at the moment the kids from the boys’ school exit out onto the street, which also happens to be the beginning point of local public transportation in which microbuses carry residents from a nearby neighborhood back and forth. Our street is not always as noisy as the video will show, but neither is what she will show you unusual.

Please click here to enjoy the video on Vimeo (sorry, we had trouble with YouTube).

Note: Should the microbuses in particular strike your fancy, please pay attention for a coming post Julie is preparing which features another aspect of these, our illustrious neighbors…

Tags Egypt, Maadi, Microbus

Personal

Metro Etiquette

Tonight I rode on the metro here for the first time WITH the kids and WITHOUT Jayson. I’ve taken the metro by myself, and with Jayson, and with Jayson and the kids, but not on my own with the kids. It actually went quite smoothly as the girls cooperated beautifully.

I am always impressed on public transportation at people’s kindness to the stranger. I first noticed it in Tunisia when we would ride the bus. When I entered the bus with a small child (or two), inevitably, someone would rise from their seat and offer it to me. I haven’t ridden public transportation in the US ever, so I don’t know if the same rules apply there, but I always appreciated being able to sit down with the little one(s).

I think the same rules apply here in Egypt, but there is an interesting twist here. One of the best features of the Egyptian metro system is their inclusion of a “ladies only” car.

Actually, there are two cars on each metro that are just for women. I believe they differ slightly in that one of the cars allows men after a certain hour, but the other one is only for women all the time. This is nice since the metro is often crowded, and at times crowded conditions can invite unwelcome attention. Knowing one can enter a car reserved for just women gives a certain peace of mind.

I’ve ridden the metro by myself only a couple times, and have always chosen the women’s car at those times. I was surprised a couple times to see some men in this car, but they definitely kept their distance from the women. I could see that the women ruled in this car, and sometimes they would tell the men they shouldn’t be there. Other times it seemed the men were with the women, but again, they kept their distance from the women they didn’t know. The whole science of the “ladies only” car would be an interesting one to study if I had time to just ride the metro whenever I wanted.

But, alas, I don’t. I can, however, make some observations from what I saw tonight. Jayson had a meeting downtown so we took the first leg of the journey together on the men’s car. When I was on the first leg of the journey someone gave their seat up for me pretty quickly. Later on, after Jayson left, I wondered if that might be one of the negatives of the ladies car. I think that in general, the men might feel a little more obliged to give their seat up for a woman with small children, but for some reason, other women might not. In some ways, you would think that they would feel more sympathy and offer their seat more readily, but I think there is something inside a man that just wants to help a woman in “distress.” Anyway, at least on the first leg, someone offered me a seat. I sat down with Hannah on one leg as it’s hard to put her in the middle of my lap as baby #3 is taking up more space these days. Emma wanted to sit on her own so she sat right next to me. I remember thinking at that point that it was nice to be in this position. I never really had to think about getting up to offer someone a seat, as long as I had two little ones with me. After all, there is a sign there which indicates the seats are there for, to translate literally, people with special needs: the elderly, the pregnant, women with young children, and the handicapped.

I didn’t even have to notice others’ needs as long as I was one of the needy ones. As such, we had a nice, comfortable ride all the way to the first stop where we switched metros and Jayson went on his way.

The second leg took a little more work, but not too much. These particular women must not have believed in the “woman in distress” theory, because when I boarded with two children in tow, and a third in my belly, no one made a motion to move. Instead, an American twenty-something woman, who was also standing, noticed me, and asked someone if I could take her seat. The sitting woman readily got up for me, but again, she didn’t do it on her own. So we got to sit for that leg of the journey as well.

The return trip, also in a women’s car, went pretty well as someone got off their seat almost immediately and let me sit in a seat. The girls were able to enjoy some lollipops that I had promised them during this twenty minute leg of the journey before we had to switch metro lines one last time. We got on our last metro at a main station, so even the women’s car was quite crowded, and I as I looked around at the women seated, trying not to make eye contact exactly, but trying to notice if anyone made any slight motion to me, I realized that no one was making a move to get up. Oh well. I did my best to keep my balance holding two little hands. But nearby was a woman dressed in the niqab (a head covering that also covers the whole face except for two eye holes), and holding a toddler on her lap. Her six year old daughter may have been on her lap as well, I didn’t notice at first, but almost immediately she saw my need and offered half her lap for one of my children. Emma refused, so I put Hannah there instead where she played fairly happily for most of the ride. I kind of marveled at the woman’s kindness as I thought about my ride earlier that evening when I didn’t even look for other people in need since I was the needy one. I was grateful for her kindness and she even got up halfway through the ride when Hannah refused to sit on her lap any longer, and offered her seat to me. Granted, she was getting out earlier than I was, but still, she gave up her space for me.

This was a good lesson for me to not just expect other’s kindness, and in some ways, demand it of them as I fit the description of a “needy passenger.” Instead, I should look for ways that I can help others in need. I owe a big ‘thanks’ to the stranger in the niqab for teaching me about seeing others’ needs above my own.

Tags Egypt, Maadi, Metro, Niqab

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Islam and Civil Society

Dr. Nadia Mostafa is a professor of international relations and the director of the Program for Civilizational Studies and Dialogue at Cairo University. A devoted Muslim, she shared her thoughts about building and developing civil society in Egypt. The conversation began with Dr. Mostafa’s efforts to discover at bit about me and how I had come to visit in her office. While discussing briefly my association with Arab West Report she also asked about my education, and I answered stating at the end my master’s pursuit in Islamic Studies. She was intrigued, and we talked about this for a while. Within this subject we talked about her friendship with, but not membership in, the Moral Rearmament Association, a local Egyptian non-governmental organization, as well as her participation in multi-party efforts at civil society construction.

Dr. Mostafa admires the work of groups like the MRA for seeking to craft an ethical basis for civil society. This is a good and worthy endeavor, but she hesitates to commit herself to their effort because, being a political scientist, she cannot accept their indifference to political aspects. In taking this civil stance they still are making a political decision. Morality is an important part of civil society discourse, but there are realities of power which must be addressed, both nationally and internationally. Specifically, she takes aim at the Egyptian government for stifling political debate within the country. All groups, whether Communist, Socialist, or Islamist, should have full political participation in shaping public policy. The failure to include them results in the increase of violent protest as well as the lethargy in public political participation in general.

Dr. Mostafa also commented that though she freely and eagerly cooperates with non-governmental initiatives to strengthen civil society, she also takes issue with many of their presumptions. First, she mentioned that nearly all of the groups working on behalf of this shared goal were Christian or Western. Islamic groups tend to exclusively work in charity, and she implicitly criticized Muslims for neglecting this important task, while qualifying this is due to the constraints and pressures the authorities put on their activities. Second, the Christian and Western groups which rightly aim at strengthening civil society tend to view Islam as the problem which needs to be addressed. While partnering extensively with Muslims, they see Islam as deficient in promoting a worldview of tolerance, acceptance, and diversity. This, however, is faulty; Islam has proved a source of human rights more than any other thought or religious system. On an international and national government plane, this bias is utilized within the human rights discourse to exclude a priori any Islamist participation in politics. Though this is not the stated goal of non-governmental Christian and Western groups, they are often aligned with the government in pursuit of a secular order, which they label a “civil state”. Islam, however, though rightly understood as more than a religion by the West, is also more than a political system. Islam promotes a strong human ethic and social justice commitment which admits plurality and the legitimacy of difference. The Islamic world view does not challenge the West as such, but the materialistic, hegemonic faces of modernization and globalization. Therefore, “civil society” should not be addressed as the opposite of religion or as having a religion-free frame of reference. Islamic visibility in the public sphere is not a threat to multiculturalism and civility.

At this I looked to probe a little deeper, and I referenced our earlier discussion about my Islamic studies. I highlighted that one aim of my research was to demonstrate that what is called ‘liberal’ Islam, that is, a Western preference for Muslims who also favor principles of democracy, tolerance, and human rights, etc., has a legitimate connection to Islam as a religion. It is often seen that liberal political Muslims may also be seen, perhaps by the more conservative faithful, as also being liberal religious Muslims, in that they have moved away from aspects of their faith. My claim was not to assert that either conservative or liberal Islam is the proper interpretation, only that liberal political Islam does not need to be seen as apostate – it may be embraced as a faithful expression of interpretation in the modern world.

Dr. Mostafa appreciated this line of study, but I asked her perspective on areas where I am still lacking. In defense of Christian and Western civil society proponents, while their bias may be evident, can it be understood, and perhaps justified? Specifically, the goal of civil society is to create the principles of citizenship. Many, however, see within Islam a call for dhimmitude. Admitting that the dhimmi system was superior to Western treatment of minorities for much of history, it is clear that the principles of the system do not equal the principles of citizenship. Proposing the question, is dhimmitude a necessary part of Islam, or is it a historical divergence from the religion?

Dr. Mostafa responded by speaking of the true persecution suffered by minorities under dhimmitude during certain epochs of history, but related this to Muslim-Christian geopolitical struggle, which then rebounded upon the Christians within Islamic territory. When Muslim nations have been strong, however, she stated that minorities were treated well. While her analysis was correct, I wondered if it contained an essential defense of the system. She distinguished between dhimmitude as a principle, norm and value, and dhimmitude as a system of procedures that organizes the state of non-Muslims. The earlier reflects a religious Muslim recognition of other previously revealed religions. So their adherents should be respected and fully protected as human beings who enjoy complete religious freedom. The latter is not fully described in Quran; it has been influenced, positively or negatively, according to the national or international context, but the negative one was an exception in history. Currently, when prominent Islamist thinkers and activists talk about citizenship, their ijtihad (reasoning) is not taken seriously by secular or by Coptic extremists. These stress Islamic visibility in the public sphere as a threat to their citizenship rights, which is fully wrong.

In a similar manner Dr. Mostafa had earlier criticized President Obama’s speech in Cairo in a slight way. While his delivery was good and positive, it was incomplete, for it presented only a peaceful, largely personal vision of Islam, in accordance with Western appreciation for religion in general. He avoided, she said, any reference to jihad, which though widely misunderstood as forceful imposition of personal belief, is part and parcel of true Islamic thought, and should not be apologized for. Jihad is incumbent as armed defense of their faith when Muslims are under oppression and occupation. Though this confession was clearer than that of dhimmitude, Dr. Mostafa revealed, openly and proudly, her Islamic core.

Yet at the same time, Dr. Mostafa denied that dhimmitude is a necessary expression of Islam in the modern world, and lives out this belief by her enthusiastic participation in crafting civil society. Islam, she believes, is open, tolerant, and accepting of others, and is not a clerical system like that found in Iran. Instead, the caliphate has always been a political phenomenon, and politics is subject to change. While she never issued an absolute claim that dhimmi status categorically is against the principles of Islam, she gives strong assurance to Christians and proponents of human rights that Muslims and their religion share equal goals as equal members of a society to be built upon the foundation of citizenship.

These Christian and Western groups, however, often go too far, specifically in their demand to cancel article two of the Egyptian constitution which establishes Islam as the religion of the state and the principles of Islamic Sharia as the main source of legislation. Every society has its order which defines the state, and by attacking the constitution in this way some extremist Copts are attacking the order of society.

Furthermore, Christian and Western groups do more harm than good as they constantly discuss civil society in terms of overcoming religious sectarianism. Religious relations in Egypt are healthy and strong; this over-focus only highlights the aberrant incidents, and communicates they are more prominent than in reality. As a consequence, civil society is weakened as accusations are exchanged across religious lines, rather than seeing these incidents as usually non-religious in their origin.

As we progressed we were conscious of the time, and I thanked Dr. Mostafa for sharing her views and helping my Egyptian education, but I also wanted to discuss some aspects of our work. I spoke of her colleague who informed me of the reconciliation sessions held in the Dar al-Ifta’ for Muslims who find themselves in personal conflicts with each other, be it business, family, or otherwise. She tracked with me in that if such a sheikh could be paired with a respected representative of the church, perhaps such reconciliation meetings could also be held between Muslims and Christians. She suggested, however, a different source of information. She told me of the Coptic Evangelical Organization for Social Services, who arranges extensive interreligious dialogue and cooperation. She believed they might be a better path to arrange inquiries about our peacemaking efforts. I agreed this was a good idea, but that our sources, unfortunately, are already primarily Christian, and it would be good also if she would not mind helping to arrange a meeting with the sheikh.

She did not mind, and gave me his phone number also. The man in question is the director of training in the Dar al-Ifta’, and she has worked with him previously, though not currently. She, with others, had assisted in helping imams expand their knowledge base from simply Islamic jurisprudence and Islamic studies to also include awareness of culture, politics, and society. Apparently, somewhere along the way this program was scaled back, so that this aspect of it no longer exists. Dr. Mostafa was not currently aware of what the remaining training program entailed, or for whom it was designed. In the past however, it was not just for aspiring imams before their appointment, but included even the imams of prominent mosques.

With this I thanked Dr. Mostafa once more for her time and assistance. Though we did not speak extensively of the subject for which I came, she did supply me with the requested reference, and I had opportunity to make a relationship with one who is often mentioned as a sympathetic supporter of our organization.

Tags Civil Society, Coptic, Dhimmi, Egypt, Islam

Personal

Civil Society

A few months ago I was able to interview a professor at Cairo University who is the head of the program for civilizational studies and dialogue. She has been a friend of our center for many years, and in our introduction we were able to discuss a favorite topic of hers – the role of Islam in civil society. In particular we discussed dialogue between Muslims and Christians concerning citizenship, tolerance, peace, and acceptance of the other. I hope to post this interview next, perhaps in a few days. I have held off on doing so for a little while, however, wanting first to write about the concept of civil society. This is a term I had not encountered until I came to Egypt, so I am presuming a similar ignorance on the part of many readers. Your forgiveness is asked upon my faulty underestimation.

One of the reasons, I believe, that the term civil society is not part of common parlance in America is that it is part of common life. Civil society represents the interactions of ordinary citizens which serve to strengthen the democratic character of the nation’s fabric. Democracy is not primarily the process of elections in which voters select their representatives. While this is true, this definition is built upon the foundation of a populace which joins freely into public associations which support the common good. As this is a regular feature of much American life, there is no need to speak of civil society; it is already there.

Many observers lament that this is not true of Egypt. More than lamenting, however, they have made civil society the goal for which they strive. Not neglecting the importance of crafting democratic governmental structures, they posit that the implementation of democratic measures is mostly fruitless unless the people already think and act democratically. What is a participatory government if the people are non-participatory in society? One indication of a strong civil society is found in the number of active non-governmental organizations. These can be charity groups, scrapbooking clubs, unions, or voluntary associations of any nature. One expert in the field told me that among an Egyptian population of 80 million there are only 500 of these groups active in the whole country.

I cannot say how many groups are active in the United States, but such volunteerism has been present from the founding of the nation. Having the advantage of a country built by population transfer, involving initiative and personal sacrifice simply to arrive, the United States crafted civil society far more rapidly than the nations of Europe which needed first to overcome the cultures of aristocracy and serfdom. Religious observance also played a leading role. Alexis de Tocqueville wrote in 1835 in ‘Democracy in America’ about the associational nature of the country centering in near universal church attendance. Though the power of belief has waxed and waned in national history Americans have always been people to bond together, join a cause, and support the common welfare.

Welfare is an apt word for civil society, for the question centers in who is responsible for it. The modern welfare state is a noble invention, striving to share the nation’s resources with those less fortunate. Yet at the same time it necessarily introduces the thought that it is the government’s responsibility to tend to the welfare of its citizens. I wish to make no absolute statements about the rightness or wrongness of this policy; certainly there are examples of both good and poor administration. The point is that the assumption of welfare locates the power base of a people; to the degree that in the modern state welfare is entrusted to / controlled by / abandoned to the government, civil society suffers accordingly.

At the dawn of the last century Egypt was awash in nationalist fervor as both Muslims and Christians actively participated, together, in the cause of complete independence from the British and Turkish powers. Budding enterprises of political parties, unions, newspapers, and broadcasting were built by the elite and began to filter down into popular consciousness. This process, if not arrested, was thereafter controlled by the state after the free officers’ revolution on 1952. Enacted to rid the country of corruption and lingering dependence on foreign powers, like all modern nation-states the ruling system assumed to itself the care of the people. Altruism, expediency, or Machiavellian power machinations can all be argued about the origin of state motivation; the result is that many Egyptians fault the state, perhaps rightly, for failing to deliver on its promises of care. Welfare, however, is still left to centralization.

The civil society movement is an attempt to change this attitude. Of course there are many charitable organizations and religiously motivated groups throughout the country. Yet whereas America was founded on initiative and participation, Egypt has a six thousand year history of peasantry governed by a ruling elite. The elite have experienced cycles of ascendancy and decline; the population cycles of prosperity and hardship. Civil society existed during these millennia; especially during the Mamluke and Ottoman periods the mercantile guilds wielded influence which eventually led to the modernization project of Mohamed Ali. Sufi orders also gave religious structure to society. The abortive participatory experiment of the early 19^th Century, however, did not produce roots deep enough to maintain a lasting civil spirit.

If America looks askance, it should be careful; civil spirit is not a right of inheritance. Robert Putnam has remarked in his book ‘Bowling Alone’ that civil society in the United States is declining. Conservative commentators may immediately place the blame on the growing welfare state of America; the message of this essay may provide them fuel. Yet simply identifying the problem puts them only in the position of the Egyptian critics who decry their government yet neglect civil participation. A more likely American culprit is the spirit of independence and self-reliance, foreign to Egypt, which while rightly encouraging the individual to ‘pull himself up by his bootstraps’ wrongly chastises the lesser for failure to do so, leaving him to his own devices. Egyptian society is remarkable for the preservation of the lower classes amidst poverty and population explosion, all because at the most basic level everyone knows that welfare is the responsibility of family and community. None are left to fend for themselves, no matter the alleged scandal of government neglect.

Civil society, then, is a middle class phenomenon, as well as a middle class necessity. It is uncharitable to condemn the American welfare state critic as was done a paragraph earlier, for in all likelihood such a one gives to charity, goes to church, and votes in elections. What is uncertain is the degree to which his or her participation extends to the larger society. The question is not of direct visits to an orphanage or soup kitchen; it is about coaching soccer, mothers’ associations, and general neighborliness. Yet the rebuttal is heard and understood: Who has time for more than job and family basics? Perhaps the more accurate critique is of a spirit of materialism that demands maintenance of a certain social or financial level that renders free time a scarcity. It is a fair question to ask the extent to which ‘community’ even exists in American neighborhoods, at least in suburbia. Economic factors are certainly real; but they are equally complained in both the United States and Egypt.

One final comment about Egyptian civil society is necessary before yielding the floor to the professor from Cairo University about the place of Islam. Much of the civil society initiative in Egypt, either in dialogue between Muslims and Christians or more generally, between Islam and the West, has been espoused by Coptic Christians. Their efforts point in two directions. The first is toward their own people. I wrote in a recent essay about the failure of Copts to participate in Egyptian elections. This is but one symptom of a growing tendency to retreat into the church and their own community. The Coptic Orthodox church offers a wealth of meetings, services, and social activities for Christians, but the revival this has accentuated generally requires participation within the walls of the church. Historic American church attendance strengthened the bonds of community, but America was a largely mono-religious society. Catholic numerical expansion later in history had its own church centered activities, but these differently religious citizens were able to fit into an already existing non-religious civil society network, built upon a common Christian heritage. In Egypt the situation is different for the time and relational investment given to the church and to fellow Christians is accompanied by a parallel reduction in social bonds created with Muslim neighbors. These exist, of course, and are good, but simple neighborliness is not social integration. Christian advocates of civil society recognize this, and are doing their best to change this emerging pattern. Strengthening civil society strengthens citizenship, and this is a key Christian concern, leading to their second directional effort.

Among the interpretations of Islam is a civil system which calls for the protection, yet subjugation, of religious minorities. Christians and Jews should have full right of worship in an Islamic order, with freedom to structure and conduct their own affairs, yet they should not share fully as equal participants in the running of government and society. Actual practice of this system has varied widely in Islamic, and specifically Egyptian, history. Christians have been both a repressed and humiliated minority and possessors of important ministerial posts, especially in finance. It is only in the modern age, however, that they have been citizens, equal under the law. Viewing a resurgence of Islam in recent decades many Copts view civil society, built upon a secular foundation, as the best safeguard against the return of dhimmitude. The idea is not anti-Islamic per se, but it is motivated by a fear of Islamic encroachment into the public square.

Yet why should not Muslims, as religious citizens, also share in the crafting of civil society? As they represent over 90% of the population, is it not appropriate that their moral values shape the nation in which they live? Dr. Nadia Mostafa of Cairo University summarizes Muslim frustration with secular and Christian dominance of civil society discourse, though she herself is an active participant. Her testimony will follow in the next post.

Tags Alexis de Tocqueville, Civil Society, Coptic, Egypt, Robert Putnam

Personal

Joseph and the Sheep, part two

Post author By Jayson
Post date April 16, 2010
No Comments on Joseph and the Sheep, part two

Click here to read part one.

The next morning Joseph arose, opened the wolf’s cage and placed a rope around his neck. He led him to the sheepfold and opened the gate, then beckoned the sheep to pasture. Obediently as always, though with a sense of apprehension, they moved forward. Still and silent, the wolf looked on.

The day progressed as each day before, with the lone exception being the wolf sitting at Joseph’s side. The sheep milled about, each to his own business, eating grass as hunger dictated. By midday Joseph signaled for all to advance to the river and led the procession with wolf in tow. Once arrived, they all drank.

The afternoon held more of the same. Joseph stood solemnly with the wolf by his side as the sheep would graze. Yet for some reason the wolf grew more and more agitated. It started slowly with a low, guttural bellow. A little while later his tail began to sway, slightly more than usual. Sometime later, he began to twitch.

The two sheep who earlier had tried to communicate with the wolf were the first to notice the change in constitution. Sympathetically, they approached to inquire and offer their greetings. They had realized that all morning the wolf had been neglected, as each sheep, including themselves, had simply pursued their normal routine. The wolf, they thought, had behaved all day, but was never extended a welcome.

Just as the sheep were gaining their awareness, the wolf was losing his. The twitching had become a full on shake; he was not suffering from loneliness, but from hunger. Denied his prey the day before, it had been far too long since he had eaten. The sheep’s grass did not appeal at all.

As the sheep sauntered closer his instincts kicked in. Explosively he launched himself at the tender sheep who froze in their tracks. Inches away from descending upon them he jerked back, as Joseph held the rope taut. The wolf collapsed and whimpered in pain as the sheep, cautiously, gathered around.

At this point in the story Emma spoke up. “Maybe they should kill a kharouf, or a baqara.” I cannot tell if she knew exactly what she was saying, but she gave me the ending necessary. The word baqara is Arabic for cow, but kharouf is Arabic for sheep.

Joseph gathered the extended rope and began again to tie the wolf’s mouth and front legs. Just then an older sheep moved forward sadly, but deliberately. He spoke to Joseph while looking at the wolf, “It is true a wolf must eat meat. We sheep love you Joseph, and enjoy the meadow and the river and the sheepfold. But we also know that the day will come when we are slaughtered so that men can eat. I am the oldest sheep here, and therefore the next to die. Take me now, sacrifice me, and give my meat to the wolf. Then he can stay with us, be filled, and not attack.”

Joseph looked at his sheep with compassion; all nodded their heads in agreement, implicitly knowing their time would also come. Joseph drew his knife and cut up the generous sheep.

That evening the wolf ate more deliberately than he ever did before. As Joseph led the sheep back to the fold he brought the wolf, bound now only by the original rope around his neck, back to the cage. He entered, sheepishly, and Joseph spoke to him. “Tomorrow you will come out with us again, only this time, there will be no rope. You will be fed by the meat provided yesterday, and drink with the sheep from the river. You will stay by my side, and I will watch you. Take care, but join our flock.”

The next morning the sheep went out again, walking with one eye askance at the wolf who was walking unbound by Joseph’s side. During the morning grazing the two sheep wandered but then remembered to greet the wolf. From afar they made their way towards him, making sure their approach kept Joseph in between the two parties. Taking notice of them the wolf’s ears shot up. He burst past Joseph, knocking him down as he raced in their direction. The sheep had imagined being less timid, but their primal fear resurfaced as the wolf’s fangs emerged. As he leaped their “Baaaaaaa” hung in the air like an icy chill but then trailed off as the wolf, strangely, missed his mark. The sheep looked back to find the wolf covered in blood, his jaw clenched around the throat of a jackal which had moved against the sheep from behind.

Joseph came quickly and all the other sheep looked on. He rubbed his hand against the fur of the wolf and whispered his thanks into his ear. Then he collected the carcass of the jackal to prepare later for food, redeeming the life of the now-oldest sheep, if only for a time. The two sheep, meanwhile, had recovered from their shock and nestled their noses into the wolf’s side. “Next time,” they said as they smiled, “perhaps you can talk to him first; maybe he would be friendly. But you will have to be very brave…”

Note: ‘cut up’ is the language Emma uses for how sheep die. To find out why, read this earlier post.

Tags Egypt, Sheep

Personal

Joseph and the Sheep

Sometimes I like to tell Emma and Hannah stories. I ask Emma for a subject and then Hannah for one, and try to combine the two into a tale or song. On this occasion, just before Julie was to put them to bed, Emma asked for Joseph, as in the one with the fancy colored coat, and Hannah asked for sheep. As I take liberty with the story, the tale which follows has no resemblance to the Biblical Joseph save for his name. I hope you enjoy; the ending will have a question I hope you find insightful, and for which your comments are appreciated.

One day Joseph was out tending his sheep. He brought them to green grass which he had them eat, and to sparkling waters which he had them drink. (Emma and Hannah were sitting on the floor as I sat on the bed, and they were encouraged to bend to the floor to eat and drink as well. Feel free to do the same.)

One day as they were enjoying their normal day the sheep spotted a wolf in the distance. They were scared, and looked to Joseph to know what to do.

Joseph was a kind shepherd with a good heart; not only did he love his sheep he wanted all animals to live in peace. He brought two sheep in close to speak with them privately.

“I would like you two sheep to be very brave,” he said. “When the wolf comes I would like you to stand your ground and not run away. As he approaches greet him simply, and say ‘hello’. I will go and hide behind that nearby tree. If the wolf greets you back and is friendly, all will be well. If not, I will jump out from behind the tree so that he does not harm you. Can you do this?”

The sheep were afraid, but trusted Joseph. As the wolf descended the hill they stepped forward timidly, so as to be the first sheep he would come across in the flock. As the wolf noticed this, the rapid pace of his bounding slowed; it was not often the sheep would come to him.

“H-h-hello Mr. Wolf, h-h-how are you?” the sheep initiated nervously.

The wolf stopped, but gave no reply. His back legs coiled and his lips drew back revealing the pointed tips of his fangs. Just as he was about to spring upon his prey Joseph leaped out from behind the tree, catching the wolf in mid-air, and wrestled him to the ground. He took out his rope and bound his mouth and his front legs. As the sheep cheered, Joseph took a peg and tied the wolf to the stake in the ground, and each sheep went back to his grazing.

As the day progressed Joseph led the sheep to other pastures, taking the wolf along with them, and several hours later returned to the river to drink. The two sheep watched curiously as Joseph walked the wolf, still bound by the rope, everywhere they went. As he untied his mouth and allowed him also to drink, however, they could no longer hold their peace.

“Why are you taking that wolf with us wherever we go?” they asked. “He tried to kill us all, you should have left him bound, tied to the ground to die. Yet now you even loosen his mouth to give him to drink? Why are you helping him?”

The wolf raised his pointed ears as he continued to lap up the river water. “It is true this wolf tried to kill you, but we must show him kindness even so. It may be that if we do not treat him as he deserves that he will change and also be kind in return. You were very brave when you tried this at first; you must continue to be brave. But do not be afraid, I will not let him harm you. Tomorrow I will take him with us again out to pasture. I will even let him run freely, though he will stay connected to my rope. If he cannot change, I will take him far away from you, so that he will not bother you again. But this is something which we must try.”

The sheep nodded warily, and Joseph led the flock back into their fold. The wolf he pulled aside to put into a separate cage. As he closed the gate he looked sympathetically at the wolf.

“Tomorrow we will return to the fields,” he spoke as he untied the rope from his mouth and front legs, which had been reapplied after leaving the river. “I will even keep these ropes away from you, save for this long one around your neck. You will be with us and I will treat you kindly as I treat my sheep, but I will watch you closely. I will send you far away, back to the wild, should you try to harm them.”

The wolf nodded, Joseph left, and the sheep bleated in the distance. After pacing about his cage for what seemed like an eternity, the wolf went to sleep.

Tell me, what should happen next? Emma and Hannah were engrossed in the story, and I was thankful it was time for them to go to sleep themselves. To be honest, I had no idea where to go next. Should the wolf reform and join the flock? Should he lash out once more and be banished forever? More importantly, what lesson should be woven into this tale?

Up until now I have had no qualms with the implicit sermonizing. It is good to stand firmly, but friendly, against an oppositional threat. Once subdued, kindness must be offered instead of revenge. I will be very proud if my daughters behave this way.

Yet there are wolves in this world, and generally speaking, they do not change. If the story continues with a repentant wolf, will I be painting a false idealism which will set them up for failure and pain? Or, if the wolf resumes his attack in the morning – worse if he pretends to be reformed – will I confirm, to modify the metaphor, that a leopard cannot change his spots, and therefore we should always be guarded?

It is only a story, and it will fade from memory. Life teaches the best lessons. Stories, however, provide the interpretive context.

The next morning the girls awoke and immediately desired the conclusion of the story. Not knowing exactly what to do, I began by retelling the story from the beginning. Along the way, Emma provided the answer…

Part two will follow in a couple days. Until then, if you have suggestions for how the story should continue and end, please feel free to share in the comments.

Tags Egypt, Sheep

Personal

Stop and See the Flowers

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year. Maybe it’s because the weather is cooling; maybe it’s because my birthday falls in October; or most likely, it’s because of the beautiful colors one can see in our home area of Pennsylvania and New Jersey. I remember when I lived in Jordan and was asked what my favorite season was. A few people told me that “autumn” is a strange answer. There really wasn’t anything too special about autumn in Amman, and it just signaled the beginning of the cold, rainy weather. If my Jordanian friends could see the fall foliage in my neck of the woods, however, they would understand my preference.

I may be developing a new favorite season, and if so, it is thanks to my two little girls, Emma and Hannah. Emma, at 3½, pretty much knows all her colors, but Hannah (almost 2) is just learning to differentiate what is green, blue, purple, pink, orange, etc. It seems she knows what some of them are, but just when we think she’s getting it, we ask her what color the tree is and she says, “Blue.” Oh well. It takes time.

The other day, as we were walking through our neighborhood taking Emma to her preschool, one of us noticed some of the colorful flowers that have begun to bloom here in Maadi. I have never been a big fan of plants and flowers and don’t know the names of them, but for the first time, I started to notice the colors surrounding us. As we walked along, the girls excitedly pointed out the pink and orange and purple flowers. After a few minutes Hannah, especially, got excited every time she saw a color. “Look Mommy!” she would exclaim. Her enthusiasm is so wonderful as she kicks her feet in the stroller and points toward the tree, “Pink!” What a wonderful way to learn colors! Of course, God’s painting involves more than basic colors, and I find myself saying, “Well, yes, that is kind of purpley-pink,” or, “yellowish-orange,” or whatever, but hopefully she will slowly get the idea.

Thanks to my girls for showing me some of the natural beauty that surrounds us here in Maadi. I know we’re blessed being in this part of the city where there is grass and trees and flowers; it’s not the norm in Cairo. Of course, kids can see beauty in anything, and today as we walked, they were noticing the different colors of the cars parked along the street. I might rather have noticed the dents, scratches, and rust. It’s a good reminder to appreciate what you see around you … whether that’s God’s handiwork in creation, or man’s creativity in imitation!

Tags Egypt, Flowers, Maadi, Spring

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Easter, Reluctantly

Easter in Egypt is a negotiated reality; this is true for both the nation’s Christians and myself.

All last week at work I wondered about the holiday schedule. Ours is a multi-religious and liberal office; if someone wishes a religious holiday, they can pretty much have it. The Copts who work with us would take the day off and go to be with family, some traveling six hours away by train to Upper Egypt. What about the foreigners, though? Or the Muslims, would they be expected to work? Unlike Christmas, Easter is not a national holiday in Egypt. Islam celebrates the birth of Jesus from the Virgin Mary, but denies the resurrection indirectly, for it denies first the crucifixion, believing Jesus ascended into heaven before his arrest. Though the government is not Islamic, in this matter it toes the line with the Muslim majority by not confessing the holiday.

Toeing the line is partial, however, as I discovered at work. National law allows Christians to take the day off from work en masse, but reckons it as a claimed vacation day. Given the reality of a national holiday the day after Easter – Shem al-Naseem, or literally, ‘Smelling the Breeze’ – this policy allows Christians to celebrate their holiday, but allows all citizens to create for themselves a four day weekend. Shem al-Naseem is a cultural vernal festival dating back to Pharaonic times; Muslims and Christians celebrate it equally, though I have not yet researched why it is tied to the Easter holiday. Some Copts see this as an implicit national recognition of Easter, though it is missing from the official calendar.

An event at our office disclosed to me another shade of Easter in Egypt. We have been trying to arrange an interview with a prominent Muslim scholar from al-Azhar University, and my supervisor told me we would meet Tuesday after Easter. I was quite happy with the news, but she continued adding that he originally asked for Saturday evening, but we proposed Tuesday instead. This news meant little to me, though I was somewhat glad not to have a work appointment on the weekend. I shrugged my shoulders however, saying, “OK, whatever the sheikh wants would have been fine.” I figured we should bow to his schedule, but at this my supervisor, a Coptic Christian, was aghast. “What,” she exclaimed, “don’t you celebrate Easter?” It took me a few seconds of puzzlement, but then I remembered that church celebrations always occur on the eve of a holiday, not the day of. The day of is a feast; a day to indulge after weeks of fasting. Children gather at the church to play and the priests open their offices to receive the well wishes of visitors, but there is no mass.

In the West we celebrate Christmas Eve, but there is no such thing as Easter Eve. Yet if you remember the events of Nag Hamadi, the murderer targeted the church around midnight the day before Christmas. As there is no correlation between Coptic Christmas and the Western calendar of December 25, this fact can easily be lost on the non-Orthodox reader. This year it so happens that Coptic and Western Easter fall on the same date. Yet even I, living here now for eight months and more tuned in than most foreigners to Orthodox affairs, was caught off guard by an Easter Eve service.

Unfortunately, once I had learned of it I was not that excited. We experienced the Christmas Eve service in Maghagha, which was wonderful as we enjoyed it with the family of a local priest in his small village. Yet we arrived by train halfway through the service, so we did not have to endure a four hour mass ending at midnight with two squirming, sleep deprived children. Managing them for an hour and a half was enough, but once it was over we went to the priest’s home and enjoyed a sumptuous feast of meat, meat, and more meat. You can read about this experience here.

Easter Eve in Maadi had none of these advantages. Though we have been attending the local Orthodox Church since shortly after arrival, we have yet to make good friends there. In saying this I do not blame them; there are many legitimate reasons for this, which I describe here. Yet even so, the celebration for us would be the four hour mass, with two children, and no meat. We decided to pass.

I continued to waver. I was fully agreed that our girls should sleep and Julie would be home with them, but what about myself? I could go alone. In the days leading up to it I went back and forth on this decision several times. As a family we went to the international church Good Friday service, and we were content to let that be our Easter church attendance. We figured we would join the children’s escapades on Easter morning at the Orthodox Church, and in the afternoon a Coptic friend from the Bible Institute had invited us to join them for lunch Easter afternoon. So all in all we set aside time for the holiday, both by ourselves, with foreigners, and with Egyptians. I could appreciate a quiet evening home on Saturday, so why bother with another mass?

On the other hand I kept being jabbed by a conscious that reminds me we are trying to belong to the Coptic Orthodox Church. Who could confess this desire and yet ignore Easter, the holiest of holidays? There is a virtue in discipline, but I will not claim it here, for my assessment of personal motivation is far too cloudy, with a likelihood of showers. Is worshipping God and being thankful for the Resurrection anywhere near my decision making process? Hardly. Part of the reluctance of going alone is that there will be no ‘credit’. Usually, my daughter Hannah sits on my lap during the service, so I get ‘credit’ for being a good and spiritual father. Furthermore, the service will be packed and any individual will be lost among the crowd. Somewhere in my mind is the idea that if I am faithful in attendance over time I will be noticed and get ‘credit’ in this quest for acceptance and belonging. There would be none of that on Saturday. Worse, I was fully conscious that I could get at least get ‘credit’ in this blog, which would be impossible if I didn’t go. I will not bother to untangle these threads of condemnation, but in the end, go I did.

As I approached the church I was glad I did. I arrived at 8:45, less than an hour after it had begun. On most occasions the church would be about quarter full at this juncture in the mass, but tonight I noticed they had set up two outside areas with live feeds supplying the action on big screen TVs. These already had numerous people sitting comfortably in the cool evening breeze, but I pressed inside anyway and found a seat on the stairs leading upwards in the balcony. If nothing else, this was to be an experience.

As I took my place I noticed my supervisor with a friend of hers in the opposite corner. Ah, credit! The evening was starting out great. About half an hour later it got even better. During this time most of the mass, unfortunately for me, was held in Coptic. Coptic is a dead language except in liturgy, but it has been aggressively promoted in recent decades by church leadership seeking to strengthen Christian identity by, among many other methods, resurrection of the ancient Egyptian vernacular tongue. Many in the audience were chanting along, having memorized the hymns, reciting along with words they would otherwise have no idea of the meaning.

Suddenly, they switched into Arabic, chanting, as slowly as possible as the lights dimmed and the curtain was drawn across the opening in the iconostasis, “al-Masih qaam, bil-haqiqati qaam,” translating the phrase any Easter-going Christian would recognize, “Christ is risen; he is risen indeed.” Except that in accounting for the solemn, deliberate rendering it would more be like this: Chri-i-i-i-i-i-ist is rise-e-e-en; he-e-e-e-e-e-e is ri-i-i-i-s-e-e-e-e-en i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-inde-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e, e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ed. It was eerie, but effective.

Meanwhile, in the Orthodox Church the iconostasis serves to separate the altar from the congregation, holding icons of Jesus, Mary, and the twelve disciples on a lattice which allows preparation of the Eucharistic host to be viewed by all. The main view, however, is through a wide opening in the center, which as mentioned was closed by a curtain as the lights dimmed. Symbolizing the curtain in the ancient Jewish temple which divided the sanctuary from the Holy of Holies, which only the high priest could enter once a year, the mass continued for several minutes in near darkness. Then, with the loud clash of cymbals the lights flashed on and the priest reopened the curtain, setting off a spell of ululation from the women congregants. The curtain was torn in two; Christ had risen from the grave. The mass continued, appropriately, with the reading of the Gospel account of the empty tomb.

I wish I could say the euphoria continued, at least in me. Sadly, though ultimate responsibility rests only in my own human heart, I can find blame in all others around. Allow me to explain.

As I described, I was getting caught up in the presentation. Before the darkness the Bible readings were of such inspiring passages as the resurrection body of I Corinthians, the first Pentecost sermon in Acts, and the Petrine celebration of Christ’s once-for-all death and descent into Hell to preach there the Gospel. When the lights dimmed I was caught completely by surprise, but found myself one with the worshippers even shedding a tear in the darkness. Why, then, did I find the flood of light just a little bit cheesy? Why did the ululation ring hollow, and end sooner than it seemingly should have? For me this was a first time experience, but for everyone else it was observed for however many years that person had been alive. In the darkness, there is no choice but to be silent; with the light comes rejoicing, but who can fake an excitement when it is completely expected? Worse, once the lights came back on several in the congregation began to exit.

I could only guess that most of these were women who needed to get back home to prepare the after mass feast. Surely they were to be excused, but their number increased as the mass continued on. Another large contingent left after the sermon, and the congregation dwindled to about the size of a normal, non-holiday mass. I looked at the time and noticed there was still another two hours to go, and the original ideas of wishing a quiet evening at home as opposed to yet-another-mass returned. If everyone else was leaving, why shouldn’t I? If only from stubbornness to see it through to the end, I stayed.

As I anticipated, it became just an ordinary mass, only on speed, which made things worse. Because of the additional events of the holiday the rest of the liturgy was accelerated to make sure everything ended by midnight. This included my favorite sing-along hymns, which stood in stark contrast to the earlier ‘He is risen’ solemnities. Not only was I conscious of everyone leaving, wondering why I was there, I was also growing tired and sleepy. Still I soldiered on – not the best attitude for worship, but still.

At the end communion was distributed, which surprised me, since there was no communion at the Christmas Eve service. For Lent the Orthodox will fast all day Friday, and then again for eight hours on Easter Eve leading up to the midnight Eucharist. After all had partaken the priest turned to address the congregation, rebuking them for failing to maintain an attitude of reverence in the church, beginning early their Easter revelry. With this, announcements were given, holy water was sprinkled on all, the Lord’s Prayer recited, and everyone exited.

I had told Julie that if offered I would accept an invitation to join someone for the Easter midnight feast. I did not really expect one to be given, but neither did I go out of my way to be friendly. Perhaps this is either a virtue or vice – I was not engaging but at least I held back from worming my way into someone’s hospitality. Instead I went forward to greet the priests, again straddling the line between sincerity and duplicity. On Easter one is to call all friends and wish them a happy holiday, and doing so in person now with the priests I whom I know additionally from the Bible Institute is an even better gesture. Of course, it also grants me the ‘credit’ I earlier was not expecting, grand manipulator that I am. Pausing to see if the third priest I know was also available (he was not), I made way to leave.

Exiting the church I maneuvered between a wonderful scene of Copts dressed to the nines, mingling with friends and exchanging Easter greetings in the cool air of 12:15am. I also exited to witness two other scenes which return to the theme of Easter negotiation in Egypt. Stretched grandly across the street between the trees of the traffic circle was hung a cloth banner impossible to ignore. In bold lettering it wished the brother Christian Copts of Egypt a ‘Glorious Resurrection Holiday’, to translate literally, presented by Muhammad Murshidi and Hussain Magawir, members of the national parliament. Remembering the earlier statement of Islam about Easter, these two Muslim names can either be praised for their commitment to tolerance and national unity or else admonished for shameless pandering for votes. In my opinion, I think the first is more likely, and this was my initial reaction, nearly causing another tear to trickle.

The second scene dried it up, though further reflection might stimulate the tear duct further. As I was walking away back home I saw on the other side of the banner six policemen keeping watch in the center of the traffic circle. I stopped to count; altogether around the church I found sixteen policemen on patrol. For context, churches in Egypt are always under guard, but only two or three are usually to be found, at least in Maadi. It was a clear and immediate reminder of Nag Hamadi, and the efforts of the government to prevent any similar tragedy from marring a second Christian holiday. Praise God, all was fine, as things are 99% of the time in Egypt. It is the 1%, however, which reminds the Egyptian Christian, and this foreign observer, that Easter is a holiday necessary to negotiate with a Muslim majority nation.

Tags Christianity, Coptic, Easter, Egypt, Maadi, Maghagha, Nag Hamadi, Orthodoxy

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

On Building Churches

Another report I had earlier prepared, published in www.arabwestreport.info and on our peacemaking project webpage at www.enawu.com, is now posted here. This is a fascinating tale about how Christians can build churches in Egypt. This is a controversial subject, and human rights lawyers from both Islam and Christianity highlight the lack of one law to guide both mosque and church construction. Even so, the story told here of Fr. Yu’annis, who earlier was featured for his comments on Nag Hamadi, shows the power of personal relationships in getting a job done in Egypt. For those of you who have heard that in Egypt a presidential decree is necessary even to change a light bulb in a church, you are encouraged to read on…

On January 6 six Coptic Christians were murdered as they exited Christmas Eve mass in the town of Nag Hamadi, Qena. This event followed recent attacks on Christians in the towns of Farshut, Dayrut, Izbet Bushra, and elsewhere. While events like these are usually tied to other issues in the communities in which they occur, and not simply devices of persecution aimed at the Christian population, many Copts have interpreted these events as evidence of the weakness of the government in providing protection, if not willful negligence of their rights. They then succumb to the idea that the nation is Islamic and against them, and this attitude colors their every perception, including the advantages which Copts enjoy today.

Another area which mobilizes Coptic frustration against the state is in its policy of church building. Since early Islamic times the so-called Pact of Omar, the third caliph of the Islamic state, allowed Christians many freedoms of worship in their own community, but forbade the construction of new churches or the renovation of old ones, without the specific authorization of the head of state. While this policy has been unevenly applied throughout history, it is true that Christians have suffered because of it. Often cited in more recent history is the Hamayonic Script, which was employed in the Ottoman Empire to regulate ecclesiastic matters. Although popular consciousness, both Muslim and Christian, still operate under the assumption of this ruling, according to Dr. Nabil Luka Bebawy, a Coptic member of the Shura Council, it has no standing whatsoever in Egyptian law.

Nevertheless, it is apparent that the difficulty experienced in building churches differs from the relative ease in which mosques are constructed. Christians complain that even when permission to build a church is granted, the local security authorities will often prevent them. While this can be in fear of offending local Muslim sentiments and bringing on sectarian strife, Christians sometimes accuse security itself of Islamic bias in preventing construction. Human rights advocates, both Muslim and Christian, have called on the government to pass the Unified Law for Building Houses of Worship, which would streamline the process and place each community on equal footing. Though this issue has stalled in Parliament, the approval for building churches was shifted from the national authority to the regional, and each governor is now responsible for issuing or denying the request to build.

The following story is about Fr. Yu’annis of Qufada, a village in the bishopric of Maghagha and the governorate of Assiut. It will illustrate the frustrations of the Christian community, but also provide an example of how they can be transcended. While the difficulties faced in building churches are true and real in many parts of the country, the conduct of Christians can make a difference in alleviating them. At the very least, it will demonstrate that discrimination against Christians is not systematic, and that building churches to meet community needs is possible.

In 1996, Fr. Yu’annis was a forty year old priest. Though he was still relatively young he had already acquired seventeen years of experience, serving in the historic Holy Family site and village of Shanin al-Nasara. This village was then in the bishopric of Beni Suef, under the authority of Bishop Athanasius. After the death of the bishop in 2001 the bishopric was divided into five smaller districts, and Fr. Yu’annis found himself situated in the newly created bishopric of Maghagha. The successes of Fr. Yu’annis, however, all date previous to the bishop’s death, which was to be an ominous date for another reason in the story to be told.

Bishop Athanasius was acclaimed as a wise and generous leader, looking beyond the interests of the Christian community. He was aware not only that Muslims suffered the same difficulties as Christians—unemployment, underdevelopment, unsanitary conditions—but also that the best way to ensure Christian success in the area was to knit the two religious communities together. In the neighboring governorate of Assiut there had been a rise in Islamic militancy, and had produced a counter-reaction of Christian withdrawal from society. In hopes of alleviating this social trend, Bishop Athanasius created a charitable non-governmental organization, Better Life, which though administrated by Christians actively and intentionally served both communities. As a result, Bishop Athanasius enjoyed great popularity and influence in the region.

During his tenure Bishop Athanasius consecrated many priests, many of which followed his example. Fr. Yu’annis was one of them, and spoke very highly of his bishop, whose lead he tried to follow. The recognition of the importance of good relations with the authorities, however, did not come right away, though ignorance or naiveté may have been a cause.

As mentioned earlier, Shanin al-Nasara is a Holy Family site, reputed to be the first landing place of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in Upper Egypt after they departed from Maadi, Cairo. Here they rested seven days, and drank from a well whose location is still preserved today. Due to this fact the town receives thousands of pilgrims every year, and local leadership under the initiative of Fr. Yu’annis decided it would be fruitful to build a conference center adjacent to the ancient church. As construction began, however, security immediately arrived and stopped the building. Fr. Yu’annis was taken to the police station for questioning. He would later testify that he did not think he was doing anything wrong, as he was not building a church, but a center for services.

The police did not see it that way. According to Fr. Yu’annis he spent the night in the station, not behind bars but yet under guard. The next day the policeman interrogated him very harshly, insulting both him and his mother. Upon insisting he was not building a church the officer mocked him, “President Clinton insisted he did nothing with Monica, and we should believe that you are telling the truth?” Nevertheless, after several hours Fr. Yu’annis affixed his name to a document stating his intentions for the building, and was released.

Fr. Yu’annis left the station and traveled immediately to Cairo. In typical modern day Coptic fashion he was thinking, in all probability correctly, of demanding his rights. Knowing a Christian there who had a relationship with the Ministry of the Interior, Gen. Habib Adli, he asked for an audience. Though the minister was unavailable he did succeed in meeting his deputy, Gen. Rida al-Habbal, and told him what had happened. The general responded sympathetically to his story, and sent him back to Minia to meet Gen. Muhammad Sadek, an inspector for State Security. Incidentally, the two men’s wives were sisters to each other.

Gen. Sadek received Fr. Yu’annis warmly and asked him what was wrong. Upon recounting the incidents he began to cry, and the general placed his hand on the priest’s shoulder, telling him he would take care of everything. Security clearance to build the service center was granted, and the officer who maltreated him was docked pay, reassigned elsewhere, and reduced in rank. The greatest offer, however, came next.

Gen. Sadek asked Fr. Yu’annis if the church was experiencing any other difficulties with its houses of worship. “Most certainly,” he replied, and he began telling the officer about each one. Upon completion he was asked if he wished to be the official church representative before the security agency, so that there would be good contact between them and the church. Fr. Yu’annis smiled broadly, and took his leave to present this idea to Bishop Athanasius.

The bishop was of course pleased by this arrangement, and sent Fr. Yu’annis back to meet Gen. Sadek, presenting him with an ornate Qur’an, complete with gold tinged pages and raised lettering, as an expression of thanks. The general accepted this gift, and their relationship began. Bishop Athanasius had earlier explained to Fr. Yu’annis that there is an important distinction between a blessing and a bribe. A bribe is given when one asks for that which is outside his right; a blessing is given as encouragement and thanks for one who will help obtain that right. A Christian should have no part in the former, but the latter is quite normal and necessary in Egypt. As the years went by Fr. Yu’annis and Gen. Sadek would mutually exchange several gifts, including sheep and chocolate on the occasions of holiday. They maintain their friendship to this day.

Each time Fr. Yu’annis would approach Gen. Sadek with a church building issue he would present the facts, making certain to be accurate, never exceeding that which was necessary for Christian worship in a particular community. With this report the security would investigate the area in question, agree on the assessment of the church, and grant authority to build, renovate, or expand under certain conditions. As all—bishop, priest, and security—were conscious of the sensibilities of local Muslims and their possible disturbance by the building of a church, everything was done through consensus and avoidance of ostentation. The church tower, for example, was kept below the height of the village mosque minaret. Aware that the church was a tool for worship, not for projection of identity, neither the bishop nor the priest had any objections, which kept also the objections of local Muslims at bay. In the positive atmosphere previously created by the social development activities of Bishop Athanasius, Fr. Yu’annis helped facilitate the approval of building, renovating, or expanding twenty-four churches, which will be listed below.

These churches were built over a period of five years which ended in 2001. This year marked two unfortunate occurrences for the area. First, Bishop Athanasius died, and his bishopric was divided into smaller districts. The bishops newly consecrated for these areas by definition lack the experience and insight of their predecessor, and have not yet been able to earn the same level of respect. Second, Gen. Sadek was promoted outside of the area to a position in Cairo, and Fr. Yu’annis has not succeeded in cultivating as close a relationship with his successor. Perhaps personal mistakes have been made; perhaps the sectarian climate affects both Muslims and Christians. The result, however, is that since 2001 there have been only two authorizations granted for building activity in the area.

This story lends credence to both sides of the Coptic debate about the society they live in. On the one hand, it both begins and ends with the fact of difficulty in obtaining authorization. There is no Unified Law for Building Houses of Worship, and everything seems to depend on the whims of personal relationship. Yet on the other hand the reality of personal relationship suggests that Christians can find wide freedom to erect structures as necessary, provided they consider the contexts in which they live. Though this does not provide the clear cut rule of law which so many desire, it is fitting with Egyptian society at all levels; Egypt is not a country of rules but of relationships. Within these relationships Christians, like all Egyptians, can live and worship freely. Without them Christians, like all Egyptians, can be lost.

Churches in Maghagha

1) The Church of the Archangel

2) The Church of St. Dimyana

3) Lighthouse Church of the Holy Virgin

4) The Church of St. Mark – Seat of the Bishopric

Village Churches around Maghagha

5) The Church of St. Mark, Abbad Sharuna

6) The Church of the Archangel, Sharuna

7) The Church of St. George, Gazirat Sharuna

8) The Church of St. George, Belhasa

9) The Church of St. George, Sheikh Masud

10) The Church of St. George, Barmasha

11) The Church of the Holy Virgin, Beni Walims

12) The Church of St. Mark, Nazlet Asr

13) The Church of St. George, Sheikh Ziyad

14) The Church of the Archangel, Dahrut

15) Social Service Building, Shanin al-Nasara

16) The Church of the Holy Virgin and Bishop Samuel, Izbet Rizq

17) The Church of the Holy Virgin, Abasiya

Beni Mazar

18) The Church of the Apostles, Ashruba

19) The Church of the Holy Virgin, al-Mahtan

20) The Church of the Holy Virgin, Nazlet Gulf

21) The Church of the Holy Virgin, Batruga

Mattai

22) The Church of St. Athanasius, Kafur

23) The Church of the Holy Virgin, al-Kawadi

Samalut

24) The Church of the Archangel, al-Qatusha

Tags Christianity, Church, Egypt, Islam, Maghagha

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

An Azhar Sheikh on Nag Hamadi

Post author By Jayson
Post date March 31, 2010
No Comments on An Azhar Sheikh on Nag Hamadi

Continuing a viewing of material which we prepared for our peacemaking project reporting which has not yet been posted here on the blog, I here list below an interview I had with a fairly prominent and controversial sheikh from the Azhar University. During our conversation we spoke about two subjects primarily: First, his very modern and reformist views of Islam; second, his opinion on the events which took place in Nag Hamadi. For the first comments I encourage you simply to read on; for the second I can preview that he provides an insightful view of how many Muslims of Egypt view this tragedy. For a balancing perspective on how most Christians view the event, please click here for an interview I had with a Cairo bishop in the Orthodox Church. If you would like to read my reflection on these divided perspectives, you may click here. Now follows the report from the Azhar sheikh, for your reading pleasure:

Dr. Ahmad al-Sayih is a controversial figure in Egypt, though I was not aware of this before seeking an interview with him. Instead, I had met him informally for the first time at a meeting of the Moral Rearmament Association, an Egyptian NGO with which he is friendly, but not a member, during which he made very open comments about Islam and Christianity being one religion and of the necessity cooperation between them. This put the idea in my head of speaking with him about potential assistance with the Center for Arab West Understanding in our efforts to promote social peace and reconciliation in Egyptian areas which have experienced conflict. Though I filed this information away for later use, a more pressing reason to interview him came after the incidents of Nag Hamadi, in which six Christians were killed upon exiting Christmas Eve mass, along with a Muslim policeman assigned to guard the church. Shortly thereafter I learned Sheikh Ahmad was from the governorate of Qena in which Nag Hamadi is located; might he be an acceptable spokesperson to travel and speak of peace?

As it turns out, Sheikh Ahmad is from a small village which bears his family name, situated only 30 kilometers from Nag Hamadi. Izbet al-Sayih, where he is from, has only five to six Christian families—which live in peace with their more numerous Muslim neighbors who guarantee their safety—but is part of the larger community of al-Qara, which is one-third Christian. Sheikh Ahmad testified that local Christians speak of him as ‘their’ sheikh. Continuing up the administrative ladder, al-Qara is connected to Abu Tisht, which is equal in level and population to Farshut, where it is reported that a Christian young man raped a Muslim girl, leading in the belief of many to the violence experienced both there and in Nag Hamadi. Abu Tisht, meanwhile, is connected to the regional capital of Qena.

Sheikh Ahmad received me in his home in Madinat Nasr, a suburb of Cairo, and immediately gave me insight into his prodigious volume of authorship as well as his favored subjects of controversy. He has written 157 books and hundreds of articles in Arabic newspapers and journals around the world. Many of these books are concerned with commentary on the Qur’an or on commentators of the Qur’an, resurrecting ancient manuscripts and updating their language and relevance to the Islamic community. The other prominent subject of his attention is combating the un-Islamic nature of Islamist movements, most notably the Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia and many strains of the Muslim Brotherhood. This critique would be controversial enough, as their ideas have wide if not full acceptance by many in Egypt. He proceeded, however, to carve deeper into general Muslim understanding.

Sheikh Ahmad produced for me two recent newspaper articles which conveyed this thoughts—and the strong reactions against them—declaring both polygamy and the ‘torture of the grave’ to be heretical. Common Islamic belief holds that a man may marry up to four wives at one time, provided he can care for them equally, and that upon death all people, including Muslims, undergo a ‘squeezing’ as the angels interrogate them about their faith, measuring them against true doctrine. These ideas, especially the latter, have been debated among Muslims for centuries but are widely held today as correct belief. Sheikh Ahmad challenges these prevailing ideas, and furthermore declares that 60% of what Muslims believe today to be accumulated superstition (khurafa).

These superstitions were attributed to falsified words and stories attributed to the Prophet Muhammad by his early followers. He specifically blamed the Gnostic sect (al-Ghunusia) for many of these forgeries, which have worked their way into the holy sources of Islam through authenticated collections of these hadith. I asked if the great researchers of these collections, including Bukhari and Muslim, were part of this ‘conspiracy’. He nodded in great enthusiasm that I had understood him properly.

These were not always the beliefs of Sheikh Ahmad, though the story of his ‘conversion’ was not discussed during this interview. After leaving Qena he studied directly at al-Azhar University, and was in time enrolled among its professors. After many years he was seconded for five years to a university in Qatar, where he drew the attention of Um al-Qura University in Mecca. Al-Azhar was unwilling to allow him to transfer under a similar arrangement asking him instead to teach five years in Egypt before taking the post. With this understanding he completed his doctoral studies in Islamic doctrine and philosophy and attained the position of dean in the faculty of dawa (the call to Islam). Thereafter he resigned to take the more lucrative paying post in Saudi Arabia, where he taught for nine years. He spoke of his deep exposure to Islamist ideas during his time abroad, with which he grew increasingly frustrated. He also commented that he had attended over fifty international Sufi conferences, professing a great preference for this line of though, though he himself was not a Sufi as he was not attached to a teacher (murid) in an established school (tariqa). He described how in a visit to Makarius Monastery in Wadi Natrun, Egypt, he recited the opening sura of the Qur’an over the relics of John the Baptist and Elisha, praying in their churches, and esteemed the Christian monks there and elsewhere as the truest of Sufis, who are the best of all Muslims.

Following our discussion of Islamic doctrine I asked Sheikh Ahmad specifically about Nag Hamadi. He mentioned three main tribes, but concentrated on two of them, one of which he divided into three smaller tribal units. He spoke first of the Arab, which he divided into the Qulaiyat, of which he is a member, Washishat, and Samaana groupings. He stated that there were over three million Qulaiyat spread throughout Upper Egypt, but that 60% of the governorate of Qena was from the Ashraf tribe, which claims descent from the Prophet Muhammad. Historically the Ashraf were at odds with all tribes in the region, but are no longer characterized as such. The other tribe he described was the Hawara, who had originally migrated from the Maghreb many generations ago, and with whom the Arabs still have tension. Christians, he described, are not related to these tribes by blood, as they predate the tribes, but come under association with the dominant tribes of their village. This gives them status of near-members, and the Christians associate themselves proudly with the village they occupy as well as with its prominent tribe. Christians will participate in defending the honor of the village and the Muslim tribes provide protection for the Christian inhabitants. Sheikh Ahmad described this as the normal set of relations.

In this context I offered the question that there was no sectarian struggle in Nag Hamadi, and Sheikh Ahmad immediately agreed, stating that the whole affair was first the fault of a Christian, and secondarily of the government. Once the promiscuous relationship between the Muslim girl and the Christian young man, who was an employee of her family, was discovered in her village of al-Shaqifi, traditional customs called for the death of both. This would be regardless of their relationship being consensual or not, or if the girl was underage or not. As to these matters Sheikh Ahmad professed no knowledge. The honor of the family was violated, however, so the young man should be killed, after which the girl would be killed by her own father, as all marriage prospects would hereafter be forfeit.

The young man is from a village called Qum al-Ahmar, which has only one or two Christian families. If he had been killed straightaway none of the subsequent troubles would have happened. He, however, fled to his relatives in Farshut to seek protection. Tribal revenge was then exacted on Christian businesses in the city. The sheikh himself volunteered the information that the Christian businessmen of Farshut are very wealthy and control area finances, but when I asked him if there was financial motive in the attack or else a deliberate play against Christian influence, he denied this, stating that the only establishments attacked belonged to the young man’s relatives. This would be an important indication of the validity of his analysis, which needs to be verified through other sources.

During this time the young man was arrested, coming under police protection, making the customary right of the family to take revenge impossible. Sheikh Ahmad placed much blame on the local security forces for miscalculations and lack of consideration of the consequences of their arrest. Had they allowed tribal custom to run its course, meaning he would have been killed, all would have been fine. I asked him about the relationship of Islam to these customs, and he strongly asserted that there was none. Why then, I questioned, could he state this? Granted that it is the reality of the situation, with which all people must adapt, but as a man of religion how could he believe this was the best situation? Sheikh Ahmad agreed that while Islam would call for the punishment of a sex offender, the religion called for this to carried out by legitimate authorities, not by vendetta.

The situation became further complicated when the families of the Christian young man fled from Qum al-Ahmar to the seat of the bishopric in Nag Hamadi. Here they received welcome and protection, but according to the sheikh also made the bishopric a viable target for revenge, as it had interfered in a blood feud. This, he believed, is why the church was subsequently attacked.

This explanation prompted two serious questions. First, why did the families flee the village if they were under the protection of the dominant Arab tribe? Sheikh Ahmad had previously explained that Qulayiat would prevent the entrance of any foreign tribal element that sought to harm local inhabitants. Regardless of the guilt or innocence of the young man, the village would protect its own, and avenge any act perpetrated against its sons or daughters, Christian or Muslim.

Sheikh Ahmad did not have a satisfactory answer for this question. He imagined that perhaps someone in the bishopric convinced the families they would be better off under its protection, as life in the city of Nag Hamadi was less governed by the dominance of tribal altercations. Still, though an understandable sentiment it made me wonder about the realities of protection offered to the Christians of the area. A previous testimony from Nag Hamadi, from the Coptic community, described the Christians in good relations with the Hawara tribe, which was at odds with the Arabs, who among the tribes were the most antagonistic toward the Christians. Without putting too much confidence in his description, might the Arab Qulaiyat of Qum al-Ahmar been divided in their tribal loyalties? The Muslim girl also belonged to the tribe of Qulaiyat. Aware of any hint of vacillation perhaps the Christian families felt their safety strongest in the church? Of course, the testimony of the sheikh about the refuge of these families in the bishopric demands confirmation, as it is the first we have heard of this connection to the attacks of Christmas Eve.

The second question was answered more confidently. Many commentators, both Coptic and Muslim, have questioned the attack on the church as a violation of tribal custom. They state that revenge must be enacted upon the extended family of the accused; never would shots be fired recklessly into a crowd of innocents. Even if the families were stationed inside, the gunmen opened fire randomly. Many have alleged this is not traditional tribal practice.

Sheikh Ahmad related a story which may refute this line of argument. A few years ago a policeman in the region assaulted a villager, kicking him repeatedly in the groin and stomach, inflicting injuries from which he later died. The police officer was from outside the area but his origin was known; the villager was a member of the Washishat tribe of the Arabs. Shortly thereafter the Washishat organized an attack on the local police headquarters where this officer was stationed. No effort was made to travel to seek out his family. It was sufficient to attack the symbol of his authority and exact revenge on the group, even though his fellow officers were not relatives and had nothing to do with the excesses of the guilty policeman. Perhaps being frustrated in their inability to kill the young man the sense of revenge was then turned against the symbol of his community.

I asked Sheikh Ahmad about another item of information learned earlier, that the ‘Baltaga’, the violent underclass which was responsible for most civil unrest, and from whom, it is said, the gunman of Nag Hamadi originated, had great representation among the Arab tribe. He agreed that this was correct, but added that all the tribes had their ‘Baltaga’. Asked about their self-identity he related that these would view themselves as heroes (abtal). They are the ones who carry out the dirty work of tribal revenge, which this element takes very seriously. They could alternatively be described as guns-for-hire. Sheikh Ahmad stated that it would not be fitting for a respectable member of the tribe to take a gun himself and exact revenge if the honor of his family demanded it. Instead, he would commission the ‘Baltaga’ to do the job, and it would get done. There are known families famous for their participation in this ‘trade’, and when I suggested the word ‘mafia’ he signaled that I had understood.

Earlier in our conversation Sheikh Ahmad stated his desire to travel to Nag Hamadi with members of the Moral Rearmament Association as soon as the security situation would allow. He mentioned that he wished to speak about the message of humanity which binds all men together, and not simply of Islam, no matter its true relation to the principles of humanity. He wished to emphasize that Muslims and Christians were brothers and that such a crime was an assault against all. Despite his understanding of tribal customs in no manner did he wish to communicate his support; after all, the Prophet declared that the life of a person was more inviolable than the sanctity of the Ka’aba.

I esteemed this message, but emphasized that a general message of religious tolerance did not seem to be necessary based on his assessment of interreligious relations in the area. Instead the situation appeared to call for a religious assault on the culture of revenge killings, emphasizing patience and forgiveness over the desire to retaliate. Might it be possible, for example, to go to the ‘Baltaga’ and instruct them about their violation of Islam in fulfilling their tribal customs? This, he conjectured, would be useless. These patterns have been ingrained in the population since Pharaonic times, and could not be changed through personal communication. His solution was gradual and broad, of which he was optimistic in its success. It would take fifty years, he declared, but the greater culture of openness and tolerance is already spreading in Upper Egypt. There was a time, as previously mentioned, that the Ashraf tribe was at war with everyone; now, they live in peace with the others. His own tribe until recently forbid intermarriage with other groupings, and even maintained a practice of slavery. Today these remnants of traditional culture have passed away. This transformation is slowly penetrating even smaller villages, and it will not be long until a better moral consciousness has settled into the majority. Though this infiltration is happening primarily through television and media, he is hopeful that his general message soon to be delivered may play a role, however small.

With this comment we exchanged good wishes for success and cooperation as we jointly wish to promote this general culture of peace. Sheikh Ahmad referenced the similar work being done through Dr. Rifaat Ahmad of the Jaffa Center, with whom we have had previous acquaintance. He also agreed to provide a review for the peacemaking paper summarizing our findings in preventing and assuaging incidents of conflict, provided we translate the document into Arabic. In all of these matters it is hoped that we may have found another friend in contributing to a network of social peace and reconciliation, one who has been involved far longer than we have. No matter how controversial some of his views may be, we desire to work with all, and Sheikh Ahmad appears to be a powerful contributor.

Tags Azhar, Egypt, Islam, Nag Hamadi

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

A Survey of Priests

One of the most interesting projects and papers which have been produced over the past few months was a survey of diocesan priests we conducted under the authority of the bishop of Beni Suef. This was done following the incident at Izbet Bushra, described in the last post, in an effort to determine how this was experienced by other priests in the area. More importantly, it asked a number of questions concerning their community interactions with Muslims. From this we made an elementary statistical analysis which produced insightful finding for good practices which lead toward peace. I have printed the abstract below, under which is a link to the full report, which is quite a bit shorter than previous ones to which I have linked. I hope you enjoy.

The clashes between Muslims and Christians in Izbet Bushra on June 21, 2009 resulted from a dispute in the village over using a private residence for community prayer services. Though details from the event are hard to confirm, it appears that Christians anticipated many difficulties in gaining permission to build a traditional church structure, and therefore used deception to build a residence for the priest with a prayer hall under the guise of being a factory. Though much critique has been leveled at the government of Egypt concerning the right of Christians to build churches, from the example of Izbet Bushra and elsewhere, this paper seeks to look at the issue from another perspective. What are the community patterns necessary to avoid the occurrence of religious tension? Though the practical question is not addressed it is a worthy introduction: Had there been good relations between the Muslims and Christians of Izbet Bushra to begin with, might the Christian desire to build a church have engendered any controversy at all?

In the aftermath of the conflict we obtained permission from Bishop Stephanos of Beba and el-Fashn to conduct a survey of the priests in his diocese. In it we asked a number of questions designed to discover the patterns of relationship between the Christian and Muslim communities within each priest’s jurisdiction. We also asked a number of questions concerning their knowledge and opinion of the incident which took place in Izbet Bushra.

From the survey results we were able to make basic observations establishing several patterns to the key question asked each priest: How are would you describe relations between Muslims and Christians in your area of service? The three options given were: Improving, About the Same or Stable, and Deteriorating. There are definite correlations which emerge when studying the data. Among the questions asked are:

Does your area employ private residences for worship?
What is your relationship like with the area imam?
Are there joint projects between Muslims and Christians in your area?
Do Christians in your area serve in the police or security forces?
Do Muslims and Christians frequent the same area shops?
What is your method for dealing with clashes?
Who is the first person you would inform in the case of a clash?
What is the demographic data from your area, population of Muslims and Christians, number of mosques and churches, registration status of each, etc.

These questions and others produce observations which make strong suggestions about ideal community practices which lead toward improving religious relations or away from a condition of deterioration. As such, they are offered as suggestions to the Christian community in general, in hope of producing interreligious harmony which may prevent the incident of violent conflict over the normal and natural disputes which occur whenever people exist together in community. One may easily surmise that community involvement and personal interaction lead toward improving relations between residents of an area; this paper presents statistical information which demonstrates the correlation.

Click here for the full report.

Tags Beni Suef, Christianity, Egypt, Islam, Izbet Bushra

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

Izbet Bushra

Following upon the text from yesterday which introduced our summary report, I post here the abstract for the paper which described our findings from the case study which informed it. Should you wish to read the full paper, it will provide a window into the vagaries and contradictions of Egyptian media reporting on incidents of violent conflict. The paper is an effort to sort through these reports to determine what really took place, but to go further and suggest paths for reconciliation. This was more or less the first case I received in Egypt with Arab West Report; until recently almost all subsequent activity was related to it.

On June 21, 2009 violent conflict broke out between Muslims, Christians, and security forces of Izbet Bushra, a small village located in the governorate of Beni Suef, approximately 120 kilometers south of Cairo. The issue at hand was Coptic prayer services being conducted in a private home, which caused offense to Muslim neighbors, who constitute approximately 60% of village population. Damage was done to the building as well as to other Christian homes, and people from both sides were injured in the altercation. Security arrested many and imposed curfew, after which Christians conducted a sit-in protest at the cathedral in el-Fashn, the location of the bishopric to which Izbet Bushra belongs. This was followed shortly thereafter by reconciliation session between all sides, which freed all perpetrators from custody and produced an oral agreement to compensate afflicted parties and authorize an official church in a different location in the village. Until today that promise has not been kept; security relates that sufficient tension has not yet been removed from the village.

These lines may represent a summarized timeline of the events following June 21, but they hardly represent the entire story. This paper explores the issue of Izbet Bushra in depth, seeking to discover the larger context behind the incident as provide integration of as many facts and testimonies as could be collected. This has been done through access to the many media reports published about village, as well as through investigative research undertaken by the Arab West Report team or by others commissioned on our behalf. The result is a thorough collection of data that rounds out the story, providing depth and color.

Unfortunately, a wealth of data also produces confusion. Testimony from the two sides is contradictory, as are the news reports which depended on these oppositional sources. Yet background can be provided in stating that the house used for public prayer services was not an innocent effort to conduct Christian worship. While it is true that no formal church building exists in Izbet Bushra, and that the procedures for obtaining permission to construct a church are burdensome and lack transparency, the Christians of the village purposely deceived both government administration and Muslim neighbors in declaring the building in question to be built as a factory. Upon its completion it was then first made into a residence for the priest and then employed in its lower hall for church services. While this fact makes more understandable the Muslim reactions, details even here and in the attack which followed remain unclear.

This paper first arranges all testimony, no matter how contradictory, into a narrative flow in order to give a timeline of events. It then records a best attempt at synthesis in order to distinguish from fact and speculation, offering a faithful and unbiased effort to understand exactly what took place. This recording is not done for its own sake, however, as our interest in Izbet Bushra lies ultimately in social reconciliation between the two parties. In this hope the paper concludes with suggestions for each religious community in order to seek for a solution to restore village harmony. These proposals are offered humbly, and we await the right opportunity in which we might engage village leaders to encourage them toward dialogue and reconciliation.

Click here to read the full paper.

Tags Egypt, Izbet Bushra, Reconciliation

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles Reconciliation

Social Reconciliation

The end of February was a very hectic time for us. The peacemaking project I have written about here from time to time was coming to and end and all reports were to be submitted by the 28^th. (If only it was a Leap Year!) While many reports were done, several still required editing, and everything had to be put online. In the end we made it, and you can see the results at www.enawu.com, if you click on the ZIVIC-Conflict Resolution tag on the left hand column.

In the meanwhile, I thought it would be interesting to share the lessons we learned with everyone. Not only will this give a good picture about what we have done in Egypt since arrival, it will also give a thorough introduction into conflict in Egypt, of which a fair proportion is religiously based. In this spirit we will try over the next few weeks to provide the most interesting reports, and where applicable, give you the link to the full paper which was written. For faithful followers of Julie’s posts, don’t worry, we will intersperse these as well.

Today will begin this effort, and the text which follows is the abstract of the comprehensive paper summarizing our experiences over the last six months. The full paper length is about forty pages, so take care to download it when you have a moment to spare, or else save it for future reading, say, your summer vacation at the beach. For those interested, it will be a one way mind meld between me and you, as I tried to include almost everything I have learned since arrival in Egypt. I hope you enjoy; your comments are welcome.

In all nations of the world, conflict is normal, and Egypt is no exception. Violent conflict in Egypt, however, is not. Though the Egyptian population has always been a peaceful people, many are noticing the increasing violence exhibited throughout society, much of which is along religious lines. There is a growing religiosity that imbues both Muslims and Christians with a powerful sense of identity to their community of faith. While only in the rarest of cases does this push either group towards violence, it does contribute to an unfortunate culture of sectarian analysis, which interprets these events along religious lines. This tends often to deepen the sense of religious division, cultivating further cyclical patterns of aggression, sometime passive, against the other, be it physical in outright attack, or psychological, in accusations of disloyalty or persecution. Reporting styles of the media, with all its variety, generally tends to fuel this established pattern by either labeling an incident a sectarian event or else denying the religious dimension completely. Balanced and objective journalism disappears in the process.

This paper recognizes that these are the witnessed features of conflict in Egypt, but many other factors lie beneath the surface. Underreported are the population pressures and economic difficulties which push normal disputes over resource allocation past the threshold of traditional resolution mechanisms into the pursuit of violence. One of these traditional mechanisms is the ‘reconciliation session’, which in principle restores community harmony but in practice often complicates the situation. Whether in land registration, church building policy, or an overwhelmed judiciary the law of government is applied weakly in many parts of Egypt. This tends to an overreliance upon ‘reconciliation sessions’, which are often conducted with a lack of transparency mirroring other aspects of the state. Security practices, though naturally present following an outbreak of violence, are but another example. Any mistakes made or weaknesses perceived are denied, and these therefore un-admitted factors combine with underreported demographic changes to produce the painfully visible instances of violence which torment the Egyptian consciousness.

This paper explores these issues in more depth, but also seeks a way out. Using Johan Galtung’s methodology of conflict resolution following medical practice of diagnosis, prognosis, and therapy, this peacemaking project suggests better practices. The diagnosis is explained above. Prognosis involves proscribing corrective changes to the major sections of Egyptian society: Government, Church, Local Leadership, the Media, and Non-Governmental Organizations. Therapy then posits a procedure to lead into social reconciliation following conflict. First, root causes and contextual studies must be determined and addressed. Second, community leaders from all sectors must be identified and supplied with information. Third, these are then encouraged into dialogue through a mediator who both knows the area and is accepted therein. Fourth, pending these discussions to be focused on just negotiation and relational unity, supportive projects can be considered to assist in community reintegration. It is hoped that this will be a predominantly Egyptian initiative, for local problems demand local solutions. Yet the eyes of outsiders, Cairene or otherwise, may be helpful.

This paper is submitted for review by all, but a selected number of advisors have written their critique and added their observations. These are also presented for further evaluation, and the reader is welcomed to offer both constructive criticism and proposals. For such an endeavor a network is necessary; to the degree you are willing we invite you to join.

Click here for the full paper.

Tags Egypt, Johan Galtung, Reconciliation

Personal

Rain, Rain, Go Away

The other day it rained in Cairo. While this might not seem strange to you, rain in Cairo is not a common occurrence. I would estimate that we have had some rain about five times in the six months that we’ve been here. And that has mostly been light showers once or twice throughout a particular day. So, when I go out in the morning, I sometimes will go on our balcony to check the temperature and see if we need jackets or not, but the idea of it raining never crosses my mind.

The day it rained, I didn’t even check the temperature, so I took the girls downstairs in the double stroller, on the way to Emma’s preschool, and was surprised to see the wet ground and smell the rain. It wasn’t raining too hard, and because of the stroller canopies, I was the only one who would really get wet, so I didn’t want to change plans for the morning and take a taxi. I figured that’s it is Cairo anyway, and we certainly wouldn’t have too much rain. I was surprised that I did get wet on the way to preschool, but it had mostly slowed down by the time we got there.

Hannah and I dropped Emma off, and then went to run some errands. First we were going to drop some things off at an American friend’s house where we visited for about an hour as Hannah played with their little boy. I noticed at one point as I looked out the window that it was raining quite hard, and I hoped it would stop because I had some errands I really wanted to run that morning.

By the time we left our friend’s house, it had slowed quite a bit, so we went to the grocery store and then to the post office and finally to a local restaurant to pick up a container of hummus. I put Hannah’s shade back at the restaurant so I could keep my eye on her while I picked up the hummus, but then went and put it back down when I noticed she was getting rained on. Fortunately this was our last stop and we got back home before getting too wet.

When we went out later to pick Emma up, I decided to take a taxi since this time I knew the rain was a problem. We taxied there and back, but did notice the sun was shining and the clouds were clearing by this time. It seemed simply to be another typical, though infrequent, rainy day for Cairo. Jayson came home for lunch a short while later and said it was very nice out. This encouraged me to put out some of the laundry I had kept inside earlier because of the rain.

Later that afternoon, after the girls woke from their naps and I was doing something in the kitchen, I heard a strange noise. It took me a few minutes to realize that the sound was that of pouring rain! I quickly remembered the laundry and ran to the balcony to bring it in, but not until after it had caught quite a bit of dirt from the rain. It also caught a few little hail balls. Wow, how cool! When I opened the balcony door and Emma and Hannah heard the sounds, they were quite scared. It also was thundering and lightning which is something they haven’t heard now for six months. I know it can be scary for many kids, and ours were no exception. I was pretty excited since a storm was so rare here, but I also realized that Jayson would be walking home soon and was wondering how he was going to make it home dry! He returned about half an hour later with a shirt that was wet and dirty from a strong Cairo rain. Fortunately the thunder and lightning didn’t continue long enough to disturb the girls from going to bed, but the storm did seem to make an internet connection difficult which messed up plans to Skype grandparents. It probably didn’t help that they were getting a strong snowstorm at the same time we were having our rainstorm. I wondered what all the rain was going to do to the roads we usually walk around town. The next day was Friday, first day of our weekend, and the day we usually attend church. We’d have to see if the way would be walkable.

The next morning I looked out on the balcony and it had stopped raining, but it was chilly, and everything around was wet, including a small lake at the schoolyard across the street. I knew that trying to walk to church with the stroller would be quite messy and perhaps impossible at some points, and our normal Friday schedule of sitting at their outdoor coffee area while Emma attended Sunday School would not work too well either due to the cold and the wet. So, we opted to stay in all day. It made me realize that it’s kind of hard here to find things to go out and do, if the weather is bad. It’s a good thing the weather isn’t bad too often!

I did actually get to venture out later that day on my own, as the girls were napping. I needed to do some shopping in another part of town, and Jayson being home allowed me to get this done without the girls in tow. I first of all walked a few blocks to board one of the local minibuses to travel to another part of town. I noticed the main street where I like to walk for shopping was basically a lake. It confirmed that taking a stroller out would have been a bad idea. We drove through a lot of large puddles on our way to the store and I noticed lots of people out and about. I remembered that today was the celebration of the ‘Mawlid’ (the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday.) This isn’t a big holiday among Muslims, and isn’t one they are commanded to observe, but there have been special traditions and foods associated with this day in each of the countries we’ve lived in. I felt bad that the weather may have hindered some of the visiting or celebrations for some on this day, but did notice that some of the amusement rides that people put up for these holidays were still in use. We passed one section of town where there was a temporary carousel and two large swings for the kids to enjoy for the day. I am guessing that each child would have had to pay one or two guinea (18-36 cents) for a few minutes on the ride. The rain didn’t stop them from this fun.

I went out again the next day, and the big puddles had evaporated a bit. It was still very messy to walk from our house to the main street as the water combined with the dirt and grime of the street to make for a very messy path. But brave it we did and all in all, we didn’t get too wet. It looked like things would be close to normal by Sunday, in time for us to begin another work week and return to Emma’s preschool. It was weird to have so much rain in one day, and it affected our whole weekend. Hopefully it at least cleaned the air a bit and watered the land.

Tags Egypt, Maadi, Rain

Books Personal

Life as Politics

Not too long ago Prof. Asef Bayat, presented a lecture at the American University of Cairo on the topic “Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East”, taken from his recently published book of the same name. Prof. Bayat is a professor of sociology and Middle Eastern studies and holds the Chair of Society and Culture of the Modern Middle East at Leiden University, the Netherlands. The summary below presents a very interesting look at how Middle Eastern society is evolving, without direction or organization from the powers-that-be, either from inside or outside the region.

Many theorists around the world wonder when change will finally come to the Middle East. They see the monumental political and economic developments in Eastern Europe and Southeast Asia, and look with resignation at the Arab world which seems stagnated in autocracy and conservatism. Likewise, Arab activists themselves find the pace of change too slow, working to implement democracy and civil society but are increasingly frustrated by governments more intent on holding on to power. What spells the correct answer?

A closer consideration would note that much change has already transformed the Middle East. Over the past several decades the phenomena of globalization, Islamization, and urbanization have impacted the region, and historically Arabs have been involved in nationalist movements against colonizing influences. Even so, both regional and international scholars have identified three general positions concerning change.

The first is not widely held to popularly in the Middle East, but there are those who state that if change is to come it must originate from outside the region. Since people are not seen as effectual actors, influences must begin abroad; President Bush’s doctrine of regime change is witnessed here. The second position is that one must wait for change to happen. They hope for, think about, and educate for change, but are limited in what they can actually do to bring it about. After all, revolutions cannot be planned, but what should one do while waiting, especially if some potential outcomes of revolution might be worse than the status quo?

The third position is that of the activists who strive to make change. While social and governmental restrictions exist, there has been much progress on the part of some movements like those of women’s rights and labor unions. Still, progress has been slow overall, which has led many social scientists, though not activists, to look elsewhere in the region for examples of change. Prof. Bayat identifies these in what he calls a ‘non-movement’.

While traditional movements tend to be the activities of leisure, however passionate, of those with at least some social standing, and is a result of a planned activity coordinated with others, a non-movement is fragmented, disperse, and chaotic. Instead, it is the collective representation of individual actions on a massive scale. Specifically, Prof. Bayat highlights three: the urban migration into the cities, the activity of women, and youth identity.

The capital cities of the Middle East are a magnet attracting the rural poor in search of some economic benefit. Their arrival, however, causes disruption of property rights and legitimate commerce as shanty towns are erected and sidewalk shops sell knock-off brands and ignore copyright protection. Yet the numbers are so large that governments are impotent to do anything about it other than small scale intervention, and thus these new émigrés settle into the landscape of the city, prompting the question, who really owns it? They are a threat, to be sure, but they also represent a profound change in the makeup of society, but as a non-movement are traditionally overlooked as agents of change.

Women are more commonly seen as agents of change, but they better qualify as a non-movement alongside more traditional avenues of women’s activism. Yet the pattern of their individual actions dictates that diverse outcomes result from their participation in life. On the one hand the increasing use of a hijab or niqab signals a religious protest against a perceived un-Islamic, authoritarian regime. Yet on the other hand women are increasingly participating in life, even in the mundane activities of going to the bank, mechanic, or university. Over time the increased opportunity for reflection on life outside of domestic isolation causes women to ask the questions of necessity and curiosity – why is my inheritance limited, why are child custody laws in favor of men? Be it seen in increasing religiosity or liberation, these actions are planned by no one, yet have dramatically affected the social relations of Middle Eastern society.

Youth activity is similar. Increasing population rates have created a burgeoning youth demographic which is corralled and controlled through education. Wary of the power of unencumbered youth the government has attempted to co-opt their participation in its favor by celebrating their role in the formation of the state, at the same time using all available resources and pressures to keep them in check. Yet the public space provided in the schools and the universities allows for the congregation and self-consciousness of youth, who in different ways express their identity through dress, hairstyle, and hobby. While kept from a politics of protest, they nonetheless express a politics of presence and practice that has left a distinctive mark on the region, yet because it is not a traditional movement in the manner of engagement often seen in youth, it is generally unobserved.

The distinguishing characteristic of these non-movements is that they reflect the ordinary activity of ordinary people leading an ordinary life. There is no leader, no collaboration, and no grand strategy. As such, an authoritarian government has nothing to fight. The vast co-incidence of common activity overwhelms its ability to respond, and positive change develops from the bottom up. Though an activist would be left unsatisfied with the scope of change, social advancement occurs for the poor, liberation for the woman, and identity for the youth. In a region marked by oppressive and restrictive social controls, these developments are not insignificant.

These observations demonstrate the platitude that there is always a way to express a will for change. The subtitle of the book, however, is a bit misleading. The impression is given that the text will describe activity and thought—how is it possible for ordinary people to change their society? Instead the book is written as sociology—how is change occurring as ordinary people live, without acting or thinking? The study is noteworthy, but not proscriptive. There is much to analyze as one views the region from a bird’s-eye view, but little to communicate to the people of the Middle East. In fact when questioned about how an activist might utilize or mobilize a non-movement on behalf of a cause, Prof. Bayat warned this could undo all progress. Activism would bring the non-movement to the attention of the government, and provide a target for repression. By becoming self-conscious the strength is lost.

Unfortunately, this seems to leave the local actor in the dilemma posed above. Should change be initiated from outside, be waited upon inside, or be created by joint action? Each of these positions comes fraught with danger and difficulty, but the study of non-movements offers no solution. If anything it proposes that the option to wait is the only recourse. While surely Prof. Bayat would not endorse this conclusion, it seems the result for the Middle East is that change happens, but it cannot be made to happen. So while a theoretician may be thankful for more data to study in the process of change in the region, the activist is left unsatisfied. Is this not the natural state for an activist, however, facing the question of how to create change from nothing? Life as politics leaves no room for politics, only sociology. Change occurs for the ordinary person, but the ordinary activist longs for a movement, not a non-movement. He or she must look elsewhere for the answers.

To purchase this book from Amazon, click here: Life as Politics: How Ordinary People Change the Middle East

Tags Asef Bayat, Egypt, Islam, Non-movement

Personal

Remembering the Christmas ‘Martyrs’ of Nag Hamadi

Post author By Jayson
Post date March 15, 2010
No Comments on Remembering the Christmas ‘Martyrs’ of Nag Hamadi

“Don’t cry for me, mother; to a martyr you’ve given birth. Murderers killed your son, on a night of Christmas mirth.”

These lines of poetry were crafted for the fortieth day memorial service held for the six young Egyptian Christians randomly gunned down while exiting a Coptic Christmas Eve mass, January 6, 2010, in Nag Hamadi, three hundred miles south of Cairo. They reflect the worries of the Christian community of Egypt that their situation as citizens, even in terms of safety, is steadily declining.

The particular use of the word ‘martyr’, however, carries a strong implicit message. It is common in Egypt for both Christians and Muslims to use this word for anyone in their community who dies unnaturally, regardless of cause. Beneath this general usage, though, is a Coptic remembrance of the hundreds of martyrs celebrated daily in the liturgy, who suffered death for their Christian faith. The message is given that these young men were killed for their faith in Christ, and this at the hand of a killer alleged to have cried while firing, “I avenge my Muslim sister!”

The vengeance in question refers to an event two months earlier in a nearby village, where a Christian man is alleged to have raped a 12 year old Muslim girl. This is the opinion of Sheikh Ahmad al-Sayih, retired professor of Islamic doctrine and philosophy at Azhar University, who grew up in a village fifteen miles from Nag Hamadi. While he condemns the murder on Islamic grounds, he sees it as part of the culture of revenge killings for which the area is known. In this understanding, shared by many Muslims, the attack was simply an expression of tribal justice, having nothing to do with sectarian strife.

Amin Makram Ebeid, a retired doctor and Coptic intellectual, disagrees. He sees the incident as part of an unorganized but increasing pattern of sectarian violence against the Christians of Egypt. He doubts the account of rape, as well as the status of the girl as a minor. He states that tribal revenge would be executed only against family members, not random worshippers exiting a church on the holiest of Christian holidays. These considerations indicate the sectarian nature of the crime, and in these matters he echoes the opinions of many Copts.

Governor Magdi Ayoub of Qena, in which Nag Hamadi is located, is the only Copt among the twenty-nine governors of Egypt. Instead of being acclaimed by his religious community, however, he is reviled as being subservient to Muslim interests so as to maintain his post. Though he states that he is an Egyptian governor first and a Copt second, many Copts reject him for failing to address Christian concerns in deference to his position in what is seen as an increasingly Islamic state. Viewing religious discrimination as part and parcel of true Islamic religion, more than a few Copts anticipate further violence as a coming inevitability.

A different explanation is offered by Osama al-Ghazoly, a prominent Egyptian journalist. He agrees that violence in Egypt is increasing, but this is true of society in general, independent of sectarian tension, though it is certainly an aspect of it. He criticizes both Muslims who deny that sectarian violence exists at all, as well as Christians who view it only through this lens. Regardless of the origin, it is only the government which can extend protection to any citizen, Christians included. Copts may do well to criticize the governor’s performance, but not his position.

The Egyptian government is treating the attack as a non-sectarian isolated incident and increased its promotion of national unity. Egyptian society, however, remains divided about the causes and necessary responses to the attacks in Nag Hamadi, though all have categorically denounced the violence. Yet as the interpretations of the killing vary so dramatically between the two communities, the religious divide threatens to grow deeper. As the forty day commemoration service is a shared practice of both Muslims and Christians, and given the mingled blood of the young Christians with the Muslim policeman also killed in the attacks, perhaps this occasion may serve as a reminder that peace and the future of Egypt is built upon both religious communities.

Tags Christianity, Egypt, Martyr, Nag Hamadi

Arab West Report Middle East Published Articles

A Departing Third Opens an Unclear Future

Post author By Jayson
Post date March 11, 2010
No Comments on A Departing Third Opens an Unclear Future

Yesterday, March 10, 2010, the Grand Sheikh of al-Azhar died of a heart attack while visiting Saudi Arabia. Sheikh Muhammad Tantawi led the inimitable institution, considered by many if not most Sunni Muslims to be the leading Islamic university in the world, since his appointment by President Mubarak in 1995. Together with President Mubarak and Pope Shenouda of the Coptic Orthodox Church, Sheikh Tantawi presided over a period of considerable change during his tenure, and their lives, each one in their eighties, spanned epochal changes in Egyptian society. As the first of these three elder statesmen has passed on, Egyptians may wonder about the next generation of leadership, and the directions it may take.

During his career Sheikh Tantawi was a lightning rod of criticism from all corners of Egypt, making rulings considered too liberal or too conservative, depending on the source. Among the chief condemnations made of his tenure was that he was compliant more to the will of the state than to the principles of Islamic jurisprudence. Though a religious figure, he was also a political appointee; such remarks had ample target. For Muslims frustrated with an apparent secular regime he was its worst symbol, as he was attached to the heart of Islamic learning in the Arab world, the chief figure expected to uphold the purity of Islam.

A brief litany of his most controversial rulings includes issues straddling the religious/secular/political divisions which characterize Muslim debates today. In terms of women’s issues he fought against the burka, the full body covering opening only with slits for the eyes. He denied the Islamic foundation of the cultural practice of female genital circumcision. He ruled also that Islamic sharia did not forbid a woman president. In terms of the Western debate on terrorism and jihad he ruled that Islamic jihad must only be a defensive measure. He condemned the attacks of September 11, but wavered on suicide bombings against Israeli targets. Yet he also worked tirelessly as a mediator for peace, both in Israel/Palestine and Iraq. He was also a firm defender of equality between Copts and Muslims in Egypt, and enjoyed a warm relationship with Pope Shenouda. In all of these matters he pleased some but not others, but many were left frustrated that he either went too far, or not far enough, in his rulings. His lasting reputation as a political stooge or a man of principle will be debated long after his death, which marks the end of an era in Egyptian history, and the initiation of an unclear future.

Sheikh Muhammad Tantawi was 81 years old. Currently his Christian religious counterpart Pope Shenouda is 86. President Mubarak, meanwhile, is also 81. Pope Shenouda was selected by lot to fill the patriarchal chair of St. Mark upon the passing of Pope Kyrillos in 1971. Sheikh Tantawi was appointed to fill the post of al-Azhar, being promoted from the position of Grand Mufti, upon the passing of Gad al-Haq, who was known as a conservative Islamic figure, and with whom he had clashed several times. President Mubarak, meanwhile, became president upon the assassination of President Sadat in 1981. None of the three obtained their post by the will of the people, yet all have defined the political, Islamic, and Christian positions for the majority of Egyptian citizens. Their influence has been incalculable.

Now, Sheikh Tantawi has passed on. In some respects he is probably the least significant of the three. Regardless of the prestige of al-Azhar in Islamic history in the modern state it has become an extension of government bureaucracy. This does not imply Sheikh Tantawi was not sincere in his rulings. It is simply a statement that Muslim religion in Egypt is tied to political rule, and in the multiplicity of religious interpretations al-Azhar is no longer inviolable for the Muslim faithful.

This is much less so when it comes to the power of the church. Orthodox Christians in Egypt represent 90-95% of Christianity, and the majority of these look to Pope Shenouda, though without infallibility, as the undisputed leader and example of Christian thought and practice. There is no connection to the state; though President Sadat once banished Pope Shenouda to a monastery he could have no role in selecting a replacement. President Mubarak, interestingly, reestablished him to his papal chair. The pope is a towering figure in Egypt; in recognition of his advanced age the church is wary of decisive policy. Pope Shenouda has set the course; it will be continued until he also passes away, and then God will select by lot another leader. The church, quietly, does have divergent voices; only God knows which one will emerge.

Since the wick of Sheikh Tantawi was consumed before that of President Mubarak there is less apprehension concerning the next appointment of Grand Sheikh of al-Azhar. It is anticipated that the president will appoint someone similar, certain not to stray too far from the political perspectives of government. Yet the status of sheikh is not similar to that of pope, though by tradition he maintains the post until his death. As a political appointee it is possible, though unlikely, that the next president may depose the current figure and select his own man. Still, choosing the interpretive head of the Islamic world is not as simple as choosing a minister of agriculture; there will be substantial pressures on the next president to satisfy the demands of every religious interest. The identity of this next president, however, is an open question, perhaps for the first time since the revolution of 1952 introduced military rule to Egypt.

Some observers believe simply that following President Mubarak’s anticipated decision to end his political career—the next elections are in 2011—another general from the military/security sector will be internally selected to continue governance. His presidency will be popularly validated through elections, and the course of Egyptian politics will continue as it has for the past sixty years: Secular in orientation, focused on development, cautious with human rights and freedoms, wary of the power of religion.

This prediction bears a substantial wildcard, however, which has not yet featured in the modern Egyptian state. President Mubarak has a son who is acclaimed by some as a potential successor. Gamal Mubarak, however, is not a military man. While he may (this is debated) enjoy the backing of his father, he is less likely to garnish the behind the scenes support of the military elite. Furthermore, while many Egyptians appreciate the stability of the Mubarak presidency, they are reluctant to witness the instillation of his son, reducing the status of the republic to that of the nepotistic Pharaohs.

One final possibility is that true democracy does emerge, but with what result? While political Islamist interests do not represent a majority of the population they are adept at the political game of campaigning and elections. If allowed to participate they may ride the religious slogan of ‘Islam is the Solution’ into the presidential palace on the backs of a populace frustrated by lack of the secular regime’s advancement of freedom and economy. Or, there are other candidates outside the traditional government sector which command wide respect, but are criticized as candidates for lack of political acumen. The former head of the United Nations nuclear watchdog agency and winner of the Nobel Peace Prize, Muhammad al-Baradi, is one such gentleman. Though he is understandably reluctant to throw his hat into the ring, he represents the hope of many Egyptians longing for civilian, democratic governance.

Though it be said that only God chooses the pope, space can be granted for the behind the scenes maneuvering of Orthodox bishops. Pope Shenouda has created a church bureaucracy similar to that enjoyed by the state by dividing growing bishoprics and appointing bishops loyal to his philosophy of Christianity. The Holy Synod comprises these bishops in their entirety, and with the General Lay Council of the Church is tasked with election of three candidates according to church tradition, which can be variable. Among these three, then, God makes the selection, through a blindfolded child who draws the lot.

Sheikh Muhammad Tantawi’s life spanned the rule of three kings, three presidents, and both war and peace with Israel. He witnessed the transformation of the country from a British colony with Turkish vestiges into a modern bureaucratic state. His passing signals the beginning of an era of change for Egypt, though the direction is yet uncertain. Not until Pope Shenouda and President Mubarak – may God preserve their lives – join him in the world beyond will this direction fully come to light. May their successors receive God’s wisdom for the substantial challenges each will face in filling the shoes of such monumental personalities.

Tags Egypt, Mubarak, Orthodoxy, Shenouda, Tantawi

Personal

The Problem of Dialect – Part Two

Post author By Jayson
Post date March 8, 2010
1 Comment on The Problem of Dialect – Part Two

The strange thing about different language dialects is that the most basic words you use everyday differ from country to country. I remember Jayson telling me this after his experience in Mauritania. He would say, “The words for bread, water, and house are different in the Mauritanian dialect than in other dialects, but the deeper you go in the language, the more similarities you find.”

Here is a case in point. In Jordan, we studied Arabic in a language school. This was great in so many ways, one of them being that the teachers taught us all the basic greetings we needed to know. So we probably learned within the first week how to say, “How are you,” which in that dialect was “Keef hallak?”

Fast forward to Tunisia, where we didn’t study in a language school, but tried to pick up their dialect on the street and in our everyday interactions. It took quite awhile, and one of the most basic things troubled me for some time. After someone greeted me, they would often ask me, “Faynik?” which literally means, “Where are you?” At first I would answer them, probably with a confused look on my face, “I am here.”

Or if we were talking on the phone, I would say in my confused tone, “I’m at home,” or, “I’m out shopping,” or whatever. It wasn’t always an inappropriate question. I mean, if I was supposed to meet them, and they were calling me, they could ask me where I was so they knew when to expect me. But when I went to visit my friend in her store and her first question was, “Where are you?” it was really weird. It took a little while to realize that this was their way of saying, “How are you?”

Don’t ask me why they chose those words, people usually don’t choose the words of their greeting, they are simply taught from generation to generation, but somewhere it must make sense. I wonder how many of my friends were confused, however, when I supplied them with my location. Even after I realized what this really meant, it still took some forethought to not answer their question, but rather say, “Good, thank you.”

The experience changed again in Egypt. Again, they don’t use the typical, “How are you?” that we learned in Jordan, and most of the time, they don’t even use the word we expected to hear here which is “Zayyik?” Instead, they say, “Aamila aye?” which means “What are you doing?” It took me right back to Tunisia.

Before I realized that this was their way of saying, “How are you?” I would answer them with what I was doing, which again, was usually an odd, confused answer, “Well, I am coming to visit you.” Or, “I am coming here, to church.” Of course, my thought was, “What do you mean, what am I doing? Isn’t it obvious?” Probably thanks to my experience in Tunisia, I caught on more quickly, and realized this was their way of greeting, and that it could probably be equated to our equally incongruous “What’s up?” in English. Oh, the joys of learning the language on the street!

Another word that has been tripping me up some is the word for “Today.” A most basic word, to be sure, and one that I should know well if I say I can speak the language. Probably half the time, however, I use the word I learned in Jordan, “il-yawm.” I was thinking through this word the other day and realized that in the three countries we’ve been in, Jordan is the only one that makes sense. Here’s what I mean.

In Jordan, the word “il-yawm” is used for “Today.” Following this the days of the week each have a name along with the word “yawm” in it. One of the neat things about the days of the week in Arabic is that they are kind of forms of the numbers 1-7, so it is fairly easy to pick up, or at least logical. So, for instance Sunday would be “yawm il-ahad,” which is kind of like “the first day”.

Well, moving onto Tunisia, they use the same word for today, which is probably one of the reasons I am having a hard time switching it now. However, when they speak of the days of the week, they use a different word in place of “yawm,” and that is “nahhar,” which also means daytime or morning. So, Sunday would be “nahhar il-ahad” or “the first morning”. It was tricky to learn that at first, but we got used to it after awhile.

Now in Egypt, I realized that they do the opposite of Tunisia. For the days of the week, we are back to the Jordanian word, “yawm il-ahad,” but the word “Today” is now “innahhar da” which literally means “this, the morning.” Now my logical brain looks at Tunisia and Egypt and says that they should kind of switch things up a bit so at least their word for “Today” matches with the word they use in the days of the week, but who am I to criticize the language. I’ll just keep using the wrong word for awhile until it finally sinks in and becomes habit. Until then, I think people usually know what I’m saying, but I do think I’ve confused some of the kids at Emma’s preschool.

Since we’re on the topic of time, the last word that I will point out is the word for “Now.” Again, it is a word I use all the time. In Jordan it was “halla.” In Tunisia it was “towwa.” Now in Egypt it is “dillwaqti.” Do you see any relationship between those three words? Me neither, but at least I can see a familiar word in the Egyptian choice which makes it mean literally, “this, the time.” Oh, the sweet sounds of Arabic … if only it wasn’t so confusing!

Related Posts:

The Problem of Dialect – December 6, 2009

Tags Arabic, Dialect, Egypt, Jordan, Tunisia

Books

Launching “Books” with Libyan Poetry

Post author By Jayson
Post date March 5, 2010
No Comments on Launching “Books” with Libyan Poetry

If you look to the column on the right hand side of this page you will notice a new link – “Books” – which looks to chronicle what we read. A few times in this blog we have been able to write a book review of recent reading which has aided in understanding Egyptian society. Other times we have referenced a book which we have not read, but perhaps have interviewed the author or just remembered its general usefulness. The “Books” link is an effort to congregate all this information in one place, so that you can read along with us, if you care to.

The lead item in “Books” is not of this nature, however, but rather focuses on books we have had a hand in producing. Before moving to Egypt we lived in Tunisia, where among other activities I worked with a local author and publisher to translate books from Arabic into English. The first of these has come to print, which, oddly enough, is a selection of poetry from a Libyan author, entitled “The Journey of the Blind”.

I enjoyed making the translation, and though it might seem counterintuitive, translating poetry was actually a little easier than translating prose. This might not be true with classical poetry, but this author uses a modern style, which left me free to arrange meanings keeping with his style, but without the burden of having to worry about meter or rhyme.

Below is a selection from his works, selected because it is my favorite, dealing with issues of travel, home, and belonging.

MY GRANDFATHER’S TESTAMENT

[1]

I saw in the road

My old horse

Which my grandfather gave to me

Before he died,

And after he informed me

Of the dangers of travel,

Of night, of beautiful women, and of sailing,

And after he informed me

Of the dangers of the road, and thieves.

Do not let the beautiful women

Steal your little heart in the morning.

The road is before you, my dear little boy,

The road is before you,

He informed me and then closed his eyes.

[2]

In the early morning

I saw him praying,

In the paths of my homesickness,

In the forest of names and languages,

In the very cells of my body.

And I heard him say:

The best of all homelands is my home,

And the most beautiful of seas.

You see it in the sand,

In the high palm tree,

And in the mirage.

My grandfather told me

In the language of the elderly:

Do not go away,

For the people on the other side of our sea

Walk towards a distant gloom.

Do not go away, do not go away.

Beware!

Beware of the distance of the road.

Of this he informed me

Before he fell asleep,

Before he fell

Asleep.

Benghazi 1968

You can see an image of the book by clicking here: Cover – Journey of the Blind

The collection is available for purchase; my parents have been kind enough to agree to mail a copy to anyone interested. Full information is found under the “Books: Translations” link. Other titles referenced there can be purchased through Amazon, which if bought through this site provides us with a small percentage of the price. Not enough to persuade you not to borrow the book from the library, but on the off chance a summary catches your fancy and you would like to see the binding on your bookshelf, if you are kind enough to consider us, we appreciate it. Thanks.

Tags Egypt, Libya, Poetry, Tunisia

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