Ebrahim Rasool:|
Bridging the Two Worlds of Islam

Ebrahim Rasool regards himself as a typical younger generation Muslim—with a commitment to the modernisation project.

Classified as coloured by apartheid law, he was raised within the coloured community. He sees this as an essential ingredient of his identity. Ebrahim was born in District Six (near the city-centre of Cape Town) but Group Areas legislation, in the early 1970s, forced his family to move to Primrose Park, a suburb adjacent to Manenberg. His story has an authentic Western Cape ring to it:

Having attended Madressa (Muslim religious instruction classes) from my pre-school days, I was exposed to the machinations of the Mosque and all the internal wranglings of Kaapse politiek (Western Cape politics) for as long as I can remember, having gained my religious and political education in Kombuis (kitchen) Afrikaans. I am emotionally attached to this community; the mosques of the Western Cape are my home. I am, at the same time, deeply committed to enabling Islam to come to grips with the impact of modern critical thinking.

The vast majority of Muslims live in two isolated or compartmentalised worlds—the world of traditional Islam and the secular world of business, critical thinking and western education. This is dramatically symbolised in the Muslim woman who leaves her home in the morning with a scarf over her head. She removes it at the bus stop, places it in her bag and puts it oil again in the evenings when she arrives back at the bus stop. Men, in turn, leave their secular selves at the door of the mosque as they take off their shoes and enter in order to say their prayers. They then, all too often, leave the religio-ethical values of Islam aside as they go about their daily business. Outside of the mosque they remember their religion only in the practice of a particular ritual or in order to defend some aspect of Muslim dogma that may emerge in the course of their day. The rational and secular on the one hand and the religious on the other seldom meet in significant dialogue.

Struggling to integrate these two worlds in his own life, Rasool recognises that this kind of talk does not endear him to the conservative ulama (clergy). "I seek to show empathy with those who have for generations been locked into the two isolated worlds of Islam; I can, however, do no other than give expression to the quest for my own integration as a person. There are a vast number of Muslims who feel as I do. A moment of truth will sooner or later dawn for Islam in South Africa. Without the apparatus of state on its side, as is the case in Muslim countries, it will need to either adapt or find itself thrust into social irrelevance as an increasing number of its younger members simply drift further into secularism. Islam is obliged to find an authentic identity in the modern world. If it does, a

surge of spiritual energy will empower the Muslim community, enabling it to make a profound moral contribution to the emerging South African nation."

Will this divide the Muslim community, already plagued (like all other religions) with internal divisions? "I suppose it will," concedes Rasool. "New birth is always painful. We have defended our identity and practices for generations, persuading people to conform to outdated custom and belief. We should not, therefore, be surprised when they resist change."

The Route Travelled

"If to be coloured means to have 'mixed blood', then I have all the mix that is required. My maternal grandfather was a fourth generation Englishman, whose ancestor came to South Africa with the colonial troops at the beginning of the last century. My maternal grandmother's forbears arrived in Cape Town as Javanese slaves. My grandmother on my father's side, was a Dutch woman—evoking speculation that Thys Lourens, the former Northern Transvaal rugby captain, is my father's cousin—and my paternal grandfather was an Indian indentured labourer who arrived in Natal as a sugar-cane cutter in the last century."

Ebrahim Rasool speaks of being raised in a home without any serious ideological leaning. It nevertheless harboured "the usual political memories which face the coloured community". His father's mother was reclassified coloured and the family was driven out of District Six when Ebrahim was in standard two. "My mother brought a certain Muslim piety into our home, with Sheikh Nazeem Mohamed (President of the Muslim Judicial Council) being regarded as our family's spiritual leader. My father was always more of a free-thinker. He bought the Cape Times and the Argus everyday, bringing the 'outside' world into our Muslim home, encouraging us to discuss the events that were happening around us. He helped instill a culture of reading in me from the time that I was very young. So from the word 'go' I lived at the nexus of Muslim traditionalism and secular free-thinking. I am still trying to integrate the two."

The next important stage in Rasool's upbringing came when he attended Livingstone High. The principal of the school was

R. O. Dudley, a strong New Unity Movement person; currently its President. "In my matric year (1980) I was Secretary of the Student Representative Council (SRC) and on the Committee of 81, which had overall responsibility for co-ordinating the school boycott in the Western Cape. I spent hours in Dudley's office, discussing the political correctness or incorrectness of the boycotts. . . When a pupil was sent to afternoon detention for one or another reason and Dudley was on duty, the event invariably turned into a political lesson. I studied German as a subject and soon found that the passages which I was given to translate would carry an appropriate level of leftist teaching. A favourite author in German literature was Bertolt Brecht, the independent Marxist dramatist and poet. Livingstone was great on independent thinking—although always within the ambits of leftist thought."

Appreciative of political insights that he gained during this period of his life, Rasool also recalls the sense of frustration he experienced at the time.

New Unity Movement politics has to do with the 'struggle of the mind'—an exercise in weighing alternative arguments, seeking to strip away the different layers of debate and argument in order to reveal the essential principles involved, ever vigilant not to act on a principle considered politically incorrect, opportunistic or unclear in any way. This internal rigour is a discipline from which one can only benefit. It can, at the same time, have a paralysing effect at the level of political action. Taught to wait for the right moment and to act on the right principle, I began to feel that Unity Movement people were in danger of losing out on a crucial opportunity to take the fight against apartheid an important step forward. It was a case of the quest for the best political option becoming the enemy of what was, in effect, an important step ahead. In time I began to question their notion of correctness and what is best, but never without a deep respect for the essential ideas within the movement.

Arriving at the University of Cape Town in 1981, Rasool was still a convinced advocate of Unity Movement politics. "I took a principled stand on a number of issues. Studying there as a black person under permit, my commitment was to get what I could out of the place and not to participate in the various sport, extra-mural and other activities. When I graduated with a BA and later with a teacher's diploma, I did so in absentia. My Unity days convinced me that

participation was opportunism and a sure recipe for absorption into the bourgeois milieu of liberalism."

Rasool was at this time about to undergo a further important development in his life. "I began to discover a new religious dimension to my life. Although always consciously religious, towards the end of my standard nine year I was excused from attending Madressa in order to have more time to study. I simply loved the freedom not to pray. It was a new found liberation, and I began to oppose what I saw as an unprincipled practice among some Muslims to take time off school to go to the Jumah (Friday prayers). I viewed this as mere conformism, rather than thoughtful religious practice. The fundamentalists saw me as trying to undermine the faith, and with this the stage was set for me to seek to understand precisely what it meant to be a Muslim. Without ever doubting my religious affiliation or questioning my commitment to Islam, I began a quest for religious authenticity. It would prove to be a long quest, and one that would include several shifts in focus and direction."

Rasool joined both the Azanian Students Organisation (AZASO) and the Muslim Students Association (MSA). Again he found himself confronted with two worlds that needed to be reconciled. "Through AZASO I encountered Mama Sisulu and other ANC people, discovering a brand of politics that was more colourful, less cerebral and more broadly inclusive. Through the MSA I encountered a religion that was related to the political struggle in which I was engaged. Slowly my religious and political personae were coming together. Farid Esack assisted me in this quest in a significant manner and later, through my involvement in the Call of Islam, the integration was taken a step further." Rasool explains the religious renewal he experienced both in relation to the growing influence of Muslim fundamentalism in the wake of the Iranian revolution, and a perceived need to identify the essential moral principles on the basis of which to respond to the influences that were drawing him deeper into organised politics.

I saw a need for both a spiritual journey inwards, in an attempt to understand my own identity, as well as a need to reach out to a community of people committed to the values that constitute my identity. The fascinating thing for me was that this community included Muslims as well as Christians, Hindus, Jews, atheists, historical materialists and others. Muslim fundamentalism was

not satisfying my inner yearnings for answers to the questions I was posing—the answers were too trite, too dogmatic and quite unrelated to the world of questions, struggle and political realism of which I had become a part. The fundamentalist revival did, however, evoke in me a certain longing for spiritual fulfilment and religious integrity. The mere formalism of my past religion was no longer sufficient to satisfy my new found spiritual quest.

My first three years at UCT were the most religious years of my life. From the end of 1981 through to 1983 I prided myself in not having missed a single prayer. I prayed five times a day. I was involved in the Halqa (study groups) and often participated in gadat (spiritual exercise groups).

This inward journey was accompanied by increased political engagement. Invited (in 1983) as a member of the AZASO Executive to attend the United Democratic Front (UDF) launch in the Western Cape, he arrived late—having been instructed by his father to weed the lawn before he went. He nevertheless unexpectedly found himself elected to the Regional Executive. The following year he helped form the Call of Islam, an organisation committed to drawing Muslims into the political struggle. In January 1985 he started teaching at Spine Road High School in Mitchell's Plain, a school deeply involved in the student protests and the school boycott. Detained for three months at the end of 1985, on his release he was served with a banning order. His involvement in the UDF had nevertheless increased and he went into semi-hiding, deciding not to announce his involvement in meetings ahead of time and not to sleep at home. This enabled him to remain out of prison until June 1987 when he was again arrested and imprisoned for thirteen months. After his release he was again restricted, but together with others in a similar situation, he chose later to 'unban' himself. During this time he and Rashida were married. "We had a traumatic courtship which survived the political storms of the eighties, my imprisonment and an intense struggle, in which both of us shared in a quest to make sense of what it means to be Muslim and yet part of the modern world. In many ways Rashida was more ready to integrate the two worlds than I was," he observes with appreciation. "We have walked the journey together every step of the way."

The Rasools lived in ambiguity, between Ebrahim's self-claimed freedom and the threat of imprisonment until the unbanning of political organisations in February 1990. Their political involvement

was then directly through the ANC. Ebrahim Rasool was elected Treasurer of the Western Cape region in 1991.

Religious Reconstruction

Rasool sees religion as both a journey into past tradition and a quest for contemporary relevance. "To neglect the former is to cut oneself off from a history of struggle and quest that can only condemn one to a shallowness of pursuit that by definition leaves one unable to answer the complex questions of life. In a word, I realise that our struggle is not essentially unique. It is a contemporary manifestation of an ancient and enduring quest to be human and to live in community with other people. Religion teaches us a number of lessons on how to cope with that journey—things like prayer, fasting, the place of festivals and so on. Simply practised out of habit or obligation they remain unrelated to the contemporary struggle. Once they are related to, and made part of, contemporary living, they become more than religion; more than a practice adjacent to the rest of our lives, they became part of life itself."

Equally important in this quest, argues Rasool, is a sense of belonging. His early years of religious instruction provided him with the symbols, stories, memories and practices which welded him into the Muslim community.

This sense of community, of being a Muslim, going to the mosque, sharing in the fasts and celebrations and practising Muslim tradition is a vital part of who I am. This is where I belong. It is here that I draw on my roots for sustenance. I am part of a Muslim culture, which is the interweaving of things like Malay choirs, weddings, funerals, certain kinds of food, the singing of spiritual songs, gatherings at the mosque and so on. So, when I speak of my quest for religious identity, it is within this broader context. I am part of Islam in the Western Cape. Even when I am critical of it, I am dependent on it. I find myself trying to separate those things within Islam that are residual of past cultures and practices from what is essential to the religion itself—but find it almost impossible to do so. This having been said, there are dimensions of this tradition to which I cling, understanding them to be indispensable to life itself. I am, however, becoming increasingly aware that they are covered in layers of custom and prejudice that obscure the very reality to which I want to cling.

Pushed to define this reality, Rasool resorts to traditional religious

language. "It is a God consciousness." And who is this God? "I really don't know," comes the immediate response. "The Qur'an speaks of Allah as an all-encompassing presence, a dimension to life itself, but a personal presence, a reality that evokes in me a sense of worship and submission. Yet, to leave a Qur'anic understanding of Allah there, is to make Islam into a fatalistic religion of submission to what prevails at any particular time and place in history. The Qur'anic God calls me to reach the full potential of the person who I was created to be, thoughtful, self-critical, understanding, given to justice, and ready to serve the purposes of God in the world. Prayer, worship and fasting, all key ingredients of Islam, enable me to do this. When, however, I am simply held captive by such practices, oppressed by them through habitual submission rather than thoughtful participation, they are no longer the channels through which my God-given potential is realised. They then become oppressive. They prevent me from worshipping God in an intelligent and worthy manner. Religion is about an innate awareness of God as the One who is the source of my being, and whose will and purpose I seek to serve in life. Prayer and fasting are only important to the extent that they serve this end. To the extent that they hinder this, they stand in need of reform and reconstruction."

Politics and Human Values

Religion, for Rasool, is about the worship of God, without which he believes we fall short of our full potential as human beings—of the realisation of our true selves. He, in turn, sees politics as the expression of one's true self in the world. "Politics," he suggests, "ought to be the extension of your essential self, requiring it to be a disciplined, value-oriented exercise." This, he argues, is not however what shapes the behaviour of most political players.

The truth of the matter is that one's adherence to moral values can be an impediment to one's political advancement in life. Many of us once thought that liberation politics was inherently moral; some of us are discovering that this is not the case.

We are living in a time of negotiation and alliance politics which necessitates compromises and certain political deals, carefully balanced quid pro quos and a willingness to live with policies and practices that we never thought we would be prepared to accept. Perhaps this is the nature of the politics of transition. Maybe there is no other way out of the dilemma of South African politics, so I

am not unduly critical of certain compromises. It does, however, raise the question as to what happens to the values which form our essential selves and for which we have been fighting all these years.

There are two options: The one is to forget about values, and many people are finding themselves pushed in this direction, as the jockeying for positions in the constituent assembly and other bodies takes place. The outcome is a politics of sterility, a mere functionalism that makes little contribution to the resolution of the very contradictions of society that have forced the alliances and deals in the first place. The alternative is for some individuals to hold to such values that have given the fight against apartheid a level of ethical dignity and respect. The question is who is going to do this? Who will be the carrier of these values?

This is where Rasool believes religion can make its biggest contribution. Religion should inspire people to do the right thing, whether or not it is expedient or in their self-interest to do so. "To the extent that religion deals with ultimate things, things worth dying for, it is at least one of the carriers of human and liberatory values. For all the failures of the major religions of this country, when the struggle was at its height, Mosque and Church alike were obliged to concede that the things that activists were dying for were the values that formed the bedrock of their religious beliefs. It is these same values—love, justice, decency, human rights, democracy, honesty, a decent education, housing, concern for the poor and so on, that stand central to the Muslim religion, as they do to other religions." Rasool argues that the integration of religion and politics, which was beginning to emerge in the 1980s in response to the intensity of the evil of apartheid, has given way to the old kind of religious formalism that separates religion into a realm of its own.

"It is in the interest of the liberation struggle as a whole," he continues, "that the religious conscience of the nation be kept alive as a basis for ensuring the survival of the very values that have sustained the struggle over many years. I am not suggesting that it is only the religious community that can do this. I have too much respect for the moral integrity of some non-religious people who share this concern for values. Some are Marxists, some are humanists, and many are simply decent people who are not too sure what they are. . . There is, however, a moral incentive at the centre of the great religious traditions of South Africa that, if released at a time when a new nation is in the process of being born, can make a far-reaching

impact on the future. Values that are born now, entrenched in a constitution and become part of a democratic culture in this formative period of our history, will be crucial for the future identity of the nation. On the other hand, if the politics of the emerging nation simply functions at the level of 'business as usual', the new South Africa might not be so new at all."

An Optimist

Rasool explains the relationship between his understanding of the dominant idea of the present age and the continuing struggle for values. He feels we need a sense of perpetual dissidence or ongoing struggle within the dominant movement for change.

Each epoch produces its own dominant movement for renewal, in opposition to the prevailing structures of oppression in any situation. Nelson Mandela symbolises that movement in South Africa today. This is not to suggest that the movement represents all that either he or we have been struggling for. It is not an egalitarian movement and it is not a movement which represents the aspirations of the nation as a whole. South African political reality is such that compromise is inevitable. It is, however, a movement whose history is such that it can be no other than open to the ethical ideals for which we are continuing to struggle. So, my concern is not primarily that all that we had hoped for is not present in this movement, it is rather that there are elements within it that are today questioning the veracity of these values.

These values are nevertheless deeply entrenched in our struggle and I believe they will win through. People have suffered and died for them. They constitute an important part of our identity as a people, and will not be easily forfeited. These values are also a part of the religious identity of our people. Religious organisations have a special obligation to share in the process of keeping these values alive.

Rasool also speaks about these values in relation to a special kind of democratic vision, which he sees operative in the Western Cape in particular. "We have a long history of political diversity in the Western Cape," he observes. "Sometimes it is ridiculed by ANC officials and people from other regions. Provided these 'troublesome democrats' who are responsible for this brand of politics remain in solidarity with the major forces for democracy, they actually constitute an important source of perpetual dissidence. This is no bad element to have in any nation. It is, above all, an important ingredient

in a nation like ours, which is struggling to define its emerging new character in the face of the demand for compromise which emerges from the vast social and political diversity of South Africa."

"As it is in the interest of a democratic government to allow the visionary dimensions of religion to continue to disturb the less than ideal compromises that it is forced to make," Rasool continues, "so it is also in the interest of that government to encourage the kind of 'loyal dissent' that characterises Western Cape politics."

Religion Again

The conversation turns back to religion. Arguing that religious institutions have a mission to serve a purpose which is greater than themselves, Rasool again stresses the need for these organisations to be transformed in order to render this service.

My concern for religious reform is not grounded in some sort of personal need to turn the Mosque upside down. It is based on the belief that the Mosque, together with the institutions of the other religious traditions in South Africa, has an important role to play in the South African struggle, by helping to keep the values which it holds dear. For this to happen Islam itself needs to be reformed. . . The problem is that it cannot contribute to democracy because its history is marred by the institutional support it has given to caliphates, tyrants, authoritarian leaders and one-party dictatorships. Some even supported Saddam, merely because he claims to be a Muslim. There are simply no grounds for that sort of religious opportunism and chauvinism in a liberation struggle. We have for too long, in too many places around the world, provided theological legitimation for the very kind of inequality between rich and poor that is now being rebelled against in South Africa.

Islam needs to rediscover the basis of its identity, asking to what extent suggestions that Allah provides for all of us in different degrees and that we should be satisfied with our lot in life, are really little more than ruling class ideology imposed on the poor in the name of Allah. That kind of religion is no more than the opiate of which Marx spoke. There is, on the other hand, an ethical incentive in the Qur'an that needs to be rediscovered and related to the world in which we live. For this to happen, however, Islam is obliged to look critically at its own soul. It is a process that is beginning to happen despite the desperate attempts by some within our ranks to suppress all forms of dissent.

Rasool believes the liberating incentive at work in South Africa knows

no limits and no restrictions. "Muslims cannot be part of a political struggle for renewal and expect that struggle not to reach into their own structures," he argues. "The ANC and other political groupings that favour renewal need, in turn, to understand that there are no short cuts to mobilising the Muslim constituency for change. To simply fraternise with a few Sheikhs and Imams is not enough. The ANC needs to engage the Muslim community in dialogue, challenging fears, racism and other hang-ups, while allowing itself to be challenged by the legitimate concerns of the Muslim tradition."

Women

Rasool sees no contradiction between being both pro-Muslim and being in favour of women's rights. He is in agreement with Ali Mazrui, the renowned Islamic and African scholar, in speaking of an "interrupted Islamic revolution on women's rights" which needs to be reactivated. Mazrui describes pre-Islamic Arabia as fostering one of the most sexist societies of the ancient world. Women were regarded so lowly that infanticide among female babies was widespread. Polygamy was without restriction and men could divorce their wives virtually at will, while it was near-impossible for women to divorce their husbands.

"Within a generation," suggests Rasool, "Islam had stopped the practice of infanticide, restricted polygamy and expanded women's property rights. Islam teaches that 'paradise is at the feet of mothers', opening up huge theological possibilities concerning the rights of women." This possibility was interrupted essentially by two developments in Muslim history. The rise of royalist Islam after the death of the Prophet Muhammad and the later termination of the Ijtihad (independent judicial review by individuals) which located legal authority in the hands of religious leaders. The outcome was eventually the emergence of Muslim royal dynasties which gave rise to the institution of harems and separation of the sexes. The closing of the gates of the Ijtihad in the seventh century, in turn, took away the right of individual interpretation of the Qur'an and the Sunna (Islamic tradition). "The outcome," says Rasool, "was the aborting of a progressive thrust inherent in early Islam."

"Let me leave it there," he continues. "I have already been too critical of Islam which I love, which gives me identity and which I will affirm until my dying day. It is enough to observe that the teaching of Islam

on women leaves a great deal to be desired." Widely known as a person committed to equality between the sexes, I ask Rasool whether he practises this equality in his own home. "At the risk of sounding arrogant, I am probably one of the very few Muslims around who tries to live a totally non-sexist life. From the time that Rashida and I were married, we have shared all responsibilities in life from cooking, to caring for the baby and cleaning the house."

The Rasools have named their daughter Tahrir Thandeka, Arabic and African names which mean respectively 'to be free' and 'to be loved'. "She is a symbol of our commitment to Islam, to Africa and to social justice."

PHOTO ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Diana Russell and Mayibuye Centre, UWC