Ulama, The State, & War
Ulama, The State, & War
Islam-State Relations in the Aceh Conflict
Religion & Human Security
Negotiating the Power of Religious Non-State Actors
University of Washington (8-9 May 2008)
Shane Joshua Barter
PhD Candidate, Department of Political Science, University of British Columbia
Canadian Consortium on Human Security (CCHS) Fellow[1]
In the study of violent conflict, the attention garnered by non-systemic domestic factors has evolved considerably.[2] Particular attention has been paid to the importance of ethno-religious identity in driving and defining conflict, an emphasis especially evident for studies of Islam. Islam is often viewed as a cause of conflict, a source for conflict entrepreneurs, an avenue for recruitment, and a source of peace.[3] Islamic reform movements are viewed as a threat to both state and society, but also a source of social services, leadership, legitimacy, and global partnerships. Islamic clerics have especially come under fire, with boarding schools seen as breeding grounds for extremism. The literature on Islam, the state, and war is marked by contradictory or indeterminate findings. What is the relationship between Islam and the state in times of conflict? More appropriately, under what conditions does Islam strengthen the state, escape from it, or resist it?[4] What are the implications for humanitarian actions?
This paper presents a case study of how community Islamic leaders reacted to the separatist conflict in Aceh, Indonesia.[5] Despite a history of religious conflict led by highly organized Ulama,[6] the recent separatist conflict was uniquely secular, fought in terms of self-determination and human rights, not Islam. The position of Islam during the conflict provides an interesting avenue for exploration. Based on village-level discussions during several research trips to Aceh, my most general finding is that, unlike village chiefs, Acehnese Ulama lacked consistent roles during the conflict. In this single case, I found non-state religious actors supporting, escaping from, and subverting the state. Alone, this finding may not be surprising. Lacking a centralized clergy or ordainment, Islamic leaders are consistently diverse. What is more interesting is that not only did the positions of Muslim leaders vary, but how they varied was determined by conflict dynamics. In areas dominated by the Indonesian state, the Ulama tended to join state organizations and criticize the rebels. In contested areas, the Ulama largely withdrew from politics. In rebel strongholds, the Ulama fought against state forces and presided over conservative rebel court systems. The significance of these findings is debateable, as the Ulama could be seen as opportunistic or empathetic, depending on the predisposition of the reader. More clearly, it points to the diversity of Islam within even a single case, providing opportunities for engagement. My findings suggest that Islam is unique only to the degree to which it is not monolithic.
This paper begins by reviewing how writers frame Islam as resisting, supporting, or escaping the state. Second, I turn to Aceh: an overview of Islam and the state in historical conflicts, the background to the recent conflict, and field research exploring how village religious leaders responded to separatism. Third, I analyze these findings in light of the above debates, and conclude by considering policy implications.
I ISLAM, THE STATE, & WAR
What is the position of Islam in relation to the state during violent conflict? During intrastate conflicts, should we expect religious leaders to rally against the state, withdraw from politics, or work with the state? In this section, I review how particular Islamic tenets and cases are emphasized by a range of writers to privilege each of the three relationships. Few writers suggest a deterministic relationship, but instead privilege certain propensities. In the end, I find a fourth approach, in which not only does Islam allow all three possibilities, but institutional traits in the faith consistently lead to diverse positions.
Resisting the State
Islam is commonly portrayed as a party to violent movements resisting the state. Arguments emphasizing how Islam resists the state are diverse; to help organize them, it is helpful to distinguish between Islam resisting the state and resisting a state. Resisting the state is the more radical stance, in which the very concept of the territorial state is challenged, not just the form it takes. Islam can be said to challenge the state because its core tenets are universal, beyond race, class, or borders. Islam does not see its collective identity constrained by any man-made institutions. Islam began by uniting tribal groups and developing a community of believers: the Ummah.[7] Like transnational civil society and multinational corporations, the Ummah challenges state sovereignty through the movement of people and ideas, as well as supranational identities. An individual’s loyalty may be split between states and transnational religious loyalties; this is evident for many religions and identities, but the Ummah provides a particularly strong foundation. If Muslims in one region are abused, as in Mindanao or Palestine, it is the concern of believers everywhere.[8] Transnational Muslim identity is reinforced by the Haj, scholarly networks,[9] trading networks, and the use of the Arabic language. More recently, Wahhabi financial aid, media such as al-Jazeera, the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC), and the Islamic resurgence more generally have added to a sense of global Islamic identity. In extreme cases, the Ummah is evoked to support demands for dismantling the state and recreating the Caliphate.[10] Such demands tend to be vague attempts to justify violent actions. Those who advocate overthrowing the state, as well as observers preoccupied with such threats, occupy the fringes of both Islam and research.[11] The relationship between transnational Islamic identity and the state is ambiguous. The Ummah can also bring allies and foreign aid to Muslim states, and can coexist with state borders. This is clearly true of the OIC, whose members are largely states. As I will discuss, Islam contains more teachings on how to build the state than it does to dismantle it.
More concrete is Islam’s propensity to resist a state—conflicts with foreign non-Muslim states, non-Muslim states, or insufficiently Muslim regimes. First, Islam can provide a source of resistance against foreign, non-Muslim aggression. Religion can demarcate combatants, help overcome collective action problems, and provide certainty, legitimacy, and alliance. It is not unreasonable to suggest that Islam has greater potential to demarcate and mobilize due to a greater emphasis on politics and conflict in its teachings, as well as an especially strong sense of transnational identity through the Ummah. Framing Islam this way could lead to primordialist assumptions that conflicts emerge from civilizational divisions.[12] Noting that Islam contains teachings which may help sustain conflicts with non-Muslim states should not lead to determinist or causal assumptions. Against European colonialism, Israel, the Soviet Union, and the United States, Islam has been a rallying point and contains lessons to sustain resistance.[13] It is also true that local feuds and self-interest often trump religious solidarity.[14] But counter-cases do not mean that Islam has not been a rallying point of resistance in some instances. Primordialism and materialism need not be exclusive; there are certainly teachings in Islam that can sustain conflict with non-Muslim states.
Islam also inspires minorities to resist or separate from non-Muslim majorities. Although this is not always the case, Muslim minority populations tend towards isolation or separatism. Islam presents a strong sense of identity and boundary, demarcating Muslims from non-Muslims. Muslim communities often build their own institutions, namely schools, which reinforce group solidarity.[15] This means that assimilation efforts run up against a particularly strong wall. By itself, this is not a bad thing, but when faced with encroachment by non-Muslim states, frequently leads to separatism. It is commonly believed that Muslims must live under Muslim governments in order to pass as genuine believers. John Voll engages the assumption that a political system not controlled by Muslims “would logically seem to be incomplete if not illegitimate”, and that Muslim minorities have a duty to rebel or emigrate.[16] He finds that Islam’s non-hierarchical nature, particularly Tariqah groups and Sufi teachings, allow for flexibility and acculturation. In the past, Jewish and Christian minorities were guaranteed rights under Muslim rulers, suggesting that states need not be homogenous in Islam. Minority resistance is conditioned by religion, but is rooted more in the policies of majority states.[17]
Third, Islam can be used to resist a state which, although Muslim, is considered insufficiently so by voices demanding more Islamic politics.[18] The character of Muslim reform movements depends a great deal on how the state responds to demands. This is at the heart of the relationship between non-state religious actors and the state. Whether or not calls for Islamicization means strengthening, resisting, or overthrowing the state depends on the predisposition of the observer, the nature of the movement in question, and most of all the stance of the government—namely whether channels for reform are open or not. Much depends on how calls for change are handled, and in this way, Islamic reform is not unlike a number of movements—from civil society to those seeking racial equality—in which protest treads a fine line between opposing and strengthening. The most obvious example of Islamicization as a threat to a state is by revolution, as in Iran. But revolutions are rare, requiring particularly strong, mobilized Muslim leaders and a uniquely unpopular government. In many cases, Islamic organizations begin by trying to influence the state from within, becoming more radical, and even violent, as avenues of influence are blocked.[19] The result is that some movements wish to develop an alternative state (Hamas, the Islamic Brotherhood), while others are able work within it (PAS, Nahdlatul Ulama).[20]
Strengthening the State
Islam clearly contains elements that can be used to resist either the sovereign nation-state or a particular form of it. But the state can also be strengthened by incorporating Islam, which provides statist teachings, can be become part of national identity, can be harnessed by corporatist states, and contains reformist movements which can extend state capacity and improve the welfare of its population.
First, Islam contains numerous teachings which lend themselves to the state.[21] In Islam, religion is “is not separate from, but rather organically related to, the state…reflected quite strikingly in the development of Islamic Law.”[22] Frequently, debates over how to implement Sharia Law pbscure the fact that it presupposes the state in some form. In many parts of the world, Islam brought early models of the state, as in the southern Philippines. Not only can Islamic teachings support the state, they can also be used to establish a progressive one. Islam contains strong traditions of opposing tyranny; like a constitution, religious texts provide limitations for rulers, however unlike constitutions, such texts are also above the state. Today, Muslim thinkers find inspiration in Islam for feminism, multiculturalism, finance, deliberation, and democracy.[23] Clearly, in practice Islam has not nurtured many democratic political systems, and Islam contains many teachings which speak against such polities. The point here is that beyond containing tenets which support the state, Islam contains potential for progressive politics.
A sense of national identity is generally considered necessary for a strong state, and religious identity is a central component of this. Discussions of Islam and politics almost invariably touch on the transnational Ummah and the close linkages between Islam and the state; rarely do writers consider the tension between them. The ideal of the Ummah is that it unites all Muslims, but “the reality of Islamic history often departed from the ideological.”[24] Islam frequently becomes part of national identity, providing unity, symbols, and legitimacy. Robert Hefner refers to this as Islam becoming “the moral basis of the nation.”[25] Voll adds that “it is clear in actual human experience that Islam is often a factor reinforcing loyalty to a national unit.”[26] Throughout the world, Islam has been adapted to local cultures, becoming indigenized parts of local identities. The national identities of even the most liberal Muslim countries are defined largely by faith, creating forms of “Islamic nationalism”.[27] Most Muslim countries include Islamic imagery on their flags, build national Mosques, fund national Islamic research centers, and establish national Haj bureaucracies.[28]
The desire of Muslim rulers to cite Islam for instrumental reasons can lead to a range of outcomes. In some situations, the state may lose control and be challenged by Muslim reformers. But in other cases, governments have been relatively successful in harnessing Islam and creating organizations of loyal, pro-government religious officials. Roy describes this as the clericalization of Islam: “the state controls the large madrasa, names a mufti or shaykh al-islam and tries to give these authorities a monopoly on the nomination of mullahs and judges.”[29] This is especially common among socialist-inspired systems, as evident in Egypt, the Soviet Union, China, and Libya. Clearly, Muslims voices within corporatist bodies are constrained, however “it would be a mistake simply to charge these spokespersons with being toadies or hypocrites.”[30] State Islamic organizations can provide space for the study and preservation of faith in authoritarian environments. But, as we will see for Aceh, the state is the primary benefactor in such relationships, with religious leaders joining for mixtures of pragmatism and self-interest.
In the Islamic Resurgence, many Muslims have come to demand stronger Muslim internationalism, greater social piety, and perhaps an Islamic State (although the form is contested). This has led to a crisis for many Muslim governments. Instead of using Islam for symbolic legitimacy, they must increasingly pursue substantive changes. Muslim leaders willing to work with Islamists risk punishment from Western allies, Islamists may curtail individual rights, and regimes may lose power if acquiescing to Islamists emboldens further demands. But working with Islamists also brings potential benefits: following popular will, gaining voice in Islamist movements, taming radical demands, and improving state capacity. Like globalization, states which suppress Islamicization may prove unable to influence the direction it takes. By working with Islamist groups, secular-inclined leaders position themselves to engage with reformers, and even reap some benefits. Many Islamic modernists provide social services such as health, education, and welfare to their communities. These efforts are generally successful, owing to the zeal of volunteers, the scale of religious infrastructure, and sometimes foreign Muslim aid. For developing countries, working against such efforts is bound to cost precious resources as well as popularity, whereas working with such groups can help the state provide for its population.
Escaping the State
A third relationship involves retreating from political life to focus on spiritual or social concerns. All world religions have elements of transcendence, in which adherents withdraw from worldly concerns and focus on spiritual ones. This tendency is illustrated by Egypt’s Hijira movements (Tafkir wal-Hijra, People of the Cave) or Malaysia’s Darul Arqam communalists, each closing off from the world to practice purer faith.[31] Muslim escapism is generally associated with Sufism, especially with wandering mystics and Tariqah orders. Withdrawing from current affairs and immersing oneself in sacred texts can mean a number of things: meditation, study, coping, or social reform.[32] Returning to the book is often a way to cope with authoritarian environments, especially for religious groups hoping to avoid co-optation by state organizations but are not ready to mobilize against them.[33] There is also support in Islamic teachings for a secular relationship between Islam and the state, creating “Islam without the politics” so that religion is not debased by worldly concerns.[34]
In the face of authoritarian states, Islam can serve as an escape from politics. This is also true in environments where no single actor has power, and politics are contested. During many conflicts, many Muslim leaders use faith to help sustain their communities. Although Islam can be a party to violence, its role in conflict is frequently to provide a sense of micro-level conflict resilience, wherein Islamic leaders eschew political stances and take up healing roles. Anthropologists have long noted that, in regions with ineffective or illegitimate states, village Muslim leaders act as sources of conflict resilience. Frederick Barth’s 1959 study of Pakistani borderlands notes that, even though some Imam led rebellions against the British, their predominant role was to settle disputes and conflicts. Muslim “saints” acted as mediators for conflicting parties, their legitimacy based on reputations of “holiness and piety.”[35] Sophisticated rules of war are frequently enforced by village Islamic leaders; in Pathan society, Barth notes that donning a white turban signifies neutrality among the Ulama, allowing passage between warring parties and making their homes become sanctuaries[36] Muslim leaders are frequently a source of non-violence and learning in rural societies, often contrasted to more verbose village chiefs.[37] Recently, Peace Studies scholars have turned towards religious systems of community conflict resolution, arriving at similar views of Islam as a source of peace.[38] The logic here is that conflicts lack objective meaning and overcoming them requires local views and partnerships with traditional cultural conflict resolution mechanisms.[39] It is commonly accepted that religion is central to reconciliation and healing after conflicts, especially in face to face communities.[40] Again, these authors do not argue that Islam is apolitical and inherently peaceful, but instead that it has the potential for achieving such ends and frequently is used to build peace.
Diversity by Design
Islam, like other world religions, contains examples as well as inspiration for the entire universe of state-society relationships. At times, Muslim leaders resist the state or a particular regime, at times they support the state, and at times they exit politics altogether. The Islamic world contains immense political diversity, with Muslim majority states ranging from secular, to Muslim majority, to Islamic. Islamicization can be led by monarchs (Saudi Arabia), clerics (Iran), and laypersons (North Africa).[41] Relationships between Islam and the state vary by country, and this is also the norm within countries. Even in Iran, whose Ulama are considered the most politically active, history shows the universe of types; “the relationship between the Ulama and the state in Iranian history varied from royal patronage to opposition, depending on the sociopolitical context.”[42] According to Ann Lambton,
The Ulama formed a numerous but by no means uniform group. On the one hand some of the leading religious figures performed official functions for the government, received stipends and pensions from them, and were thereby compromised; and others, by their interest in waqf land, had a certain community of interest with the landowning classes. On the other hand, because of their connection with the religious law and religious learning, the Ulama were held in respect by almost all sections of the population; and had especially close relations with the merchants and the craft guilds.[43]
That even Shia Islam in a revolutionary state contained so many voices appears somewhat surprising. Diverse Islam-state relations are found throughout the Muslim world. Geertz’ comparison of modernization in Morocco and Indonesia concludes that Muslim communities can abandon traditional beliefs for foreign ones, modernize beliefs through local nationalism, and purify beliefs by returning to scripture.[44]
Hefner points out that “Islamic values like those of most other religions can be interpreted to support the most varied of political orders.”[45] That Islam is diverse should not be surprising, and it is true that all faiths and cultures contain diversity. The exceptional level of political diversity within Islam is frequently overlooked. Islam is consistently inconsistent. This suggests a stronger position, that there are unique institutional traits within Islam which consistently produce diverse relationships with the state. Beyond resisting, strengthening, or escaping from the state, it is possible that organizational features predispose Islam to contain a unique degree of fragmentation.
The major institutional factor which predetermines Islam towards diversity is that it lacks an ecclesia class.[46] There are no churches in Islam, and there are no priests. Without a system of ordainment or certification, one should expect to find a great range of teachings, level of education, outlook, and affiliation among Islamic figures. While Islam lacks popes, Brahmans, and Sangha, but it does contain guides, namely Ulama.[47] But even here, there is no organization standard certification.[48] Many states have sought to standardize the Ulama, but the result is at best a patchwork. One becomes an Alim by securing support from senior Ulama, certification by Islamic organizations, or recognition from state bodies. Ulama vary by their assigned texts, schools of jurisprudence, political outlook, and levels of education. Because Islam lacks priests, and its gatekeepers are highly decentralized, Islam is organizationally predisposed towards the range of state-religion relationships.
II STATE-ISLAM RELATIONS IN THE ACEH CONFLICT
What is the relationship between Islam and the state in times of conflict? More appropriately, under what conditions do Muslim actors resist the state, support it, or escape from it? Is it likely that, due to the organizational features of Islam, we should consistently find all three relationships? Are Ulama motivated by material or normative factors? I turn to the recent separatist conflict in Aceh, Indonesia. My goal is both to understand the role of religion in this largely non-religious conflict, as well as to help answer and illustrate the above questions. First though, I offer a brief overview of Aceh’s historical conflicts, focusing on the relationship between religious leaders and the state. The story told is that historical conflicts led to a highly politicized, organized, and popular Acehnese Ulama class, making Aceh a likely case for cohesive Ulama resisting the state.
Ulama & Historical Conflicts
The origins of the Acehnese state are largely in a religious response to aggressive Portuguese colonialism. Historically, there has always been a dominant trading centre along the Straits of Malacca servicing the China-India and spice trades, be it Langkasuka, Malacca, Aceh, Penang, or Singapore. In 1511, Portugal sacked Malacca, wresting the entrepôt economy from Muslim traders. The Portuguese arrived with anti-Muslim antipathy. Muslim traders were driven away in search for a rival port, many settling in Pasai, a tributary state of Malacca on the tip of Sumatra with an early reputation for Islamic study.[49] Pasai proved ideal: it was already Muslim, an earlier stop for Eastward travellers, en route to the secondary Sunda Straits route, suited to growing spices such as pepper, and boasted well-protected ports. The influx of trade, statecraft, and religion was a direct factor in the transformation of Pasai into the Aceh Sultanate. Sultan Iskandar Muda (r. 1607-1636) reigned over what is commonly referred to as Aceh’s Golden Age, enjoying cultural growth, political relations with Turkish and Indian states, military expansion,[50] and a series of influential Ulama. Iskandar Muda was perhaps best known for his continuous attacks on Portuguese Malacca, in which Islam provided “an ideological basis for the Muslim struggle against the Portuguese.”[51] Islam was squarely a force for building the early Acehnese state.
For the next two centuries, internal discord and Dutch economic power led to decline. Meanwhile, Aceh’s sense of Islamic identity evolved considerably, most notably through the teachings of scholars such as al-Raniri and al-Singkili.[52] Islam provided a rich source of cultural learning, but transnational Islamic authority also limited Acehnese sovereignty. The most notable example concerns Aceh’s four consecutive Sultanas; after being solicited by Acehnese Ulama, the Sharif of Mecca proclaimed to Aceh in 1699 that women were not permitted to rule. The edict resulted in the abdication of the Sultana and the installation of a young male ruler.[53] In this sense, the Ummah directly challenged a particular regime as well as the sovereignty of the Acehnese state.
Beginning with the 1824 Anglo-Dutch Treaty, Aceh was in the precarious position of having its sovereignty recognized by European powers, but at the same time the island of Sumatra was claimed by the Dutch. The Dutch invaded in 1873, an attack which became the largest military operation in Dutch colonial history. Over four decades of fighting, leadership of anti-Dutch guerilla forces shifted to the Ulama, who united Aceh through the frame of Holy War, organized through mosques and Friday sermons. The Ulama penned the Hikayat Prang Sabil (Tale of the Holy War), which declared anti-Dutch resistance to be obligatory for all Muslims and proclaimed the glory of martyrdom.[54] Over sixty years of resistance, the Ulama cemented their presence in Acehnese politics and society.[55] In the 1930s, Muslim leaders throughout the Indies were swept up in a wave of modern organizations. Instead of joining Indonesian religious organizations, Acehnese Ulama formed the PUSA (Persatuan Ulama Seluruh Aceh, All-Aceh Ulama Association). The PUSA was led by charismatic Alim Daud Beureueh, who combined Islamic teachings with anti-colonial nationalism and Western organization. In line with developments in Islam throughout the colonized world, Beureueh and PUSA “belonged to the authentic tradition of religious revival,” but envisioned “a path that led forward rather than back.”[56] The PUSA resisted Dutch rule, gained Japanese aid, and actually defeated the Dutch prior to the arrival of the Japanese. The Japanese interregnum provided military training, but Japanese abuses also reinforced the idea that any rule by non-Muslims was unacceptable. After World War II, Beureueh and the Ulama carried out a social revolution, massacring Dutch collaborators and establishing political hegemony.[57] Led by a revolutionary Ulama military government, Aceh was the only part of the Indies which did not fall to the returning Dutch. Acehnese forces fought in support of the Indonesian Republic, although unlike Javanese forces, they framed their resistance in terms of religious war.
Fifty years of Dutch rule resulted in a powerful, popular Ulama government that joined Sukarno’s Republic with the expectation that the country would become an Islamic state.[58] But, like other post-colonial rulers, Sukarno was a secular nationalist. Sukarno centralized political power and rejected calls for Islamic Law. Significantly for the Acehnese, their province was merged into (largely Christian) North Sumatra, leading Aceh’s Ulama to rebellion. The Darul Islam Rebellion began in West Java in 1949, later joined by Sulawesi and Aceh. The goal of the Rebellion was to establish an Islamic state, however each front was largely motivated by local concerns. Aceh’s part in the conflict began in 1953, gaining public support “because of the respect [the Ulama] enjoyed among the Acehnese and because of their Islamic values and goals.”[59] Acehnese soldiers frequently chanted prayers in battle, referring to Muslim Javanese as unbelievers or Dutch agents.[60] The conflict was slowly overcome through a series of negotiations in the 1960s, with Aceh regaining its provincial status and the autonomy to implement Islamic law. Islam again was a source of political mobilization, this time against an insufficiently Muslim Republic.
In 1965, the Suharto era began with the massacre of hundreds of thousands of communists, including a range of intellectuals and personal rivals. The cull was carried out largely by Muslim student organizations with military support.[61] After years of Sukarno’s suppression of political Islam, especially of modernist organizations in the Outer Islands, it was expected that Suharto would usher in a new era of Islam-state relations. This he did, but not in the way expected by the archipelago’s faithful. Unlike Sukarno, Suharto spoke favourably of Islamic values (as well as traditional Javanist beliefs), seeking to harness political Islam instead of eliminating it.[62] He did so by creating corporatist venues for the expression of Islam, bringing Muslim groups within the New Order.
A decade into the New Order, the autonomy promised to Aceh had been rescinded. But the previously rebellious Ulama were conspicuously silent. After purging the communists, many Ulama were preoccupied with New Order corporatist Muslim bodies such as the state-sanctioned Muslim political party (PPP: Partai Persatuan Pembangunan, or United Development Party),[63] the new Aceh campus of the state Islamic University (Institut Agama Islam Negeri, IAIN), and the state-sanctioned Ulama Consultative Assembly (Majelis Permusyawaratan Ulama, MPU).[64] The Ulama were also weak for internal reasons. Enrollment at traditional Islamic boarding schools (Dayah) had fallen considerably due to competition from modern state-run Madrasah.[65] Another problem was that, due to decades of conflict, teaching a new generation of Ulama had been neglected.[66] Meanwhile, a new secular elite produced by Acehnese Universities grew substantially, swelling the ranks of Suharto’s GOLKAR Party and the provincial bureaucracy, and dominating Aceh’s economy. In 1974, the contract for a rich liquid natural gas (LNG) deposit was awarded to a consortium of Suharto loyalists, the military, and Mobil Oil. Excluded from this contract was a group of Acehnese businessman led by Hasan di Tiro.
In 1976 contract, di Tiro and a handful of businessmen created the Free Aceh Movement (GAM, Gerakan Aceh Merdeka). The GAM lacked sufficient training or support, and were quickly defeated. Over the next decade, the GAM was largely dormant within Aceh, but active abroad, receiving training in Libya and establishing themselves internationally. The GAM returned in 1989, prompting Indonesia to declare the province a Military Operations Area (Daerah Operasi Militer, DOM). This is when the conflict really began. The vaguely defined DOM resulted in military control of Aceh’s economy severe human rights abuses against Acehnese civilians. By the mid-1990s, public support had shifted to the GAM. When Suharto fell in 1998, Aceh was in full rebellion. The East Timor example emboldened Acehnese calls for independence, illustrated by massive pro-referendum rallies. By 2000, the Indonesian Military (Tentara Nasional Indonesia, TNI) had regrouped, leading to fierce battles. Fighting continued throughout several rounds of peace talks, the GAM attacking Javanese minorities and the TNI continuing its brutality towards Acehnese. The December 2004 Tsunami killed hundreds of thousands, but also brought Aceh into the global spotlight, deepened war fatigue, provided some renewed goodwill towards Indonesia, and accelerated the peace process which had been revived by a newly elected Presidential team. The resultant August 2005 Helsinki Peace Agreement has held, with former GAM officials winning the Governorship and district posts in 2006. Although one should never say a conflict is over, if violence returns to Aceh, it will likely be in the form of organized crime, as separatism seems to have run its course.
It is commonly accepted, though rarely explained, that the conflict lacked religious dimensions. If anything, religious organizations in Aceh supported the state through corporatist bodies.[67] On several occasions, the Indonesian Government steered the conflict towards Islam, enacting Sharia Law despite GAM protests and facilitating the arrival of Islamic militants after the Tsunami.[68] Meanwhile, GAM leaders avoided references to Islam, speaking solely to Western states and constructing an ethnic nationalist discourse partially cleansed of Islamic elements. Based in Sweden, GAM leaders originally spoke in terms of socialism and anti-colonialism, later shifting a human rights frame to legitimize independence.[69] Far from being a source of rebellion, Islam served to strengthen the state at elite levels. Why did Islam play such a conservative role? Jacques Bertrand writes that after years of human rights abuses, “the objectives of creating an Islamic state had long given way to disillusion and, now, disgust with the treatment of the Acehnese.”[70] It is unclear, however, why human rights abuses would lead to a decrease in religious sentiment. A century earlier, abuse from the Dutch had the opposite effect. Edward Aspinall explains the absence of Islam by the fact that Islam cannot be mobilized for separatism when the enemy is also Muslim.[71] Although Aspinall’s argument is not without merit, he affords insufficient attention to Islam mobilizing Acehnese against Indonesia during the Darul Islam Rebellion, the belief among Acehnese that Javanese are not ‘true’ Muslims, one that GAM leaders simply lack religious credentials. At elite levels, Islam was largely muted through corporatist bodies. How Islam manifested itself at lower levels has yet to be explored in any depth.
In the 1960s, Aceh would have been a most likely case of united, rebellious Ulama. Suharto-era corporatism and economic development have clearly weakened Aceh’s Ulama. During the separatist conflict, the role of Islam at elite levels was somewhere between neutral and pro-state. Despite this, GAM rank and file, civil society, and Acehnese in general remained pious Muslims and still hold the Ulama in high esteem. This suggests a need to look beyond high-level institutions and towards micro-level actors to understand the position of popular Islam in relation to the state. During the recent separatist conflict, did community-level Muslim figures support the state, escape from it, or resist it? Did Acehnese state-Ulama relations display expected patterns of diversity?
Masuk Kampong
The following is based several trips to Aceh between 2005 and 2008, including two months living in a village in Aceh Besar, which I shall refer to as Damee. I also spent several weeks in Bireuen (North Aceh), the capital city of Banda, and some time in West and East Aceh. It is useful to begin with a brief look at Muslim leaders in Aceh. The Ulama are heads of Dayah, high school to college level Islamic boarding schools. In contrast to other Muslim societies, most Acehnese villages (Kampong) have a resident Alim. Most villagers respect the Ulama a great deal, although Ulama vary considerably in education and prestige, with the most prominent referred to as Wali. Smaller schools, usually pesantren, are led by Imam; while they do not carry the same prestige as Ulama, Imam remain important figures. Ustadz in Aceh are considered more academic than Ulama, reside mostly in Banda, and play a marginal role in Acehnese politics. Unofficial religious figures such as Hajis command respect, but are usually Ulama / Imam or politicians. As I will discuss, Muslim student organizations played many important roles during the conflict. Finally, the Mukim is a traditional Acehnese administrative position, not recognized by Indonesia but very much recognized by villagers, whose jurisdiction straddles the sub-district (Kecamatan) and village (Kampong) levels. Because the Mukim tends to be more liberal than the Ulama, he is frequently sought after for family advice.
This leads me to non-religious, administrative positions. The Keucik is the village chief, an elected position which generally garners a great deal of respect among villagers. The Keucik is best understood as the village’s representative to the state. This is in stark contrast to the unelected, administrative sub-district and district heads (Camat and Bupati), who tend to be viewed more as Jakarta’s representatives to the village. Keucik played remarkably consistent roles in protecting villagers throughout the province. Keucik were mobilized, though not necessarily politicized; nearly every respondent I spoke with, even combatants, emphasized the importance of neutrality among Keucik.[72] Chiefs played a number of important roles during the conflict, including representing their village to combatant units, handling state resources, and acting as lawyers for detained villagers. The latter role was the most interesting, found in every village I visited.[73] As a lawyer, the Keucik employed a number of strategies to help villagers, such as providing an alibi, plea bargaining, documenting the case to avoid extrajudicial execution, helping the suspect to escape, vouching for the suspect, enlisting religious leaders to limit abuses, or guaranteeing to watch over a suspect if he is released. Among dozens of examples, a story from Damee is especially illustrative. After a villager was arrested by the Indonesian mobile police (BRIMOB) for being an informant (cuak), the Keucik went to the BRIMOB outpost to negotiate his release. The head of BRIMOB, who had just been transferred from Java, arrested and beat the Keucik for being pro-GAM. Meanwhile, the Mukim organized a number of villagers, including some TNI, and successfully pressured BRIMOB to release the chief and the suspect.[74] To a remarkable extent, village chiefs in Aceh followed a cultural script, taking up active roles which many villagers expected of them.
Were Muslim leaders as mobilized and cohesive as village chiefs? Initially, most religious leaders tried to avoid involvement, but were pulled into the conflict in the course of carrying out religious duties such as teaching, burials, and providing sanctuary. As teachers, the Ulama came into conflict with combatants when their students included enemy kin. Just outside of Banda, the Sibreh pesantren housed many children of GAM soldiers; while the children were never taken by Indonesian forces, the Alim was frequently harassed by the TNI, who wanted help tracking GAM families.[75] A second issue concerned burials, duties generally reserved for Imam and low-level Ulama. After battles, fallen soldiers would be left to rot by the winning side. Like Antigone, the Ulama throughout the province felt a strong obligation to give the soldiers a proper burial, which brought them into conflict with combatants who viewed this compassion as allegiance. One Imam explained that after a firefight in Aceh Besar, five rebels were killed and their bodies dumped. Despite warnings, he organized a search for the bodies once the TNI left. The Imam cleaned the decomposing bodies and gave them a proper Muslim burial. The TNI discovered this and confined the Imam to his village for the remainder of the conflict as punishment.[76] A third way Ulama were pulled into the conflict occurred when individuals claimed sanctuary within mosques or schools.[77] One leading Alim noted that boarding schools acted as safe havens for suspected GAM as well as young Acehnese women harassed by soldiers. Soldiers were often blocked from entering by the Ulama. On rare occasions, the soldiers destroyed the school, but for the most part, the soldiers, who are also Muslims, felt obliged to back down.[78]
What is interesting is that, even though all religious leaders were pulled into the conflict, this led to mobilization only among some Ulama. As expected, I found that the responses of Muslim leaders varied, with individuals supporting, avoiding, and resisting the state. What was more surprising though was that the mobilization of religious leaders followed conflict dynamics so closely. Ulama in areas controlled by the Indonesian state tended to support the government, Ulama in contested areas tended to avoid the conflict and focus on spiritual matters, and Ulama in rebel-dominated areas frequently joined the rebels. The historically cohesive, mobilized Ulama were all pulled into the conflict, but demonstrated diverse reactions conditioned by material considerations and circumstances.
Banda, South Aceh, and parts of Aceh Besar were largely controlled by Indonesia. Pro-Indonesian Ulama can be separated into career Ulama (those earning a living through state organizations) and pesantren Ulama (active teachers).[79] Among the former, Ulama were clearly supportive of the state. Career Ulama include paid officials in the provincial legislature, universities, political bodies, and state-sponsored Ulama organizations. Indonesian authorities frequently called upon such Ulama to support their policies and speak out against the GAM. Career Ulama were often corrupt, overlooked human rights abuses, and were not responsive to Acehnese opinion. But as with state Islam in other countries, it is important not to totally dismiss statist groups. Many pro-Indonesia Ulama had good reasons to resist the GAM. The Vice President of the MPU, who was a member of the mission organized by the Indonesian Government to pressure the GAM during peace talks, voiced important concerns against GAM abuses of Javanese minorities, citing the Koran on the importance of transcending tribalism and supporting Pancasila.[80] Not all loyalist Ulama were careerists. Javanese pesantren Ulama had clear reasons to resist the GAM, despite not being on the state payroll. Ethnic Acehnese pesantren Ulama in Indonesia-dominated areas also tended to support the state, critical of the GAM for not being sufficiently Muslim and unconvinced their struggle was justified in terms of Islam.[81]
There were some Muslim voices in Indonesia-dominated areas that did not support the state. Some of these voices were from Ulama, especially those constituting the HUDA (Himpunan Ulama Dayah Aceh). Although a member of the MPU and based in Banda, the HUDA includes many activist rural Ulama, occupying a middle ground by criticizing both sides of the conflict and calling for “peaceful action linked with Islamic teachings.”[82] The lone Muslim voices in Indonesian territory directly opposed to the state were student organizations at the state Islamic University (IAIN al-Raniry). Al-Raniry was home to exceptionally active student groups, usually comprised of rural members.[83] Students led large protests against TNI abuses and called for ceasefires during religious holidays. But generally, Islamic student voices blended with (and its leaders almost invariably joined) NGOs. Like NGOs, Islamic student movements helped mitigate the conflict by distributing information, pressuring combatants, and providing aid, but rarely spoke in religious terms and never communicated to the Ummah. Despite being at the Islamic University and being personally pious, student movements did not frame their work in terms of religion: they were Muslims, not Islamic.[84] In general, Muslim leaders in Indonesia-dominated areas were critical of the GAM and worked within the state.
In areas which were contested between the state and the rebels, such as the mountains of Aceh Besar, the Ulama avoided politics. In Damee, one Imam told me that he avoided both sides at all costs, focusing on teaching and prayer duties.[85] In a different Aceh Besar village, a number of activist chiefs I spoke to had never even considered enlisting district Ulama to help them, agreeing that the Ulama should limit themselves to education and spirituality.[86] Returning to Damee, both the retired and current Ulama, though differing a great deal in their religious backgrounds and community roles, rejected the idea of Ulama involvement in the conflict. The retired Ulama described both sides as “rotten fruit”, praying that combatants on both sides would return to the Islam.[87] The new Alim, whom locals deride as fanatik, echoed these thoughts but was more authoritative, arguing that the conflict should not interest real Muslims.[88]
The story was very different in areas dominated by the GAM. Nearly every Ulama I spoke to around Bireuen strongly supported the rebels, sometimes joining them as advisors or judges. According to GAM Commander Kowboy, Muslim teachers increasingly supported his unit as the conflict continued, often refusing burial to TNI soldiers.[89] The reasons for supporting GAM were given quite clearly by the two ranking GAM Ulama. One GAM Ulama explained that after the TNI torched his pesantren for teaching GAM families, he fled to the jungle, outraged by TNI abuses. He explained that he “had to do more than just teach; Islam is a religion of living justice.”[90] The ranking GAM Ulama (Wali), an advisor to former GAM member Governor Irwandi, explained that through the GAM has he been able to deepen Islam. Many Ulama have joined GAM courts, which began in 2000 as a way to discipline soldiers, but quickly expanded to include a variety of societal offenses. Rebel courts were run by sympathetic Ulama who took the opportunity to establish Sharia Law, though resisting Indonesian Sharia authorities. Since the conflict ended, many Ulama refuse to return to the Dayah, remaining active in GAM political campaigns and village courts.[91] In a sense, the GAM has developed its own career Ulama, taking up political positions in place of traditional Dayah instruction.
Far more than I expected, the relationship between community Islamic leaders and the state was determined by conflict dynamics. But I do not wish to exaggerate the disunity of Acehnese Ulama. The Ulama have been more cohesive post-conflict, leading rehabilitation and reconciliation efforts. In all three regions, the Ulama have established special Koran recital classes for those traumatized by the war, focusing on passages related to healing and peace.[92] Additionally, a traditional ceremony called the Peusijuek has been modified to help heal communities. The Peusijuek originated as a means to celebrate returns from extended absences, usually study abroad or the Haj. The Peusijuek has been adapted autonomously by Ulama across the province to help former combatants and IDPs return to village life. This said, the procedure differs across districts. In GAM-dominated North Aceh, many Ulama assert that the ceremony is ethnically Acehnese, and is not to be performed for Javanese.[93] In the remainder of the province, the Peusijuek is more likely to be explained as a Muslim ceremony, adapted from the Hijara.[94] Despite Ulama holding diverse positions during the conflict, there remains a strong cultural expectation that Ulama heal their communities—although some define their communities more exclusively than others.
III ANALYSIS
During the Aceh conflict, the relationship between religious leaders and the state demonstrated exit, voice, and loyalty. The Aceh separatist conflict was a strong case for cohesive Muslim leaders to resist the state. Acehnese history is marked by highly mobilized Ulama; during the Dutch War, the Ulama faced a far more powerful enemy, but despite incentives favouring collaboration, they remained united and defiant despite material conditions. In the recent conflict, there were many possible religious grievances: the loss of religious autonomy, Suharto’s control of political Islam, Javanese leadership of Indonesian Islam, and human rights abuses. Despite being a strong case for united resistance, the Ulama and other religious leaders chose varied paths.
The Aceh case informs a number of approaches. Aceh shows that conflicts in devout Muslim areas need not develop into religious wars, providing a corrective for determinist assumptions that Islam is war-like. The expectation among Peace Studies and anthropology literatures that community religious leaders are a healing force is supported, however this role was limited to the post-conflict period. During the conflict, there was no such united healing role. Unsurprisingly, positions which assume Islam to be unitary, mobilized for war or peace, found no support. My research supports claims that Islamic teachings that support a range of positions. This said, the Aceh case does not necessarily support the stronger claim that Islam contains unique institutional elements which predispose it towards all three positions. It is true that all three positions were evident, and no doubt this was partly due to the decentralized nature of the faith. There was no legitimate, single Muslim authority to dictate appropriate responses to the conflict. But for the institutional explanation to be the primary one, a variety of positions should be found throughout Aceh’s districts. Instead, I found that the relationship between the Ulama and the state was heavily conditioned by material factors. The dynamics of the conflict predicted the positions of the Ulama, not religious or cultural factors. Material factors did not totally dominate, as evidenced by the consistent roles of village chiefs and the increased unity among Ulama after the conflict. Additionally, even though the positions of the Ulama were shaped by material conditions, all Ulama cited religious tenets to provide legitimacy for their positions. Although cultural factors were important in village conflict dynamics, material considerations were primary in the Aceh conflict.
What remains to be discussed is the meaning of the three positions being determined by conflict dynamics. The fact that the Ulama sided with the dominant party could be interpreted as opportunism. Simply put, in conflict environments it is safer to support the stronger actor. Ulama in Indonesian regions were on the state payroll and wanted to avoid trouble, Ulama in GAM regions did not want to get hurt so they became pro-rebel, and Ulama in contested areas were threatened by both sides so avoided politics altogether. The centrality of rational self-interest appears very convincing, and is consistently cited by Acehnese NGOs to explain the positions of pro-Indonesia Ulama.[95] But there is an alternative way to interpret the correlation of conflict reality and Ulama support. The Ulama may simply have been concerned with the welfare of their communities. In Indonesian areas, Ulama did not normally see TNI abuse; they saw the state providing for locals and heard the worst stories about the GAM. In GAM areas, religious leaders saw Indonesian abuse firsthand and were themselves abused, so it is reasonable that they should work with the rebels, who in North Aceh were a far more respectable organization than in other regions. In contested areas, both sides were at their worst, giving the Ulama no political outlet. Following material conditions can also be seen as rooted in concern for their community. This explanation was favoured by many rural Ulama, who were surprisingly tolerant towards their pro-Indonesia counterparts. According to one rural Alim, “Ulama in Banda live in comfort and do not see what is happening. We cannot escape what is happening.”[96]
Establishing which of these explanations is more convincing could be aided through the temporal comparison of districts whose positions shifted during the conflict. Unfortunately, based on preliminary fieldwork, this too is inconclusive. In remote West Aceh and Nagan Raya, which were controlled by the Indonesian state but later became GAM strongholds, the Ulama were mostly apolitical. This is not an enlightening result, as rulers on each side were essentially warlords, whose relationships with the Ulama and civilians were unpredictable.[97] On the other side of the province, East Aceh was controlled by the GAM but recaptured by Indonesian forces. Today, regional Ulama largely voice support for the GAM, but do so quietly. East Aceh Ulama were politicized, but not mobilized. The implications are inconclusive. Further, regions where control shifted from one combatant to another are most likely to change in the future and be bitterly fought, providing religious leaders with self-interested and community-interested reasons to avoid mobilization. It appears that there was a mixture of self-interest and regard for others motivating religious leaders to support, escape, or resist the state. My impression is that there was more opportunism at work among pro-Indonesia, career Ulama due to greater rewards from the state, and more genuine concern among neutral and GAM Ulama because of the abuses they witnessed firsthand.
IV IMPLICATIONS
Several policy implications arise from these findings. The first relates to Islamic studies. The Ulama are frequently seen by religious activists “as passé, a religious class whose fossilized Islam and cooptation by governments were major causes of the backwardness of the Islamic community.”[98] Writers frequently cite Iran as the major exception, where clerics led political movements, and attribute this to Shiism.[99] Home to the majority of the world’s Muslims yet often overlooked by Islamic studies, Asian cases provide reasons to rethink these assumptions.[100] Indonesia is home to Sunni Ulama who are both politically active and widely respected. This is especially true in Aceh, where the Ulama once led a revolutionary government, and although weakened by corporatism, remain widely respected and politically active. This comparison suggests that Sunni Ulama are frequently dynamic forces, and that the Shia hold no monopoly on clerical activism.
Throughout my research, I discovered autonomous, culturally-driven, village-level peace processes. In separatist conflicts, where the state may not be trusted and neither combatant possesses a great deal of capacity, top-down peace processes may be insufficient. If intrastate conflicts are fuelled by local dynamics, ethnic identity, and weak states, it makes sense to explore peace processes with similar traits. All communities contain traditional methods for overcoming conflict, methods which are frequently adapted to new circumstances but play out under the radar of many analysts. In Aceh, this was evident in the lawyer role of Keucik and Peusijuek ceremonies of the Ulama. Understanding these processes need not entail trying to co-opt or centralize them, as this may undermine their legitimacy or make them threatening to combatants. If micro-level processes are common, not only do they save lives, but they have the potential to percolate and shape larger dynamics. Actors seeking to build lasting peace should consider community approaches and recognize traditional village peace systems. This said, a great deal more research is needed on the relationship between common micro-level peace processes and larger outcomes.
Aceh clarifies the relationship between Ulama, the state, and war. Not all Muslim leaders who support the state are part of state organizations, and not all state organizations are composed of self-interested leaders. Ulama often support the state, and they do so for different reasons. Conversely, many Muslim leaders who resist the state base their actions on their experiences, not on civilizational narratives. Soldiers who enter their villages and are seen as abusing their followers will be resisted for understandable reasons. Islamic groups who support the state are by no means selling out, and those who resist the state are by no means fanatics.
Islam is not monolithic, which is not a novel conclusion. But this fact, especially when backed up by case studies, remains a core front for influencing foreign policy. During the Cold War, the well-known diversity within the communist world was rarely reflected in policy, often with tragic consequences.[101] Ensuring that policy does not follow or reify civilizational assumptions is as difficult as it is necessary. The finding that the positions of Acehnese Ulama were diverse and depended largely on material conditions normalizes the faith somewhat. There is an element of material interest in the positions of Islamic clerics in the midst of armed conflict.
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[1] Fieldwork for this project was made possible through support from the CCHS, the Glyn Berry Program for Peace and Security of the Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade (DFAIT), and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC).
[2] On environmental factors, see Mats Berdal and David M. Malone, editors, Greed and Grievance: Economic Agendas in Civil Wars (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2000); Thomas F. Homer Dixon, Environment, Scarcity, and Violence (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1999); Philippe Le Billon, Geopolitics of Resources Wars: Resource Dependence, Governance, and Violence (London: Routledge, 2005). On human security, see Fen Osler Hampson, Madness in the Multitude: Human Security & World Disorder (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). On state capacity, see Brian Job, The (In)Security Dilemma: The National Security of Third World States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1992). On combatant capacity, see Jeremy Weinstein, Inside Rebellion: The Politics of Insurgent Violence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).
[3] Gabriel A. Almond, R. Scott Appleby, and Emmanuel Sivan, Strong Religion: The Rise of Fundamentalisms around the World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003); Jonathan Fox and Shmuel Sandler, Bringing Religion into International Politics (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006); Mark Juergensmeyer, The New Cold War? Religious Nationalism Confronts the Secular State (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993).
[4] This unintentionally echoes Hirschman’s famous classification of relationships between consumers and markets: exit, voice, and loyalty. Albert O. Hirschman, Exit, Voice, and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations, and States (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970).
[5] ‘Muslim’ refers to someone whose faith is in Islam; Muslim politics need not be coloured by Islam, only comprised of individuals who profess it. Islamic refers to direct inspiration from Islam, and politics shaped by the faith. These terms should be distinguished from Islamist, which refers specifically to the literal application of Islamic scripts to politics. Martin Marty and Scott Appleby, editors, Fundamentalisms and the State (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993).
[6] A brief note on the titles of Islamic leaders: an Alim (plural: Ulama) is a high ranking religious teacher, often serving as an advisor or judge. Below the Ulama politically and academically, but often closer to the community, are teachers such as Imam, Mullah, and Kiai (the terms varying by region).
[7] In the Constitution of Medina, the Ummah included Jews and Christians, however the term has come to be understood exclusively as a transnational Islamic identity. Frederick M. Denny, “Ummah in the Constitution of Medina,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 36:1 (January 1977); pp. 39-47; Olivier Roy, Globalized Islam: The Search for a New Ummah (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004).
[8] The flipside of the Ummah transcending cultural divides is that the Ummah itself represents a new divide—between Muslims and non-Muslims. The dichotomization of Dar al-Islam (the abode of Peace) and Dar al-Haq (the abode of war) can lead to an ‘us versus them’ attitude which serves to naturalize struggles.
[9] Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle-Eastern Ulama in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 2004).
[10] This is demand is often made by terrorist organizations such as al-Qaeda, Jamaat al-Jihad, and Jemaah Islamiyah. John L. Esposito, The Islamic Threat: Myth of Reality? (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 143.
[11] Researchers such as Zachary Abuza tend to exaggerate such movements, finding radical pan-Islamic forces where they do not exist. Abuza claims that the goal of the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) is to create “an independent Islamic state governed by Sharia.” Zachary Abuza, Militant Islam in Southeast Asia: Crucible of Terror (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2003), 66; Zachary Abuza, “Out of the Woodwork: Islamist Militants in Aceh,” Terrorism Monitor 3:2 (27 January 2005), 3; Daniel Pipes and Jonathan Schanzer, “Militant Islam’s New Strongholds,” New York Post (22 October 2002); Dana R. Dillon, “Peace in Aceh: What it means for the U.S.,” Heritage Foundation Memo 806 (27 July 2005).
[12] Samuel Huntington famously makes the case that, due mostly to its nature, Islam “has bloody borders.” Samuel P. Huntington, “The Clash of Civilizations?” Foreign Affairs (Summer 1993).
[13] For instance, invoking Islam served to rally considerable resistance to superior Dutch forces during the Padri and Aceh wars. This said, in most cases, local power politics and identity trumped pan-religious sentiment, such as the Sultanate of Bone allying with the Dutch to overthrow the Sultanate of Goa in Sulawesi, or with the supremacy of ethnic identity in Mindanao when opposing Spanish forces. Christian Pelras, “Religion, Tradition, and the Dynamics of Islamicization in South Sulawesi,” Indonesia 57 (April 1993); pp. 133-154; Thomas McKenna, Muslims Rulers and Rebels: Everyday Politics and Armed Separatism in the Southern Philippines (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998).
[14] When Saddam Hussein faced American forces in 1991 and 2003, he appealed to Islam, but had little credibility within Islamic circles after years of military rule and suppressing Islam. Many Muslim governments squarely supported the United States. James Piscatori, editor, Islamic Fundamentalism and the Gulf Crisis (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991).
[15] Muslim minorities tend towards isolation in part due to Islam’s many rules. For instance, strict dietary rules limit many Muslims to their own restaurants, and barring conversion, marriage rules lead to an endogamy.
[16] John O. Voll, “Soviet Central Asia and China: Integration or Isolation of Muslim Societies,” in Islam in Asia: Religion, Politics, & Society, edited by John L. Esposito (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987) 126.
[17] Donald L. Horowitz, “Patterns of Ethnic Separatism,” Comparative Studies in Society and History 23:2 (April 1981), pp. 165-195; John R. Wood, “Secession: A Comparative Analytical Framework,” Canadian Journal of Political Science 14:1 (March 1981), pp. 107-134.
[18] The origins of Islamist movements are not entirely different from separatist movements. Post-colonial Muslim governments tended to aspire towards secular, centralized states, and many continued to elevate the languages and administration of the colonizer. Calls from Islamic leaders generally met with violent responses, spiraling into organized resistance. The difference between separatism and Islamic reform is that the former is an attractive option for minorities which could not hope to build a more Islamic state.
[19] To various degrees, this characterizes Tunisia, Algeria, Egypt, Pakistan, and Malaysia. This was certainly true for Indonesia in the 1950s, leading to the Darul Islam and Permesta Rebellions. Esposito, The Islamic Threat, 128-211.
[20] The Prosperous Justice Party (PKS) in Indonesia occupies a middle ground. Featuring similar organizational features and social welfare projects as the Brotherhood, the PKS operates in the context of a liberal Muslim society and political climate. Its Islamist tendencies seem to be diluting, however its strategy of local Sharia is continues to unfold.
[21] From its inception, Islam developed in relation to the state: “Medina reflected the integral relationship of religion and the state in Islam.” Esposito, The Islamic Threat, 27.
[22] Esposito refers to an Indonesian saying: you can no more separate Islam from politics than you can sugar from sweetness. John L. Esposito, “Islam in Asia: An Introduction,” in Islam in Asia, 12.
[23] Sana Abed-Kotob, “The Accommodationists Speak: Goals and Strategies of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 27 (1995), pp. 321-339; Robert Hefner, Civil Islam: Muslims and Democratization in Indonesia (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000).
[24] Esposito, “Islam in Asia: An Introduction,” in Islam in Asia, 13
[25] Robert W. Hefner, “Islam in an Era of Nation-States: Politics and Religious Renewal in Muslim Southeast Asia,” in Islam in an Era of Nation-States: Politics and Religious Renewal in Muslim Southeast Asia, edited by Robert W. Hefner and Patricia Horvatich (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1997), 7.
[26] Voll, “Soviet Central Asia and China,” in Islam in Asia, 145
[27] Syed Shahbuddin and Theodore P. Wright Jr., “India: Muslim Minority Politics and Society,” in Islam in Asia, 154.
[28] National Haj agencies have been criticized for reifying national Islamic identities, minimizing communication between different Muslim cultures. James Piscatori, “Asian Islam: International Linkages and their Impact on International Relations,” in Islam in Asia, 252.
[29] Olivier Roy, The Failure of Political Islam, translated by Carol Volk (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1994), 29.
[30] Voll, “Soviet Central Asia and China,” in Islam in Asia, 149.
[31] Michael G. Peletz, “Ordinary Muslims and Muslim Resurgence in Contemporary Malaysia: Notes on an Ambivalent Relationship,” in Islam in an Era of Nation-States, pp. 231-273.
[32] Returning to Holy texts to escape politics should be distinguished from Islamism, which entails a return to holy texts, not as a form of retreat but instead “an intervention in the political system.” So groups such as Hezbollah, even though they exit formal political institutions, are not included in my consideration of exit because their aims remain squarely political. Fred Halliday, “Review Article: The Politics of ‘Islam’ – A Second Look,” British Journal of Political Science 25 (1995), 400.
[33] This is exemplified by the Nahdlatul Ulama under Suharto, which left the state-endorsed Muslim party and opted for a non-political role, returning to the organization’s mission of fostering social and economy development. Greg Fealy and Greg Barton, editors, Nahdlatul Ulama, Traditional Islam and Modernity in Indonesia (Clayton, Australia: Monash Institute, 1996).
[34] This was the argument of Indonesian academic Nurcholish Madjid (1939-2005), who felt that tying Islam to politics had the effect of sacralizing political parties, debasing Islam by elevating the profane. Madjid argued that Muslims should focus on creating a more educated Islamic society, but unlike other modernists, this need not culminate in an Islamic state. Greg Barton, “Indonesia’s Nurcholish Madjid and Abdurrahman Wahid as Intellectual Ulama: the Meeting of Islamic Traditionalism and Modernism in Neo-Modernist Thought,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 8:3 (1997), 331; Robert W. Hefner, “Islamicization and Democratization in Indonesia,” in Islam in an Era of Nation-States, pp. 75-127.
[35] Frederik Barth, Political Leadership Among Swat Pathans (London: Athlone Press, 1959), 100; James A. Wall & Ronda Roberts Callister, “Malaysian Community Mediation,” The Journal of Conflict Resolution 43:3 (June 1999); pp. 343-365.
[36] Barth, Political Leadership Among Swat Pathans, 59.
[37] Thomas M. Kiefer, The Tausug: Violence and Law in a Philippine Moslem Society (New York: Holt, Reinhart, and Winston, 1972).
[38] Mohammed Abu-Nimer, “Conflict Resolution in an Islamic Context: Some Contextual Questions,” Peace & Change 21:1 (January 1996), pp. 22-40; George E. Irani and Nathan C. Funk, “Rituals of Reconciliation: Arab-Islamic Perspectives,” Arab Studies Quarterly 20:4 (Fall 1998); pp. 53-74; Ali Wardak, “Building a Post-War Justice System in Afghanistan,” Crime, Law, & Social Change 41 (2004); pp. 319-341.
[39] P.H. Gulliver, Disputes and Negotiations: A Cross-Cultural Perspective (New York: Academic Press, 1979); John Paul Lederach, Preparing for Peace: Conflict Transformation Across Cultures (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1995); Robert A. LeVine, “Anthropology and the Study of Conflict: An Introduction,” The Journal of Conflict Resolution 5:1 (March 1961); pp. 3-15.
[40] Raymond G. Helmick and Rodney Lawrence Petersen, editors, Forgiveness and Reconciliation: Religion, Public Policy, and Conflict Transformation (New York: Templeton Foundation Press, 2001); Daniel Philpott, editor, The Politics of Past Evil: Religion, Reconciliation, and the Dilemmas of Transitional Justice (Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006); Robert L. Rothstein, editor, After the Peace: Resistance and Reconciliation (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1999).
[41] Halliday, “Review Article: The Politics of ‘Islam’ – A Second Look,” 402.
[42] Esposito, The Islamic Threat, 106
[43] Ann K.S. Lambton, “The Persian Ulama and the Constitutional Reform,” in The Ulama in the Modern Muslim Nation-State, edited by Abu Bakar A. Bagader (Kuala Lumpur: Muslim Youth Movement of Malaysia (ABIM), 1983).
[44] Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed: Religious Development in Morocco and Indonesia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968). Esposito makes a similar classification, noting that Islamic communities responded to colonialism through Islamic modernism, Westernization, or withdrawal. Esposito, The Islamic Threat, 51-52.
[45] Hefner, “Islamization and Democratization in Indonesia,” in Islam in an Era of Nation-States, 114.
[46] A comparable case may be Protestantism, which lacks centralized rule and spawned several divisions. This said, Protestant denominations are still governed by churches, and compared to Islam contains less geographical and temporal breadth.
[47] In many Arab countries, Ulama have fallen to low social positions due to years of subservience to authoritarian states, with social reform led by religious laypersons. But in many Asian communities, the Ulama have retained their social standing and have been critical of the state. Ishtiaq Husain Qureshi, “The Position of the Ulama in the Muslim Society,” in The Ulama in the Modern Muslim Nation-State.
[48] Nakamura notes that because the Ulama lack a religious hierarchy, they are forced to convince in place of command. Mitsuo Nakamura, “The Radical Traditionalism of the Nahdlatul Ulama in Indonesia: A Personal Account of the 26th National Congress, June 1979, Semarang,” in Nahdlatul Ulama, Traditional Islam, and Modernity in Indonesia, 81.
[49] Some Muslim traders also settled in Mindanao, an important source of Islamicization in Jolo and Cotabato. M. Hasbri Amiruddin, The Response of the Ulama Dayah to the Modernization of Islamic Law in Aceh (Selangor, Malaysia: Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2005), 4; Amirul Hadi, Islam and State in Sumatra: A Study of Seventeenth Century Aceh (Leiden: Brill Publishers, 2004), 239.
[50] Amirul Hadi, Islam and State in Sumatra, 125.
[51] It was only after the death of Iskandar Muda, during the reign of Iskandar Thani (r. 1636-1641), that Aceh was successful in dislodging the Portuguese from Malacca, accomplished through an alliance with a rising non-Muslim power: the Dutch. Amirul Hadi, Islam and State in Sumatra, 30.
[52] Amiruddin, The Response of the Ulama Dayah to the Modernization of Islamic Law in Aceh, 38.
[53] Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 79.
[54] James Siegel, The Rope of God (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). According to Anthony Reid, “the idiom of Islamic martyrdom was the ingredient needed to inspire courage in the face of overwhelming odds.” Anthony Reid, “War, Peace, and the Burden of History in Aceh,” Asian Ethnicity 5:3 (October 2004), 4.
[55] According to Ira Lapidus, “Muslim teachings did not remain an isolated phenomenon but became part of Acehnese society.” Ira M. Lapidus, A History of Muslim Societies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 475.
[56] Anthony Reid, The Blood of the People: Revolution and the End of Traditional Rule in Northern Sumatra (Kuala Lumpur: Oxford University Press, 1979),
[57] Jacques Bertrand, Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 165; Arskal Salim, “Sharia from Below in Aceh (1930s-1960s): Islamic Identity and the Right to Self-Determination with Comparative Reference to the Moro Islamic Liberation Movement (MILF),” Indonesia and the Malay World 32:92 (March 2004), 84.
[58] Syed Serajul Islam, The Politics of Islamic Identity in Southeast Asia (Singapore: Cengage Learning Asia, 2004), 60; Salim, “Sharia from Below in Aceh,” 88.
[59] Bertrand, Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia, 167.
[60] Nazaruddin Sjamsuddin, The Republican Revolt: A Study of the Acehnese Rebellion (Singapore: The Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 1985), 84.
[61] Aceh began the liquidation ahead other regions, due in large part to a fatwa issued by the Ulama. Amiruddin, The Response of the Ulama Dayah to the Modernization of Islamic Law in Aceh, 28.
[62] Suharto’s sought to “suppress Muslim politics while encouraging Muslim piety.” Hefner, Civil Islam, 59.
[63] Initially, many Ulama joined the PPP, the state-sanctioned Muslim party, but by the late 1980s, joined Suharto’s GOLKAR Party to reap the rewards of development for both their communities and for themselves. Dwight Y. King and M. Ryaas Rasjid, “The Golkar Landslide in the 1987 Indonesian Elections: The Case of Aceh,” Asian Survey 28:9 (September 1988), pp. 916-925.
[64] The MPU is Aceh’s wing of the Indonesian Ulama Council (Majelis Ulama Indonesia, MUI)
[65] The expansion of modern Muslim schools provides a microcosm of Suharto’s rule. State schools brought a new level of education to rural provinces, a model of rapid development. Simultaneously, these schools undermined traditional sources of knowledge and authority, enhancing the power of the state to shape identity. Also typical of the New Order, Suharto’s grandson established a monopoly in which all Indonesian schoolchildren would buy school shoes from his company. Alas, the “national shoe project” was never realized, as Suharto was overthrown before legislation could be passed. Time Magazine Asia, “Suharto Inc.,” 24 May 1999.
[66] Amiruddin, The Response of the Ulama Dayah to the Modernization of Islamic Law in Aceh, 37.
[67] Ulama in the MPU were even called upon by the Indonesian state to pressure the GAM during peace negotiations. The GAM saw such Ulama as “co-opted by the corporatist state, and ending up as a tool for state agendas.” Damien Kingsbury, Peace in Aceh: A Personal Account of the Aceh Peace Process (Jakarta: Equinox Publishing, 2006), 188.
[68] Kingsbury, Peace in Aceh, 181; Arskal Salim, “Sharia from Below in Aceh,” 93.
[69] Reid, “War, Peace, and the Burden of History in Aceh”; Shane Joshua Barter, “Resources, Religion, Rebellion: The Sources and Lessons of Acehnese Separatism,” Small Wars & Insurgencies 19:1 (March 2008), pp. 48-50.
[70] Bertrand, Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia, 173.
[71] Edward Aspinall, “From Islamism to Nationalism in Aceh, Indonesia,” Nations and Nationalism 13:2 (2007); pp. 245-263.
[72] Interview with GAM soldiers, Aceh Utara, 12 February 2008.
[73] In North Aceh, I asked a Keucik and residents if they could share some examples. They went on to list eighteen cases over the next five hours, detailing the names, contexts, and outcomes. This exhausting interview was not typical, but most Keucik are able to provide detail of five or six cases. Interview with Keucik and villagers, Teupin Redup, North Aceh, 4 February 2008.
[74] Interviews with Keucik Syarbini, Mukim Abdul Wahab, and Ulama, Damee, Aceh Besar, Fall 2008.
[75] Interview with Faisal, Secretary General of the HUDA, Banda Aceh, 26 January 2008. In Damee, the Alim maintained a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, vaguely aware of GAM children among his students.
[76] Interview with M. Hashim Usman, Imam and Keucik, Aceh Besar, 24 January 2008. Another Alim discussed the problem of informing the victim’s families, as Ulama faced dangers traveling and had to make sure they were not followed. Interview with Teungku Ramli, Damee, Aceh Besar, 28 January 2008.
[77] Lambton notes that state encroachment on the right of religious sanctuary was one of the issues which led to the mobilization of the Ulama in Iran. Lambton, “The Persian Ulama and the Constitutional Reform,” in The Ulama in the Modern Muslim Nation-State, 270.
[78] Interview with Faisal, Secretary General of the HUDA, Banda Aceh, 26 January 2008.
[79] Career Ulama are largely limited to Banda, where state organizations and government offices are located.
[80] Interview with Abu Ismail Yacoob, Vice President of the MPU, Banda Aceh, 26 January 2008.
[81] Interviews in Aceh Besar, October 2007. This is the response predicted by Edward Aspinall, where Islam cannot be mobilized for separatism against a Muslim government. Aspinall, “From Islamism to Nationalism in Aceh, Indonesia.”
[82] Interview with Faisal, Secretary General of HUDA, Banda Aceh, 26 January 2008. HUDA referred to their position as Aksi Damai Yang Islami. Karim D. Crow, “Aceh: The ‘Special Territory’ in North Sumatra: A Self-Fulfilling Promise?” Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs 20:1 (April 2000), 96.
[83] Interviews with Otto Syamsuddin Ishak, Juanda, Hendra Budian, and Kontras Aceh, January 2008.
[84] For example, under Martial Law, Acehnese student and NGO leaders used a religious ceremony called Halal bi-Halal, in which groups ask god for forgiveness, as a cover for political meetings. Rooms would be decorated with religious symbols and activists would don Islamic clothing, but they would discuss political strategy. This demonstrated a religious context and religious knowledge, but also that their primary concerns were political and there was little concern that using a holy ceremony for politics was unIslamic.
[85] Interview with Teungku Abdul Malik, Damee, Aceh Besar, 28 January 2008.
[86] Interview with Keucik, Dusun, and Mukim, Pancah, Aceh Besar, 30 January 2008.
[87] Interview with Teungku Ramli, Damee, Aceh Besar, 28 January 2008.
[88] Interview with Alim Kamaruddin, Damee, Aceh Besar, 30 January 2008.
[89] Interview with Panglima GAM Kowboy Effendi, Aceh Utara, 4 February 2008.
[90] Interview with Teungku Yahya Abdullah, GAM advisor, Ulama, and Judge, North Aceh, 9 February 2008.
[91] The Wali sees the primary challenge as keeping GAM unified, “avoiding GAM Rambo” giving the rebels a bad name. Interview with Mohammad Wali al-Qhalidid, Teunah Meerah, Aceh Utara, 5 February 2008.
[92] Interview with Javanese IDPs, Damee, Aceh Besar, 29 October 2007; interview with Kontras Aceh, Banda Aceh, 25 January 2008.
[93] Interview with Mohammad Wali al-Qhalidid, Teunah Meerah, Aceh Utara, 5 February 2008.
[94] One particularly open-minded Ulama noted that the ceremony is not even exclusive to Muslims: “every ethnic group has its own ceremony to welcome people home because it makes warm feelings.” Interview with Teungku Abdullah, Damee, Aceh Besar, 28 January 2008.
[95] Interview with Kontras Aceh, Banda Aceh, 26 January 2008.
[96] Interview with Faisal, Secretary General of the HUDA, Banda Aceh, 26 January 2008.
[97] Interviews in Nagan Raya and Meulaboh, December 2006.
[98] Esposito, The Islamic Threat, 133.
[99] Roy, The Failure of Political Islam, 20, 29, 30, 168, 173.
[100] Hefner, “Islam in an Era of Nation-States,” in Islam in an Era of Nation-States.
[101] David Campbell, Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1998); Michael E. Salla, “Political Islam and the West: A New Cold War or Convergence?” Third World Quarterly 18:4 (1997), pp. 729-742.
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