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The True Face
of Islam
Despite its violent image in the West, the religion of Islam is a balm to
millions in an otherwise cruel and crowded world. American writer
Zachary Karabell reflects on his experiences of Islam in Egypt.
Islam may be one of the world's
most important religions, but in the West, at least, it has an image
problem. Hizbullah in Lebanon, Hamas in the West Bank, fundamentalist
violence in Indonesia, the "mullocracy" of Iran, all are seen as
representative of the rage that is Islam. That, in fact, was the main
thrust of a February 19 piece in Newsweek on Osama bin laden and the new wave of
Islamic terrorist groups.
Yet these groups no more represent
Islam than the Branch Davidians on Waco, Texas represented Christianity or the
Aum Shrinrikyo represented Japanese spirituality. Islam is a religion held
dear by nearly a billion people, and it shouldn't surprise us that there are
more than a handful of extremists. But on a recent trip to Egypt, I found
little evidence of them. Yes, a few marginal cells of violent radicals
still exist, despite the draconian efforts of Hosni Mubarak's secret
police. But for tens of millions of Egyptians, Islam is an oasis of calm.
Egypt's population is fast
approaching 70 million, and with a growth rate of just under two percent
annually, overpopulation is a very real problem. Cairo has one of the
highest population densities on the planet, and the rest of Egypt's minimal
amount of arable land is quickly becoming saturated with people and unchecked
growth. The government subsidizes food and housing, which is a small
blessing, but jobs are scarce, early mortality looms and the international
economy seems to be passing Egypt by.
In this dreary context, Islam is a
balm and a salve. The hour-and-a-half drive from Cairo to the industrial
port city of Suez is dusty and ugly, festooned with debris and billboards.
But it is at least broken up by the names of God lining the median. In
Islam, God is said to have 99 names, which include "The Compassionate"
and "The Merciful", and they are posted every hundred yards all the
way from Cairo to Suez. My driver was quick to point this out, and we
spent the better part of the ride listing the names and negotiating the
fare. I had met him early that morning, and he had been ten minutes late
because of prayer, which he performed in the hotel's coat room with several of
the bellhops.
I took a bus from Suez to the
canal city of Ismailia. The bus was an old creaky bus, stiffed full of
people. But for the first half hour, there was a preternatural calm as
everyone sat quietly and listened to a tape of a mellifluous Quran reciter, as
pure and simple as Gregorian chant. At every juncture Islam in Egypt
defies our stereotypes. The al-Azhar mosque and university in central Cairo
is one of the most conservative bastions of Islam in Egypt. Recently the
sheikh of al-Azhar condemned the writings of a number of authors, and the
government has not stood in the way of several of these being brought to
trial. The sheikh of al-Azhar, like all clerics in Egypt, is a government
employee and receives a stipend from the state. But inside the mosque
itself, you would never guess that this is a centre of Islamic
intolerance. The sheikhs are friendly and, if you speak a little Arabic,
they will happily talk about the architecture, renovations and history of the
place. They are not interested in proselytizing, and when I told them that
I was from America, they smiled and said simply, "You are welcome".
For most Egyptians, Islam is
intensely personal. Like many American Protestants, Muslims tend to
emphasize the relationship between each individual and God, without
intermediaries. In a world of sprawling prefab concrete housing projects,
with high unemployment, an indifferent and occasionally brutal government, Islam
is part of the warp and woof that maintains community and gives people some
sense that life has meaning.
There are those who would say that
all this proves is that Islam is an opiate for the masses, but who are we to
say? Islam may not solve the more intractable problems, and in soothing
the dislocations it may even make some things worse. But then again, if
you go to the Citadel on Cairo on a Friday, as I did, you can stand perched
above the city with the mosque of Muhammad Ali at your back and you can peak
above the torrential smog that envelops the city of 12 million people, and you
can just make out the Pyramids in the distance. You can listen, not to the
sound of cars or factories, but to the call to prayer, sounded throughout the
city, reminding all listeners of God's compassion and mercy. It is a
haunting symphony, and juxtaposed with the devastation of overpopulation and
stagnant growth, it allows you to close your eyes and feel, at least for a few
moments, that all is well with the world.
Source: Newsweek,
March 19, 2001
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