Somewhere in Putrajaya, a convention hall is filled with Muslim men and women. They congregate together to celebrate the arrival of a religious preacher, hailed all the way from the United States, whose videos have been making rounds on social media. His videos have helped ease the hearts and thirst of many people during the month of Ramadhan, reminding them that Allah will reward the patient whenever they face any obstacles in the world. It is a healing journey for them. This is the first time that this preacher gets to step onto Malaysian soil. The attendees are well-prepared to welcome him, with their notebooks, their colourful translated Qurans, and the RM250 ticket in their hand.
As they search for their seats in the left side of the hall, a group of women adore the design printed on their friend’s tudung. “I managed to get it seconds after its release,” she says. “I might wait for its off season price,” her friend replies. They all agree that this year’s release is more expensive than before, with the limited edition priced more than RM100, but they also understand that this is the price you pay for the silk and the brand name tagged on the corner of the tudung. After all, it is best to support the local names.
On the right side of the hall are the men, with some wearing batik shirts and baju melayu. Those in front are dressed in white thobes and kopiah, leaning closer to the look one would hope for when they reach the ascension. Some have travelled far from other states, coming here with their families. Some came from the city. MyVis, Honda Citys and BMWs filled the convention hall’s parking lot and spilled all the way out to the main road. “My driver will pick me up later,” a man says, “I knew the parking would be disastrous.” His friends nod, all have taken the same route.
After minutes of waiting, the preacher appears and walks across to take his seat planted in the middle of the wide stage. There is no one else except for him, his table, a glass of water, and a microphone. All attention is now on him. With a calm and soothing voice, the preacher opens his speech with Al-Fatihah, and begins his sermon.
While snippets of this convention are shared on Instagram Stories, a group of activists are standing in front of the US Embassy demanding for the liberation of Palestine to be freed from the wraths of the United States and Israel. The activists are dressed in black jersey tudungs to ease themselves from the heat and the fight against the authorities.
But this is the ideal convention, they say. We have all Malay Muslims come together to learn Islamic values and knowledge together. The preacher, hailing from a Western country, is also an example that our ummah has persevered in the world despite the threats and challenges he would face in his own home country. So why should one question the nature of such events if it already serves the goodness of the ummah? Ini tidak melalaikan, berbanding dengan konsert, pesta, dan lain-lain lagi.
To note, I am not here to criticise the preachers, the knowledge, nor the attendees. In fact, I find some of the videos beneficial for my own spiritual journey, too. But the juxtaposition between the two events, which arguably derived from the same religious aspirations, makes one wonder how we can position religion within the current landscape.
It is evident that many of the attendees of the convention are either working people who are caught in the dredges of 9-to-5, or at the very least, middle-class Malay Muslims looking for a place to have their spirituality affirmed. Not only these videos helped them with this, but it also brings them a sense of being intellectually uplifted, as these videos are often interjected with English and Arabic jargons, elevating them one step above the Malay preachers that are deemed kolot. The messages are often about patience and sabr, often about suppressing our rage and anger in order to appear pleasant, because pleasantries are deemed acceptable by Allah SWT.
It is also a question on how one should affirm their religiosity in this world while they bask in the comforts of their own. The nature of religiosity has been tied to its reward of rizq, which has been translated into visible wealth. Local entrepreneurs know that in order to have your religiosity approved, one has to appear religious, and we see this with the proliferation of brands and fashion influencers demonstrating the variety of hijab styles one can achieve. It is a double-edged sword, where one gets to express themselves with the hijab, but one still has to be an avid consumer to do so.
Some of the messages could also drive one’s healing journey into an individualistic endeavour, rather than a collective effort. Even if it is in English, even if it sounds more enlightened, the positioning of such events tend to put the middle-class Malay Muslims in a plateau. Especially in the context of Malaysia, where we live in a multi-racial, multi-religious, and multi-class community. As though it is enough to listen to these preachings, as though it is enough to be surrounded only among (Malay) Muslim brothers and sisters, one should no longer branch out to explore the diverse opinions and knowledge beyond our borders that would actually help push the whole community forward.
It is strange to compare the current commodification with Islam’s early nature of liberation. Now, liberation is muddled within the demands of capitalistic ventures, and I, too, am a victim of this. While some get to access the modern Muslim intellectuals, the lower segment of our society are still being policed or oppressed by the very people who ignore the socioeconomic gaps, as they do not get equal access to education nor welfare.
But is this the fault of the preachers? Or is this the fault of the religion? Or is this the fault of how Malay Muslims have resorted to appearance as a sign of virtue? Is that enough? Or have we fought for so long, that now that we’ve met and achieved our sense of identity, that we dare not challenge the system in fear of losing our comfort?
Esei oleh Afi Noor
