by Steve Howard
The Republican brothers and sisters’ self-conscious practice of faith was to lead to the transformation of themselves and their society. Women were not excluded from this process; in fact, they were an important focus of the Republican ideology and all of its activities. Women’s improved status within the community was an indicator of Republican success. Their voices were strong at the meetings and even in the call to prayer. Women’s roles were sources of pride to the Republicans and of controversy in the wider society. Giving voice to an articulate vision of Islam was the duty of every Republican brother and sister. Those voices were trained in the movement’s many communication campaigns: books and pamphlets, newspaper writings, and public speaking events.
For me, the importance of this movement lies in the sincere application of its sanctioned words in the actual daily lives of its followers. In their words and deeds the Republicans provided an alternative to extremism and violence in the name of Islam, to intolerance, to the sectarianism that had deeply divided Sudan, and to the denial of women’s rights under the pretext of adherence to Islamic values. In that the Republicans had all been brought up in a culture marked by patriarchy and paternalism, the Republican path to progress was always a challenge.
I chose to work in Sudan because of its Sufi history, and the Republicans helped me better understand those roots; they maintained a deep respect for the Sufi gnosis that described the relationship between Man and God. But Republicans were selective in what contribution Sufism could make to a faith for today’s world. Theirs was not a different Islam but one in which faith and their understanding of its required actions were brought as close together as they thought humanly possible. This great effort, or methodology of faith, is what the Republicans took from the Sufi tradition. The Republicans practiced a local Islam with aspirations to something much larger—local not in the sense of provincial but as a consequence of its economic and political limitations. The themes and ideas expounded upon by the men and women of this movement emerged from their analysis of world events and their understanding of God’s purpose for them. The dominant aspect of the local was that this all took place in an intimate atmosphere and that they were not a large movement, numbering about two thousand families at the movement’s height, roughly in the decade 1975–85. To be a Republican, in effect, was to know and to want to know personally every other Republican, an intense solidarity.
This was a local Islam in that it was deliberately, consistently, and carefully lived in a specific place with a culture and a history. A central part of the Republican message was that Islam was in the right place and the right time, that Islam was eternally contemporary. Although the Republicans found themselves in constant conflict with other local constructions of Islam in Sudan, they offered theirs as the universal, not a utopia. But coalitions and compromise were also not on their agenda, nor were dialogues with other moderate approaches to Islamic reform, except as these approaches were brought in through the experiences of those seeking Republican membership. The Republicans were not trying to move the clock backward; indeed, the ambitious Republican goal was to move it forward to the point where Islam could meet its millenarian destiny in transforming all of humanity, what Ustadh Mahmoud viewed as the ultimate liberation. In his dedication of the first edition of his signature book, The Second Message of Islam (1967), Mahmoud Mohamed Taha wrote, “Good tidings it is that God has in store for us such perfection of intellectual and emotional life as no eye has ever seen, no ear has ever heard, and has never occurred to any human being.”10
The millenarian dimension of Republican thought was a subtle theme and focused on by the membership with varying degrees of intensity and at different times in movement history. Its focus on the return of the Messiah to Earth and bringing a reign of a thousand years of peace was one of the exotic mysteries that stuck in my Western mind as I listened to Republican debates. But as al-Karsani states, “Millennialism has always been present in Islam as one of the ‘means of expressing dissatisfaction with the state of society,’ . . . ‘when the Islamic community has felt an imminent danger to its world of value and meaning.’”11 Ustadh Mahmoud chose the 97th chapter of the Qur’an, Qadr, as the anthem for the group, which was read/chanted collectively as the opening and closing prayer for all of Republican gatherings. The chapter, “The Night of Power,” is a short one, commonly one of the first to be committed to memory by Muslims worldwide, and reads:
We have indeed revealed this (message) in the Night of Power: And what will explain to them what the Night of Power is? The Night of Power is better than a thousand Months. Therein come down the angels and the Spirit by God’s permission, on every errand! Peace! . . . This until the rise of Morn! (Yusuf Ali translation)
The verse refers to the night during the holy month of Ramadan when the Prophet Mohamed first began to receive the revelation of the Qur’an from the Angel Gabriel. The reference to “a thousand months” is one of the many clues in the Qur’an to the coming time of Peace. Ustadh Mahmoud said the chapter was like a “sister” to all of the Republicans, indicating the importance of its message.
I had about a year and a half in the presence of Mahmoud Mohamed Taha—seeing him on a daily basis—before he was taken to detention and prison for the final time. But his followers were my agents for his message, and I lived closely with them in Sudan and have continued to do so for more than thirty years, all over the world. As much as possible in a personal story framed by social science convention, this book tries to represent the Republican Brotherhood as its members have expressed and interpreted for me in interviews and conversations how they wish to be represented, through their words, ideas, books, lectures, hymns, and memories. This book is also a product of their cooperation and of the methodological orientation that suggests that we are part of what we seek to understand. The anthropologist Richard Werbner describes the “rights of recountability”—“the right, especially in the face of state violence and oppression, to make a citizen’s memory known and acknowledged in the public sphere.”12 Republican engagement of public culture in Sudan and their rethinking of the life cycle’s basic rituals in infant-naming ceremonies, weddings, and funerals provided opportunities for many of the brothers and sisters to express to me the reasons why their Republican approach was an improvement in the way Islam could be practiced. Indeed, while many Republicans want the world to know about their teacher, his teachings, and about the possibilities for humanity provided in Islam, there were others in the movement who maintained the view that there was no need to explain anything to anyone on the outside. As one senior leader of the movement told my friend Mustafa El-Jaili while speaking about a foreign researcher (not me) who had expressed interest in the movement, “The world will come to us when they see what we are accomplishing here. But if his study helps him to understand this knowledge of Islam better, then that is fine.”
My interactions with the Republican intellectual community were essential to my understanding the subtle link between Republican thought and progressive action, as well as that between voice and authority. More important is the issue of voice as the Republicans re-represent themselves in the Sudan of today—thirty-plus years after the execution of Mahmoud Mohamed Taha. One of my mentors in this group—speaking truth to power without pause—has been Abdullahi Ahmed An-Na’im, professor of law at Emory University. As a lawyer and scholar of human rights, Dr. Abdullahi has developed a professional field that closely resonates to the work of his teacher, Mahmoud Mohamed Taha. In Dr. Abdullahi’s published work or in his speaking engagements around the world, he acknowledges the role that Mahmoud Mohamed Taha played in his spiritual and intellectual development. However, in the Western media, the names Abdullahi Ahmed An-Na’im and Mahmoud Mohamed Taha are often confused, to the consternation of some and great surprise to those in Sudan, who know explicitly that Abdullahi is not seeking the mantle of Ustadh Mahmoud. Another prominent Republican teacher, Ustadh Khalid El Haj, a retired school administrator in Rufa’a, articulates the
problem of representation with utmost respect when he said in an interview about a book he published in 2006, Peace in Islam, “I am talmith [a pupil] of Ustadh Mahmoud, not directed by him.” No one has been appointed or has sought to succeed Mahmoud Mohamed Taha in his role of spiritual guide, teacher of the movement, although Republican brothers and sisters in Sudan have been able to meet freely and frequently for the last few years for spiritual purposes. The charisma was never routinized.
Abdullahi Ahmed An-Na’im wrote thirty years ago:
Is it possible that Ustadh Mahmoud’s work will be completely forgotten in a few years, without having a lasting impact? I do not think so. Whatever the Muslims may think of the answers, he has no doubt raised fundamental and searching questions. . . . More important, I would submit, is his personal example of commitment and courage. To have pursued his goals so selflessly and consistently for forty years, especially through his own personal life-style, is an exceptional achievement. The example of this single man’s living for and by his convictions, more than dying for them, is truly inspiring not only to Muslims but to all the people of the world.13
It is important for me to consider how the Republican men and women understood the theological streams that flowed through their writings and lived them and taught them to their children both in Sudan and in exile. My memories are complemented by conversations with more than forty Republican brothers and sisters between 1996 and 2010 conducted in Sudan, Egypt, England, Ireland, the Netherlands, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and the United States. Republicans have joined the “digital Islam” community, so their words in email communications have been available to me as well. In many of these conversations individual Republicans recall the words of Ustadh Mahmoud. I have checked these quotes with other Republicans in each case, which in turn invariably led to more memories, with subtle differences but never significant disagreement. Memories of Ustadh Mahmoud are passed around by Republicans like a valuable goblet full of a life-giving elixir that should not be spilled or a drop wasted. My task here is to interpret what I saw and heard and try to provide some context for the Western reader. Although many have encouraged me to write this book, no Republican brother or sister has actually authorized it on behalf of the movement, nor does such an authority exist. The gaps in my knowledge will appear profound to my Sudanese friends, and I hope those gaps provide a good jumping-off point for the next book on the Republican Brotherhood.
Ustadh Mahmoud frequently said, “All Republicans are teachers,” a condition that made easier my task as a student of their approach to Islam. I remember an early experience with my friend Abdel Gadir, who had worked a lifetime as a primary school teacher and then school-inspector, which illustrated Republican capacity to instruct while constructing a coherent philosophy of life. We were taking a walk on the high bank of the Blue Nile near his house in Rufa’a at asur, the late afternoon time of day when the sun colors the world ochre. As we made our way across the dried tummy, the Gezira cracking clay that made the region so fertile, a man quickly approached from the other direction, his white arage shirt flapping in the wind. Abdel Gadir loved to help me develop my Arabic vocabulary, particularly for things colloquial or unique to his region. I called it my “grandmother’s vocabulary” (mufradat al-huboobat). He poked me and pointed to the oncoming figure saying, “Steve, da shnu? [What is that?]” I cringed, thinking that I was about to learn the local derogatory term for the mentally handicapped in that I knew the approaching man, Hussein, had that condition from birth. Abdel Gadir ignored my shrug and answered his own question, “He is a darwish!”
I found his reference to the Sufi mystics who inhabited the cemeteries and tombs of holy men both simple and startling. In one word Abdel Gadir had paid Hussein a tribute. To be darwish—a person dedicated completely to remembering God—was a status to which Abdel Gadir himself could aspire and, in the meantime, respect. By describing Hussein as darwish Abdel Gadir accepted Hussein as he was, in fact saw what was God-like within him and made room in his community for him, using “darwish” as a common local euphemism for mentally handicapped that was also inclusive. The Republicans saw the world through Islam’s possibilities rather than through the controlling or limiting functions of religion in society. That progress in global Islam could start on the banks of the Blue Nile was a Republican given. That the world should know more about these courageous people is the purpose of this book.
2
The Path of the Prophet
To be a Republican Brother required considerable time and stamina. The work to sustain the movement fell particularly hard on the azaba, the single men members of the movement who lived near Mahmoud Mohamed Taha’s house in Omdurman. They were expected to attend all of the meetings, beginning with an early morning session at dawn, take a significant role in the production and distribution of Republican Brotherhood literature, attend the various lectures and community events associated with a social movement that was also at the center of its members’ lives, and of course, work hard at being better Muslims. The Republican movement was intense at this stage of its history and many of the young brothers got little sleep. No one objected to this demanding schedule, in fact the credo of the bachelor group could have been “service with a smile.” Brothers felt that spending as much time as possible with each other both offered an excellent opportunity to learn more about the Republican ideology and prevented them from going astray.
However, after a few months of complete immersion in the Republican way of life, I needed to come up for air. I felt that I was suffocating under the pressure of participating in every meeting; I was not spending enough time on my doctoral research. I may have also reflected on many conversations during my graduate studies about researchers “going native” and the impact that might have on one’s data collection. I sought an appointment with Ustadh Mahmoud and went to see him at his house. It was unusual for one of the brothers or sisters to see Ustadh Mahmoud alone. There was both a sense in the community that no one should have any secrets from anyone else and also that if Ustadh Mahmoud said something significant, there should be another witness. Nevertheless, I was feeling that my “Western outlook” needed to take charge of my life in Sudan, and I wanted to carve out more time for myself. I am sure that I also felt, despite my earlier expressed desire for the Sufi life, that I was succumbing to the demands of Sudanese patriarchal culture. I was uncomfortable with customs like seeking “permission” from the senior brothers to go somewhere or do something.
I was apprehensive as I went into my meeting with Ustadh Mahmoud because I knew that I really did not know what I was going to say to him; I guess I was looking for some kind of guidance. Or at least, I wanted him to know me better. My impressions of the teacher were largely wrought through what I had understood about him from the brothers’ conversations. Their devotion to him and their absolute commitment to his vision of Islam were palpable in everything that they did and said about him. The most often used introductory phrase I heard around the brothers’ house where I lived was “gaal al-Ustadh . . .” (“Ustadh said . . .”). And the intense discussions of the fikr jumhuriya, the Republican ideology, at every meeting were leaving me behind. I could not read Ustadh Mahmoud’s seminal work, The Second Message of Islam, which had not yet been translated into English. In fact, I was frequently asked if I had read the book and what I thought about it, and was also given impromptu tutorials on different aspects of it. But I dreaded the quiz.
Ustadh Mahmoud sat on his bed as he listened to me begin to seek permission for a looser affiliation with the brotherhood. As I launched into an explanation of my doctoral research, I suddenly felt silly and inarticulate, that my request was mundane next to the lofty spiritual goals of his movement. Ustadh Mahmoud’s response to me made it clear that I had not succeeded in convincing him of the importance of my work in Sudan. He told me that I was welcome to live with the brothers for as long as I wanted. He continued to say that sometime soon the world would come to realize that the Repu
blican ideology was what would deliver peace in our modern times. I had the sense that he was at once chiding me and implying that I had an amazing opportunity to be part of a critical event for humanity. I also began to understand the importance of guidance and advice as one trod the challenging spiritual path advocated by Ustadh Mahmoud.
He confirmed my feeling by announcing to the brothers and sisters at that evening’s jelsa (meeting) at his house that they were to leave me alone. Happily for me, while that was surely an odd request, it was hardly in the Sudanese nature to ignore someone who lived in their midst. So I soon forgot about my awkward meeting with Ustadh Mahmoud. What I did do was try to become better informed about the ideology that motivated this movement, which is what I should have done in the first place.
Many of the brothers told me of a basic Republican philosophy that they had learned from Ustadh Mahmoud. He taught them that one’s mind, words, and deeds all must be in sync; in other words, that it was essential that your thoughts, words and actions be linked in a unity of purpose. And that purpose, ultimately, was peace. I appreciated how this perspective was usually communicated to me visually by the speaker of this mantra gently touching his or her head, lips, and heart to indicate the connections. It sounded easy enough, reminding me initially of California New Age feel-good spirituality. But I quickly realized that this was a very serious, scripturally based behavioral methodology that the collective of the Republican brothers and sisters worked on together, checking and encouraging each other in its practice and on improving it. It was a challenging method to stick to, and with the brothers I frequently observed that there was even a competitive element to succeeding in strengthening one’s practice. I observed, tried to practice, but managed to stay out of the competition, part of my strategy of trying not to draw attention to myself. I was emphatic about being in Sudan to learn and never be in the position of the all-knowing khabir ajanabi (“foreign expert”) who had descended on Sudan to impart knowledge. The khabir ajanabi was actually a set character from Egyptian/Sudanese films and soap operas whose role came up when discussing foreigners who actually did not know enough to be very useful to the local circumstances—not a role I wanted to play in Sudan.