Chapter 4
The Lived Islam
Most publications about contemporary Islam focus on Islamism, jihadism and other radical ideologies associated with this religion. There are plenty of coverages of Al-Qaida network and its leaders, analysing all imaginable aspects of this phenomenon. The second decade of the twenty first century brought into mass attention the so-called “Islamic State” fighting in the Middle Eastern countries. Since 2001, numerous scholars of Central Asia and the Caucasus trace the roots and developments of Islamic (neo‐)fundamentalism or militant Islam and propose various scenarios for its future. Radical organizations, such as the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, Hizb at-Tahrir al-Islami, and the Islamic Revival Party of Tajikistan have been under constant scrutiny (see, e. g. Khalid, 2007; Naumkin, 2005; Rashid, 2002; Zapaśnik, 2006). Certainly, these problems are crucial from the perspective of geopolitics, security and international relations, but it must be remembered that radical Muslims are only a minority. The focus on fundamentalist groups creates an impression in the West that Islam in Central Asia basically equals to radicalism. Another, partially overlapping perspective on Islam, concentrates on the so-called Islamic revival and its dynamics. The “born-again” Muslims are also in the spotlight nowadays, and that was my basic research topic when I began my fieldwork among Muslims in some post-socialist countries. I was fascinated by the sudden, as it seemed to me then, return of religion into the public sphere. However, in Azerbaijan I realized quite quickly that by taking such an approach, I would neglect a large area of mainstream Islam and everyday practices of average Muslims. I will get to know new religious movements and their leaders, but this will give me a picture of a relatively small part of the social reality in contemporary post-Soviet countries. This is the situation social sciences know very well—the colorful and vivid processes attract lots of attention and are widely discussed. The less spectacular landscape of the multiplicity of different everyday activities of the masses are quite often ignored. This “silent majority” is unrepresented in the academic and public debates on Islam (Akbarzadeh, 2011). Only recently the termed of “lived religion” has made its way to the research on institutionalized religions, such as Judaism, Christianity or Islam. With this concept we can grasp the complex and varied practices and ideas of people that do not fit into the framework of orthodoxy, as it is defined by appropriate religious canon. Instead of assuming someone’s religious horizons by extrapolating the formal organization’s ideology, we can gain more insight from an openness to “unorthodox” norms and beliefs. Apart from asking survey questions, we shall be open to the believers’ own narratives and heterogeneous cases which do not follow the most assumed patterns (McGuire, 2008; Ammerman, 2012). Formerly a key concept in understanding religious beliefs and practices in “primitive societies,” nowadays the term “lived religion” is being increasingly used in the study of Catholics, Hindus, Jews and other believers of institutionalized religion. Similarly, if we want to understand contemporary Islam in its most common forms and meanings, we should take a closer look at the phenomenon of “cultural Muslims.” Although it can be found in most Muslim communities, in Central Asia and the Caucasus it undoubtedly prevails over other understandings of Islam.
Another reason for exploring the “lived,” mainstream Islam is to establish a useful perspective to better analyse the religious renaissance. The growing groups of pious, “active” believers do not operate in void. They do not simply copy the patterns of religiosity from other, more Islamized societies, but adapt them to their culture. Those pious Muslims are attached in many ways to their society, their relatives, colleagues, friends, employers. They negotiate their religious identity and the meanings of being a Muslim through interactions with others, mainly with “cultural Muslims.” In Baku one can see a veiled woman who goes hand in hand in with a friend in a tight, short dress with vivid make-up. After over twenty years of religious revival, such couples do not attract much attention. People seem to get used to it, and woman in headscarves and men with a small “Muslim beard” are part of the cultural milieu. This process of adaptation involves everybody, and thus even the universal, global religious trends, such as Salafism or the Gülen Movement, have their local, unique features.
The process of religious revival takes place in a largely dynamic context. There is a large degree of uncertainty and a lack of security. The first decade of political transformation after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the re-emergence of Azerbaijan, Armenia and Georgia as independent republics were full of troubles and constant threat. In the North Caucasus wars with Russia destabilized the region, led to radicalization and violence. The conflict over the Nagorno-Karabakh between Azerbaijan and Armenia began during the glasnost and perestroika of the 1980s and developed into a war which claimed thousands of lives in both sides and the massive forced migrations of people. After the war, the ethnic landscape of both states was drastically changed. Now Armenia is almost completely homogeneous in terms of ethnicity, in Azerbaijan the ethnic diversity is only a little higher. Nagorno-Karabakh is now occupied mainly by Armenians but it is claimed by Azerbaijan. The 1994 ceasefire is not accepted as a durable solution and the conflict is now regarded as “frozen,” but the propaganda on both sides keeps the society prepared for the perspective of new war over the disputed region. Media regularly give accounts of clashes between armed forces near the border zone. In Azerbaijan, the problem of Karabakh is presented in almost all daily news on TV and in newspapers. The atmosphere of fear and uncertainty over the future developments is widely felt. The unresolved conflict has also a profound impact of the internally displaced persons (IDPs). According to government of Azerbaijan in the end of 2013 there were 609,029 IDPs who were forced to leave their homes in Nagorno-Karabakh and in the surrounding territories. More than twenty years after the ceasefire they live in Azerbaijan, and around half of the population dwell in the Absheron Peninsula which hosts Baku and its satellite cities and villages (UN, 2015). Internal economic and political situation is also complicated. The rapid introduction of capitalist economy affected lots of people who were not able to find their place in the new working environment. The security of employment guaranteed by the former socialist system collapsed and unemployment appeared as a serious social problem. Salaries in the public sector were low and for many people everyday life became challenging.
In the market model, demand for religion (and a particular form of religion) is not stable. The uncertainty may also be the reason why lots of people take refuge in religion. If we accept the proposition that religion offers mostly the assurance of life after death (Ekelund, Hébert, Tollison, 2006) than the choice of faith in times of turmoil becomes understandable. If this world includes troubles and struggle with everyday hardships, then it is reassuring to know that life after death would bring solace and happiness. In the terms of the economics of religion:
The premise that the core element of the demand for religion is assurances of salvation means that the market for religion operates in some respects like the market for insurance. In insurance markets higher levels of uncertainty increase the demand for insurance (Ekelund, Hébert, Tollison, 2006, p. 50).
The last two decades in Azerbaijan, and in other post-socialist states, the level of uncertainty is relatively high. It was even higher in the period when the Soviet Union was collapsing and no one knew what would become of it. Wars and violent ethnic conflicts followed and there were many government changes. Religion was an even more attractive point of reference and the “demand for insurance” was higher. More risk makes people more inclined to affiliate with a religious group or institution. Or, more precisely, less risk tolerance influences the demand for religion. Risk tolerance, although being an individual characteristic, depends upon many external factors. The perception of risk is linked to stability of government, the level of education, the status of science, “survivability conditions,” and many other things (Ekelund, Hébert, Tollison, 2006, p. 58).
Anot
her possible explanation for the religious revival, which can be treated as complementary, is in the fluid nature of the boundary between ethnic/national, cultural and religious identities. In the societies where religion is closely tied to national culture, change in nationalistic sentiments may be responsible for the observable rise in religiosity. The end of the Soviet state, which imposed upon its citizens the transnational socialist ideology, brought everywhere the resurgence of national feelings. Symbolic boundaries between ethnic and national communities got stronger and manifested themselves in a variety of ways. Russian language was losing its status and was replaced with national languages. Systems of education have changed and promoted national interests. National culture was presented as unique and especially as separate from the neighbours. Russia and Armenia are dominated by Christians, so Azerbaijan often underlines Islam as a part of national identity.
The topics of fluidity and negotiations of identity are however too vast and complex to explore in this book. In the anthropological literature of the Sovietbloc societies there are some important research on the shifts in ethnic, national, cultural and religious ethnicities under the influences of socialist ideologies and state practices. The topic of interaction of “two cultures” of socialism and religion was a popular research topic. Many ethnographers of the Soviet part of Eurasia claimed that many aspects of the lived religion have strong national features, and the topic of religious and ethnic/national identity remains today as one of the main research area in the anthropology (Rogers, 2005).
The topic of religion is too vast to cover all nuances and aspects. Bearing in mind how complex the issue of religion and identity is, I deliberately limited the research to a more specific and under-explored topic—the role religious competition plays in religious revival. As the field research was in progress, I realized that there is an aspect of intersection of religion and ethnicity—which is itself very interesting—the “cultural Muslims” phenomenon. Although it was not my initial aim to explore it, understanding the identity ambivalences of post-Soviet Islam became crucial to better grasp the nature of religious revival and intra-religious competition.
4.1“Cultural Muslims”
The etiquettes of “cultural Muslims” or “ethnic Muslims” are commonly used across Eurasia to identify and describe those who identify themselves as Muslims but do not treat Islam as a spiritual compass to guide their everyday lives. These terms are commonly used particularly by those Muslims who became actively and consciously engaged in religious life in the last two decades. In a way typical of religious converts, they underline the symbolic boundary that exists between them—“religious Muslims”—and the rest of the society that participate in Muslim rituals only insofar as they are part of a communal tradition. In many personal stories I have heard, practicing Muslims were saying that they were brought up in Muslim families and thus they regarded themselves as Muslims since their childhood. The Muslim identity was a natural one. It gave individuals a sense of belonging to family circles and to their communities, which in the Caucasus plays a very important role. However, in the complex historical processes outlined in the previous chapters, the term “Muslim” acquired distinctive meanings. Being Muslim means belonging to a Muslim society, different from Russians, Armenians, Georgians. It is an identity that links them to other Muslim nations and gives a sense of brotherhood with Turks, Arabs, Pakistanis and others. Before the Russian conquest of the 19th century, in Central Asia and the Caucasus being a Muslim meant first of all belonging to a collective, to a group that drew a symbolic boundary between them—Muslims and others. It had little relation to the theological complexities or to the knowledge of Islamic sources in the original, Arabic language (Khalid, 2007).
A Muslim identity implies also following local traditions, some of which have a religious aspect, others—not necessarily. Azeris tend to explain some of their social habits and patterns of behaviors by referring to Islam as the source of their culture. As a result, Muslim identity cannot be seen as a purely religious one. The Islamic mythology mixes with local stories and narratives. Although, as I will stress later, religion is an important part of the Azeri worldview, the way religion is understood and practiced is far from understandings observed in the “core” of Islamic civilization, particularly in Arab countries.
In Central Asia Islam has always coexisted with other elements of the religious mosaic. Although it appeared in the Asian steppes already in the early eighth century, nomadic people were for almost ten forthcoming centuries reluctant to accept the Islamic faith. In such circumstances, according to many scholars and observers, Islamic identity was more superficial and more open to other religious traditions, such as Zoroastrianism, Shamanism, Manicheism or paganism. Although the faith in supernatural powers prevailed, it was not coupled with the knowledge of Islamic credo nor with Muslim practices, such as five time daily prayers or ablutions (Levshin, 1832, p. 52–54; Rowe, 2007, p. 141–142). Thus, the concept of “cultural Muslims” is also often used to describe the complex social identity in the post-Soviet republics of Central Asia as well as in other post-communist countries, such as the countries of former Yugoslavia (although in this case the term “ethnic Muslims” is more popular). The term “ethnic Muslims” was so popular that it was even included in a population census held in Yugoslavia in 1961 to let the Muslims distinguish themselves from Catholic Croats and mainly Orthodox Serbs (Brunner, 2009). Religion is only one of the layers of Muslim identity and it is does not play a significant role in everyday choices, behaviors, plans. It exists as a part of a general worldview, which leaves some space for the sacred. It is also incorporated in several rituals and ceremonies, which are treated as a part of tradition. Nevertheless, on the whole, religion, in this concept, is a private and individualized matter.
It is vital to point to the voices of criticism related to this concept. Johan Rasanayagam, for instance, argues that speaking of cultural identity versus religious one does not correspond to the social reality. These concepts “imply that ‘culture’ and ‘religion’ are discrete categories, the former being an unreflective immersion in tradition, whereas the latter is a matter of self-conscious, considered belief (2010: 90).” But this is what happens in the post-Soviet context— those Muslims who have become active and engage in religious rituals are much more conscious of Islam, its duties, obligations, norms and most of all of “orthodox” ways of performing Islamic activities (prayer, ablution, hajj, etc.) As I will show later, the issue of defining the “proper” Muslim conduct is in the centre of debates in the whole Islamic world, and in the post-Soviet region it is particularly striking because of the contrast between the current “religious revival” and the communist times. The contemporary competition between various Islamic branches and sects is, among others, about the model of orthodoxy that will guide Muslims in the future. In this process, those who take the path of active religious participation, have more “self-conscious, considered belief” than the rest of the society. What’s more, the precarious relationship between the “new-born” Muslims, as I would say, and the majority of “ethnic Muslims” put the former group in a difficult position. They are expected to prove their choice at every step and in every situation.
However, if I understand it correctly, Rasanayagam’s concerns are more about the reflexivity of people. He questions the sharp division between culture and religion. To some extent, it is true, as it is impossible to categorize all kinds of behaviors and social norms as either cultural or religious. Even the case of wearing a headscarf is problematic. It is usually discussed in the context of religious Muslims, but there are exceptions. In 2008, I was in Georgia in the Pankisi Gorge spending some time among the Kist community, which has Chechen roots. Although there are few Christian Kists, the majority identifies themselves with Sunni Islam, or at least with Islam in general without being able to specify their particular branch. Teenage girls from the Gorge were dressed in the usual fashion, as most of Georgian Christian girls. On first glan
ce, one could not tell that they were Muslims. They lead a typical, village life, often in poverty, as unemployment among Kists is generally very high. Most of the girls identify themselves with the Islamic tradition, but as some of them told me, they treat explicit and systematic religious practices as belonging to the oldest generation. This division of responsibilities is seen as traditional. Indeed, religious rituals are performed by their grandmothers, who gather on their weekly zikr sessions, silent or loud, depending on the community they belong to. For teenagers that is a part of their tradition that religious celebrations belong to the elderly. On the other hand, headscarves that some of the women over 60 wear, are treated as a part of the dress code at a certain age, not as a visual mark of their religious identification. Older women are expected to wear a kind of head cover, but it is a type of cover that also Christian Georgian older women wear. A typical garment of a certain age in Georgia and elsewhere in the Caucasus. This example shows that— to a certain extent—Rasanayagam’s argument is right. Culture and religion overlap, often to a large extent. Religious attitudes of Kists teenagers are not well-thought and conscious. They are shaped by the community and often in an unconscious way. This is a pattern that most children simply follow, observing kin and neighbours in various occasions. They occasionally visit sacred places (often of a mixed Muslim-Christian character)20 with their parents and I do not believe they make a sharp division between cultural and religious tradition. But on the other hand, the term “cultural Muslims” is really useful in comparing Kist traditional spiritual life, their eclectic practices formed in the multi-ethnic communities, with the new wave of “born-again Muslims” that appeared in the Pankisi Gorge in the 1990s. The “Wahhabis,” as the local community calls them, arrived at the Pankisi villages with the Chechen refugees escaping the Northern Caucasus, which was devastated by the Chechen wars (1994–96 and 1999–2009). For the Wahhabis, the Georgian unorthodox Muslims are merely “cultural Muslims.” The reformists’ endeavour to purify the Kists’ religion of all cultural but non-Islamic traditions, such as the practice of ziyārat, Sufi-like zikr rituals and other heterogeneous elements (Wiktor-Mach, 2009).
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