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Yanwar Pribadi[1], Professor of Anthropology at Universitas Islam Internasional Indonesia (UIII) and at UIN Sultan Maulana Hasanuddin Banten (Indonesia), and Stéphane Lacroix, Associate Professor of Political Science at Sciences Po (France)

Introduction

Indonesia has long been regarded as a country peripheral to the Muslim world, compared to the Arab region seen as the centre of Islam. One possible cause of this neglect is the fact that Indonesia has for centuries given birth to syncretic manifestations of Islam (Saravanamuttu, 2010), which may not correspond to the ‘standard’ image of the religion. Nevertheless, things have changed over the last few decades: first, as a consequence of the global “Islamic revival” of the 1970s and, later, in the wake of the collapse of the country’s authoritarian New Order administration in 1998 which led to the establishment of a democratic system allowing for multiple political and religious expressions. These periods have witnessed an increase in the number of Indonesian Muslims embracing more conservative interpretations of Islam, which they saw as “purer” and more “authentic”. This process has come along with a widening and fortification of religious observance, including preaching.

Preaching in Indonesia is generally expressed and practiced openly in the public sphere (Millie et al. 2014). It often takes the form of gatherings known as pengajian – from the verb mengaji, which refers to the idea of communal study – during which a religious figure delivers a religious lesson or speech in front of an audience. Not only do these take place on special occasions (such as religious holidays or festivals, for instance at the time of a haul held to commemorate the death of a Muslim saint), but they can be organized at any time. Sometimes, the pengajian takes place within the activities of one of Indonesia’s two major mass Islamic organizations: the reformist Muhammadiyah, founded in 1912, and the traditionalist Nahdlatul Ulama (NU), established in 1926. But – as we shall see – they can also take place outside that framework, a phenomenon that has been on the rise with the proliferation of smaller independent religious groups, especially since 1998. Pengajian can be hosted by a mosque or one of Indonesia’s many pesantren (Islamic boarding schools), but they can also happen in people’s private residences.

Urban religiosity in Indonesia has been the subject of many studies, in so far as it evolves quickly and needs to be distinguished from the more traditional – and often more syncretic – rural religiosity. This short article deals with the trending phenomenon of urban pengajian, with the aim of using them as a lens to analyse the transformations of Indonesian urban religiosity.

Urban pengajian are frequently exclusive, attended by tens of participants, and mostly located in the houses of the participants alternately. Theyappear, in their content, to challenge the traditional face of Indonesian Islam, widely associated with syncretic rituals. Urban pengajian in Indonesia reflect an obvious mix of Islamic purism, communal piety, and religious commodification: these pengajian groups claim to practice “true” Islam, while indulging in the consumptive behaviour of (sacred) commodities, with members showing enthusiasm over religious attire and goods.

This phenomenon partly reflects the fragmentation of traditional religious authority which has occurred in the wake of the global Islamic revival of the last few decades, generating new figures of public piety, and creating new public spaces in which Islamic teachings are constituted and contested (Hoesterey, 2012, p. 38). In addition, the 1998 political transformation has fuelled Indonesian public expressions of identities—ethnic, religious, and class-based—and the blossoming of visible piety, Muslim pride, and brotherhood. Although visible religious practice was severely constrained during the New Order era, it has become increasingly conspicuous and politicised in the newly democratised and decentralised political sphere (Millie, et. al., 2014, p. 195; Fealy, 2008, pp. 15-39; Lukens-Bull, 2008, pp. 220-234).

            We would suggest that since the fall of the New Order in 1998, the making of religious authority in Indonesia’s urban areas has been frequently marked by the complex interplay between local expressions of Islam and foreign influences, mostly Salafism which originated in the Arab world. This is quite obvious in the urban pengajian, where Salafi ideas often seem to dominate, at least when it comes to the ustadz (the name given to the teachers of Islamic knowledge and Quran recitation who intervene in the pengajian), both male and female, who claim that they are inspired by or following the Salafi doctrines which reject bid‘a (religious innovation) and support the implementation of shari‘a (Islamic law). Their flock is often neither officially affiliated with Islamic mass organisations nor with (Islamic) political parties; and they are generally, at least initially, much less politicized. Following Quintan Wiktorowicz’s classification (Wiktorowicz, 2006), one could say that the members of these pengajian are driven by an aspiration to some form of “purist Salafism”, while the ustadz tend to be more like ‘politicos’, that is more openly political and/or involved in politics.

These urban pengajian, however, have a clear politicizing effect: in the context of identity politics, members of pengajian groups appear to adopt populist ideas in socio-political issues such as, among other things, identifying and condemning a collective enemy. The enemy is usually the “rich” non-Muslims of foreign descent—mostly the Chinese— or the West, which are accused of attempting to destroy Islam. Members usually become concerned with socio-religious affairs and conflicts in other Muslim-majority countries, such as the Palestinian issue and Middle Eastern conflicts. Yet, local political issues related to, among other things, elections and political parties can also become part of their interest.

Background of the study

This article is primarily based on ethnographic fieldwork conducted in the city of Serang in the western part of Java, the most populous island of Indonesia, completed by observations in other Indonesian cities. We investigate the religious expressions among urban middle-class Muslims taking part in four different pengajian, and scrutinise their views on religiosity.

These urban pengajian groups are located in four housing complexes; three of them have only female members, and the last one has both female and male members. Each pengajian group consists of tens of participants, ranging from ten to fifty persons. Although it is exclusive to the residents of each housing complex, the membership is loose and not official, thus participation does not require membership cards. Nevertheless, the current members frequently attempt to recruit new members around the housing complex.

One of the pengajian is held every week, another one is held every two weeks, while the two other pengajian are held once in a month. They are located in houses of the participants alternately. While one pengajian is exclusive for women (including the ustadzah who leads the group)[2], two pengajian with female members have both male and female ustadz and another one with mixed members only invites male ustadz. We observed the pengajians by appointment, often sat separately from the participants, except in the mixed-participants one. However, we were mostly still able to see the attendees and hear the whole pengajian, as well as conduct interviews with the members in separate places.

Most members of the pengajian groups do not have formal Islamic education backgrounds. Very few of them studied in pesantren and other Islamic learning institutions. Many of them are also highly educated (at least bachelor graduates).

Urban Middle-class Muslims in Contemporary Indonesia

During the New Order era, the political domination of the state over society was extensive. The military-dominated Suharto administration and its supporters moved to limit political participation in order to concentrate power, and they generally remained vigilant to neutralise Islamic forces (Macintyre, 1991, pp. 2, 3; Hamayotsu, 2002, p. 356). With the fall of the new Order, ordinary Muslims started to turn more visibly to Islam as a reference to regulate their life. The rampant expansion of television and other media’s preaching programmes and local pengajian gave opportunities for Muslims to gain Islamic knowledge independently for what they saw as ethical self-improvement (Sakai and Fauzia, 2014, p. 43; Muzakki, 2008; Howell, 2008). Therefore, instead of directly getting involved in Islamist movements, many Muslims in Indonesia focused on seeking to follow an Islamic way of life amidst the challenging and secularising world (Sakai and Fauzia, 2014, p. 43). This is especially true for urban middle-class Muslims.

Many contemporary urban Muslims in Indonesia seek a religious redefinition of the world that provides moral order and spiritual sanctuary to human beings, what Peter Berger called ‘the sacred canopy’ (Berger, 1967). In truth, Islam for them represents various sacred canopies where communal bond meets piety, and where a morally sacred order is imposed over cosmological and everyday mundane activities. This is not unique to Islam: modernisation has triggered a myriad of countertrends as evidenced by the movements of religious revival worldwide (Kitiarsa, 2008, p. 3; Pohl, 2006, p. 393).

In today’s Indonesia, various services and goods bearing the label of Islam have appeared to promote an image of the country as a modern Islamic nation. At the same time, the proliferation of new loose Islamic groupings indicates the strengthening of Islamic communal piety. Both communal piety and religious commodification are obvious characteristics of Islamic pop culture, or so-called ‘pop Islam’, which is a blend of Muslim faith with pop culture (Hoesterey, 2012, p. 45).

“Pop Islam”: The Strengthening of Communal Piety and Religious Commodification

To many urban middle-class Indonesian Muslims, Islam has become a pop, chic, youthful, and cool trend. Since the 1980s, religiosity has gradually grown into a significant factor amidst the overt political tension directed at the Suharto administration. It was also boosted by religious identity politics after the demise of the authoritarian regime. As Hoesterey and Clark have noted, popular culture has become a significant arena through which Indonesian Muslims constitute and contest ideas about Islam and piety (Hoesterey and Clark, 2012, p. 207). Elsewhere, the rise of pop Islam has provided Muslims with an important platform for breaking with traditional gender roles, building social capital, and acquiring the participatory skills necessary to bring ‘civil society’ into their communities (Mushaben, 2008, p. 507).

Many female members of the pengajian groups are aspiring housewives who seek both worldly comforts and the enlightenment of an everlasting afterlife. Most of them believe that pengajian serve as a medium to bring them closer to God. Not all participants who come to these occasions can read Arabic nor understand the meaning of the verses in the Quran. Nevertheless, they are attracted by the tantalising pahala (religious reward/merit for moral conduct) they might obtain by attending the forum. Therefore, in addition to the regular pengajian in their neighbourhood, they may attend other pengajian occasionally held in other places.

While attending all these pengajian, these women also feel the need to look charming in appearance as it serves as a display of wealth, power, status, and social class. Clearly, urban pengajian are a perfect display of communal piety and religious commodification. As Maya, a 35 year-old small-and-medium entrepreneur and a member of a pengajian group, explains: “My husband wants me to look pretty. I do not mind that. So, I always try to look attractive in front of him. Being beautiful in front of other members in the pengajian is also important because I do not want to abase my husband. But being beautiful is not cheap. Muslim women need cosmetics and beauty care. I am happy that I can find cosmetic stores and beauty care centres easily”.

As we have noticed, religiosity has been a significant issue among Muslim communities in Indonesia for the last several decades. To them, being a Muslim means that one not only has to perform religious duties and avoid immoral misconduct, but also to proudly and persistently demonstrate his or her Islamic identity. In Indonesia, Islam has become part of an extensive consumer culture and serves as an important identity marker or sign of social status and political affiliation (Hasan, 2009, p. 231).

In these pengajian groups, being religious thus comes with showing an ‘Islamic’ appearance. For women, distinctive religious garbs, such as expensive hijab and long and loose-fitting hijab are the principal symbols. For men, this means growing beards and wearing celana cingkrang (shorter trousers below the knee but above the ankle considered – from a Salafi perspective – the most appropriate trousers for Muslim men). They like to claim that wearing and showing “Islamic” clothing are the first steps to becoming “true” Muslims. They also prefer to talk – or actually to refer to certain terms – in broken Arabic, instead of using Indonesian terms.

Moreover, consuming commodities perceived as recommended by religion is also very important to them. Examples of such things are dates fruits, habbatus sauda’ (black caraway/black cumin), and camel milk. For these people, these habits, along with the participation in religious activities, represent the proper expression of Islamic identity. In short, contemporary urban middle-class Muslims in Indonesia are more dynamic, prone to adopt transnational Islamic ideas, but at the same time they are more exclusive and tend to oppose the traditional expressions of local Islam.

These trends of commodification of religion are not exclusive to Indonesia. In the Egyptian context, scholars like the late Hussam Tammam or Patrick Haenni have written in the 2000s about the rise of “air-conditioned Islam” or “market Islam” (Haenni and Tammam, 2003; Haenni, 2005). They described it as an urban middle-class phenomenon, an attempt to fuse religion and the injunctions of neo-liberal consumer culture.  Where their conclusions however vary from the Indonesian example, however, is that these new market orientations of religion were portrayed as the expression of a disillusionment with political Islam, and thereby as a form of depoliticization. Yet in Indonesia, these new trends have gone hand in hand with a creeping politicization of the urban Muslim middle-classes.

“True” Islam: the Rise of Islamic Populism and Islamism

“True” Islam for some Muslims in Indonesia means ‘return to the Quran and Sunnah’(the practice of the Prophet, which is derived from the hadith), leading to practices which in everyday affairs are often highly political – and “Islamist”, if we adopt the wide definition of the term promoted by Salwa Ismail. For Ismail, the term Islamism is used to encompass both Islamist politics as well as re-Islamisation, the process whereby various domains of social life are invested with signs and symbols associated with Islamic traditions. In short, Islamism is not only an expression of a political project, but it also covers the invocation of frames with an Islamic referent in social and cultural spheres (Ismail, 2006, p. 2). In Indonesia, it is particularly true.

The supporters of “true” Islam in Indonesia are generally peaceful, in the sense that they are not attempting to transform Indonesia into an open battlefield between Muslims and non-Muslims. Nevertheless, they frequently make use of intolerant ways in arguing, promoting, and disseminating their own expression of Islam against certain groups, whether Muslim or non-Muslim, who do not share their opinions. These intolerant acts often cause religious strains. Therefore, while showing a peaceful outlook, as Vedi Hadiz puts it, Indonesia can be used to easily exemplify the danger of rising religious violence and intolerance within a democracy (Hadiz, 2016, p. 14).

Islamic populism in Indonesia is a urban phenomenon. Its rise among urban middle-class Muslims in Indonesia derives from their perception of the marginalised position of Islam in the country’s political system. Vedi Hadiz argues that the main project of the new Islamic populism aims at the favourable repositioning of the marginalised umma within the confined nation-state through various strategies of contestation, which do not necessarily involve the call to establish a shari‘a-based state (Hadiz, 2016, p. 4).

Since the 2014 presidential elections, popular political polarisation in Indonesia, that divides the citizens into a secularist-nationalist faction and an Islamist-nationalist cohort, has escalated. The situation in Jakarta, the capital city of Indonesia, rapidly spilled over to other regions, including Serang. Most members of the pengajian groups in Serang claim that they are not interested in politics, in the sense that they are not members of any political party. Nevertheless, many, if not most, of them share opinions such as that the head of state, the regional head, and the leading public officer must be a Muslim; that shari‘a must be implemented in daily life; that foreign influence should be limited; and they denounce communism, liberalism, and religious pluralism. A recent study demonstrates that Islamist political attitudes have increased after a massive Islamist mobilisation in late 2016 and early 2017 (Aksi Bela Islam – Action for Defending Islam)—combining both street demonstrations and an electoral challenge—directed against the incumbent Chinese-Christian governor of the Special Capital Region of Jakarta, Basuki Tjahaja Purnama, known as Ahok (Mietzner, Muhtadi, and Halida, 2018, p. 161). The movement gained in support after Ahok was accused of blasphemy against Islam in one of his campaign speeches.

It is a fact that non-Jakarta citizens have also been influenced by the divisive speeches propagated by politicians and Islamist leaders around the Ahok case. In Serang, many Muslims participated in the demonstrations, including some members of the pengajian groups observed for this study. An ustadz in one pengajian group recounted that he participated in the demonstrations and said: “The Action for Defending Islam must be followed by Muslims because Ahok has scorned Islam. He must be imprisoned for hurting the feelings of all Muslims in Indonesia. As an ustadz, I must invite my umma to participate in those actions, including my students and my jemaah (participants in religious congregation). This is a jihad (holy war) against the kafir.” (Umar, a 52 year-old ustadz)

The search for “true” Islam, though initially not always driven by political motives, thus ends up fuelling the rise of Islamic populism and Islamism in Indonesia. It also leads to a reconfiguration of the patterns and forms taken by religious authority.

Pengajian as a Way of Exerting Religious Authority in Preaching

Banten, the Indonesian province of which the City of Serang is the capital city, is well-known both for its long history of mysticism and for its strong societal Islamic orientation (Pribadi, 2008, p. 1). In contemporary Banten, particularly in urban Serang, the primary holders of religious authority were traditionally the kyai (religious leaders/teachers), whose standing was often enhanced by the fact that they had performed pilgrimage to Mecca (haji) and that they led one or several pesantren. In relation to mosque management, the kyai also usually act as mosque functionaries who collect zakat (alms). Many of them are also members of the Indonesian Council of Ulama (MUI) in its various chapters in Banten as well as members of different Islamic mass organisations. They represent local expressions of Islam.

The rise of new figures, the ustadz, such as the ones leading the pengajian studied for this article, has challenged that traditional balance. By utilising their capabilities and resources, the ustadz (and the participants in the urban pengajian in Serang) seem to have, openly or not, challenged the kyai as the primary religious authority in order to secure their own interests. Meanwhile, through the networks of pesantren and Islamic mass organisations, the kyai have cautiously responded to the challenge by distancing themselves from religious activities such as the ones held in urban pengajian.

Yet, while the ustadz and their followers represent an overt Salafism, they are also known to be very adaptive and responsive to socio-political transformations. While many residents in elite housing complexes support the ustadz’s way of preaching, and many inhabitants in the outskirts of the city remain more likely to be attracted to the more traditional ways of the kyai, many city dwellers in non-elite urban housing complexes (perkampungan di tengah kota) have no specific preference, either in religious observances and Islamic currents (aliran), or in one or the other type of preachers. These fuzzy areas have become an open field for the ustadz and their followers to expand their influence. This creates an odd situation, as most people without a strong previous religious socialization in a particular group or milieu are now in limbo, trying to decide who and what to follow to fulfil their aspirations to religious conformity.

This state of affairs is, however, far from being unique to Indonesia. Muslim politics encourages competition over the interpretation of Islamic and cultural symbols (Eickelman and Piscatori, 2004), as well as for the control of the state and public institutions (Pribadi, 2018, p. 9, 11). Indonesia’s Muslim society today is marked by deep disagreements over who the qualified religious authorities are and how the pronouncements of individual scholars should be followed (Hefner, 2005, p. 6). Indonesian Islam remains a contested discourse, that does not – and has never – operated in a bubble. As Martin van Bruinessen puts it, Indonesian Islam is not a product of relative isolation from foreign influences, but a result of an active interaction over centuries with a highly diverse set of powerful cultural flows, including from the Middle East and the West, with minor visible roles for China and South Asia (Van Bruinessen, 2015, pp. 62-63). The interaction continues to this day, complexifying the local debate with constant influxes from the global Islamic discussion.

In many ways, the Islamic debate in Indonesia – as it does elsewhere – pits against each other two types of Islamic discourses, each with its own logic of authority. The kyai represents the strength of tradition and transmission: the Islam he practices is the one he inherited from his local teachers, and he can often boast of pertaining to a long line of ulama (that line is called a silsila) that goes all the way back, either to the first Islamic proselytizers in Indonesia, or even to scholars in Mecca before the advent of Wahhabism there. The elements of mysticism and/or esoterism that might be included in his message are rendered acceptable through this logic of transmission. At the other end of the spectrum, the ustadz claims the textual authority of the dalil, the “proof” taken directly from the texts of the Quran and the Sunnah. Who his teachers are matters much less: he claims to have on his side the textual evidence justifying his pronouncements. This, again, is typical of the logic of contemporary Salafism (Haykel, 2009; Lacroix, 2009).

Going back to the urban pengajian, the participants there are told that many things in the local Bantenese Islamic tradition derive from heretical beliefs, such as panjang mulud and tahlilan. While tahlilan are religious rituals during which meals are served to commemorate the dead and are common across Indonesia, panjang mulud is a local Bantenese ritual held to commemorate the Prophet Muhammad’s birthday (on 12 Rabi’ al-awwal, the third month in the Islamic calendar). Most ustadz disapprove of this commemoration, and consider it as antithetical to Islam. Panjang mulud in Serang usually attracts many onlookers. It includes a parade of decorative carts adorned with boiled eggs as the main ornament, as well as food, clothes, and money. Children are generally attracted to participate in such occasions, and thus even though Salafi-inspired Muslims in Serang reject such celebrations, their children can be seen taking part in the amusing events.

The latter story shows that traditional culture stills has considerable appeal in Indonesia. Yet, the appeal of “true” Islam is increasingly seen by urban dwellers as a way to reinforce their own Islamic identity. This has produced a counter-culture against the local traditional Islamic culture, nurturing the very polarisation discussed earlier.

Conclusion

Urban pengajian groups in housing complexes have become a key place to discuss, practice, and propagate the combination of pop and “true” Islam that characterizes aspiring middle-class Muslims, many of whom do not have Islamic education backgrounds and are relatively new to the ideas contained in Islamic teachings. This trend has gained popularity in the urban areas in the country since the fall of the New Order administration.

The making of religious authority in Indonesia has continuously involved complex interactions between two sides: the local expressions of Islam and the practices and understandings of the religion coming from abroad. Though this debate is far from new in Indonesia where it dates back to the early 20^th century, it has re-awaken in full strength over the last three decades. It has also been accompanied by the growing politicization of Islam – and here the timeline is slightly different from that found in the Arab world, where the rise of pop Islam usually corresponded to a move away from politics into the market. In Indonesia, this trend has thus fuelled the rampant popular political polarisation since the 2014 presidential elections.

The city of Serang is only one example, and the same phenomenon is also happening in other urban areas in Indonesia. Yet, the case of Serang showcases many of the dynamics underway, as this article has tried to demonstrate.

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[1] Parts of Yanwar Pribadi’s contribution to this article have already appeared in the chapter he authored for: Norshahril Saat, Ahmad Najib Burhani (eds.), The New Santri: Challenges to Traditional Religious Authority in Indonesia, Singapore: ISEAS, 2020.

[2] We were not allowed to enter the house where this particular pengajian occurred. Though the content is not necessarily secretive, both the ustadzah and the participants believe that separation between male and female in an assembly was a necessity. However, the hosts usually half-opened the door and still gave us permission to listen and follow the talk from the outside.

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