Written evidence from Dr Matthew Nelson, Reader in Politics, SOAS (ISL0013)

POLITICAL ISLAM

Beyond the Muslim Brotherhood

Matthew J. Nelson

Department of Politics

School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS)

University of London

Introduction                                                                                                                                                2

I.               Political Islam and South Asia: Moving Beyond the Muslim Brotherhood                  2

II.A.               Political Islam and the State: Engagement or Ambivalence?                                7

II.B.               Political Islam and the State: Democracy and the Rule of Law                              10

III.              Political Islam and Sectarianism: Coercive and ‘Cooperative’ Responses                12

Conclusion                                                                                                                                              15

Biography                                                                                                                                              16

Introduction

With reference to ‘political Islam’, this submission makes three points. These points press beyond the conventional wisdom to help the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) understand and engage the terrain of political Islam more effectively.

My first point pulls away from a conventional focus on the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt (or analogous groups across the Middle East) to stress that British Muslims are more closely tied to South Asia. Within South Asia, it is important to press beyond Islamist analogues of the Muslim Brotherhood to consider a much wider range of groups falling within the parameters of ‘political Islam’.

My second point moves away from a conventional focus on Islamist efforts to capture the state. Considerable attention has been paid to Islamist political parties, their success (or not) in elections, and their policy priorities. A nuanced understanding of political Islam indicates that Islamist policy priorities are not automatically incompatible with core values like the rule of law; but, in my second point, I note that British policy makers should not overlook forms of political Islam that largely ignore the state.

My third point turns away from the state to focus on the question of sectarianism. It is conventional to associate political Islam with ‘takfiri’ trends in which Muslims describe sectarian/doctrinal ‘others’ as apostates marked for death. However, sectarian militancy is not an automatic consequence of doctrinal difference. In my final point, I describe some of the ways in which Islamists, confronted with doctrinal difference, reframe debates regarding the parameters of (intra-Muslim) cooperation.

Overall this submission moves beyond a conventional focus on the senior leadership of Islamist parties like the Muslim Brotherhood and their ostensibly monolithic clash with established secular states. Turning to South Asia, I draw attention to a younger, more informal, and more internally differentiated political landscape, highlighting a series of tensions within the space of ‘political Islam’.

I. Political Islam and South Asia: Moving Beyond the Muslim Brotherhood

Too often, the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood (MB) is treated as an analytical bench-mark for those with an interest in political Islam. This must be avoided.

A path-breaking initiative entitled ‘Rethinking Political Islam’ undertaken by the Brookings Institution in Washington uses numerous case studies (Egypt, Tunisia, Libya, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Pakistan, and so on) to highlight the problems with this view. Within this initiative each contributor examined a political arena with elements that could be described as ‘analogous’ to Egypt’s MB whilst, at the same time, stressing the degree to which generalizations based on the Brotherhood would be misplaced.[1]

Building on this effort to ‘decentre’ the Egyptian MB, I would like to stress two things—one related to where the world’s Muslims actually live and one related to how they organise themselves (as ‘Muslims’) politically.

Fewer than 20% of the world’s Muslims live in all of the countries of the Middle East and North Africa combined. More than 30% live in just three South Asian states: Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh.

South Asia includes more Sunni Muslims than any other region in the world (by far). Pakistan and India have more Shi’i Muslims than any other country except Iran. And of course British Muslims are more closely tied to South Asia than they are to the Middle East. Too often, British policy makers see South Asia as marginal to the field of political Islam. In fact South Asia is central.

Furthermore, most Muslims do not vote in large numbers for religious parties falling within the parameters of ‘political Islam’. Instead they vote for ‘catch-all’ parties embracing both Muslim and non-Muslim voters.

This is certainly true in South Asia. In India, most Muslims vote for the Indian National Congress party—the party of Nehru and Gandhi—which remains committed to a ‘secular’ policy guaranteeing state enforcement for several different religious laws, including Muslim law. In Bangladesh, most Muslims vote for left-of-centre parties with an explicitly secular platform—parties like the Awami League—or right-of-centre parties like the Bangladesh National Party. And, in Pakistan, they vote for right-of-centre parties like the Pakistan Muslim League, left-of-centre parties like the Pakistan People’s Party, and various ethnic parties. Very few Muslims vote for ‘Islamist’ parties like the Jama’at-e-Islami (JI). Very few Muslims vote for parties led by Muslim clerics (i.e. the ulema), for example the Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Hind (JUH), the Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Islam (JUI), the Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Pakistan (JUP), and so on.

Some observers of the Arab Spring were surprised to find that the landscape of political Islam extended beyond lay Muslim ‘Islamist’ challengers like the Muslim Brotherhood to include non-Brotherhood ‘Salafis’ as well.[2] Many simply lumped these Islamist and Salafi groups together within a very broad understanding of political Islam. But, in South Asia, the terms of political Islam have long recognized a basic distinction between lay Muslim ‘Islamists’ and a range of ulema-based groups associated with various madrasas (e.g. the famous Dar-ul-Uloom at Deoband).

It is this more thoroughly differentiated terrain involving both madrasa-based groups and ‘Islamists’ that, I believe, the FCO should appreciate from the start. This is important because South Asia’s approach to political Islam is deeply rooted in so many different parts of the world. Consider, for instance, just two groups, namely the (Islamist) Jama’at-e-Islami and the (Deobandi) Tablighi Jama’at. We find allies of the Jama’at-e-Islami stretching from Islamabad to Tower Hamlets. We find ‘Tablighis’ stretching from Delhi to Durban, Dewsbury, and beyond.

In what follows, I will set aside South Asia’s catch-all parties to focus more specifically on those associated with the terms of political Islam: madrasa-based ulema and lay Islamists. I will also focus on Sunnis. Within these two basic categories—ulema and Islamists—it is essential to consider at least four broad doctrinal (and organizational) constellations, each focusing on the advancement of a specific understanding of Islam in South Asia: Barelwi, Deobandi, Salafi, and Jama’ati.

I will also touch on a fifth group, namely Ahmadis, who stand apart from    the other four as a target of intense persecution—not only in South Asia but around the world. (This persecution generates a significant number of asylum seekers and, as such, it remains a significant priority for the FCO.)

Each of the first three groups (Barelwi, Deobandi, Salafi) comes with its own network of madrasas, or seminaries, training ulema as teachers and experts in a particular school of Islamic law: the ‘Hanafi’ school for Barelwis and Deobandis; the ‘Hanbali’ school for Salafis. Even beyond these divergent schools of Sunni law, however, an awareness of specific debates regarding the role of Sufi shaikhs and shrines is helpful when it comes to unraveling the differences between them.

Very briefly, Barelwis are known for patterns of religious veneration involving Sufi shrines (housing the graves of pious Sufi shaikhs) as well as an appreciation for living shaikhs who serve as spiritual guides. Commonly associated with the mystical side of Islam, Barelwis describe the Prophet as an all-seeing / all-knowing ‘living light’.

Growing out of a reformist madrasa in India, Deobandis tend to appreciate the spiritual guidance offered by Sufi shaikhs, but they see prayers offered in the context of Sufi shrines as heresy (in effect, a pattern of worshiping something other than God). Deobandi madrasas are known for downplaying the ‘rationalist’ side of Islamic education (logic, grammar, etc.) in favour of ‘revealed’ subjects focusing on the Qur’an and the hadiths.[3]

Salafis (a.k.a. Ahl-e-Hadith or People of the Hadith) are critical of the ‘inter-mediating’ role played by Sufi shrines and shaikhs, as well as the authority attached to generations of clerical commentaries on Islamic law developed by Barelwi and Deobandi ulema (amongst others). They describe their understanding of Islam as a ‘purist’ understanding derived exclusively from the Qu’ran and a selected body of hadiths.

Moving away from madrasas and the training of clerics, the fourth group is tied to religiously oriented lay Muslims who trace their views to twentieth-century religious ideologues like Syed Abul ala Maududi and his group, the Jama’at-e-Islami.

Maududi felt that South Asia’s seminarians were ill-suited to the demands of modern Muslim politics. He drew on Leninist ideas regarding the need for an intellectual vanguard composed of lay Muslim professionals (doctors, engineers, accountants) to drag the Muslim masses in the direction of an Islamic revolution. Initially, he focused on polemical journalism to attract new followers; but, eventually, he formed a political party. He opposed the ‘secular’ Muslim-majoritarianism of the Pakistan Movement, seeking to place his followers within the state apparatus (in order to ‘Islamize’ it) instead.

Known for prioritizing the modern state over traditional madrasas, Maududi’s Jama’at-e-Islami and the Muslim Brotherhood are close cousins. During the 1940s, a son-in-law of MB founder Hasan al-Banna helped to establish an influential student wing of Maududi’s Jama’at-e-Islami in Karachi. And, during the 1960s, MB ideologues like Syed Qutb were directly inspired by Maududi’s writings.

Like Barelwis and Deobandis, the Ahmadis follow the Hanafi school of Sunni law. However, many Muslims refuse to regard the Ahmadis as ‘Muslims’ owing to their assertion that a late-19th century revivalist from the Punjab named Mirza Ghulam Ahmad was actually a latter-day prophet. In Pakistan, a 1974 constitutional amendment prevents the state from recognizing the Ahmadis as Muslims. And, during the 1980s, Pakistan’s Penal Code was amended to ensure that any Ahmadi using words like ‘mosque’ to describe his/her place of worship could be prosecuted for blasphemy.

Each of these groups matters greatly for the terrain of Muslim politics in the UK.

Deobandi madrasas—offering an interpretive strain that does not figure in the Middle East—are the most common type of madrasa in the UK (by far). This is a source of concern owing to broad links between the curriculum in Deobandi madrasas and that taught in the Pakistani madrasas that nurtured the Taliban.

Salafi perspectives are also a source of concern owing to broad links with the ideas espoused by groups like Al-Qaeda and Daesh.

Jama’ati perspectives are closely watched owing to ideological links between the Jama’at and the Muslim Brotherhood.[4]

And, finally, the recent murder of an Ahmadi in Glasgow drew attention to an organization known as the Majlis-e-Tahhafuz-e-Khatm-e-Nabuwwat (MTKN; Society for the Protection of the Finality of Prophethood) renowned for its anti-Ahmadi politics in Pakistan.

These groups disagree on a wide range of doctrinal issues, but Barelwis, Deobandis, Salafis, and Jama’atis agree that Ahmadis should be shunned.

Amongst Sunnis, the terrain of political Islam is not cohesive. And, yet, despite (occasionally violent) intra-Sunni rivalries, cooperation is not unknown. This cooperation can emerge for doctrinal reasons, as it does in the case of the Ahmadis, as well as purely political reasons, for example, when Deobandi, Barelwis, and Salafis join hands with Jama’atis in the context of an electoral coalition—see p. 14, below.[5]

Within South Asia, the terrain of political Islam is not dominated by a single ‘Islamist’ party focused on the capture of state power, as it is in so much of the Middle East.   It is defined by sectarian and, especially, intra-Sunni rivalries within which political parties figure only marginally. Deobandis and Jama’atis have political parties each known for securing roughly 2-4% of the popular vote. Barelwis are associated with tiny parties that rarely win any seats. Salafis and Ahmadis are not tied to any specific party at all.

Broadly speaking, each group is associated with several different forms of political engagement simultaneously: educational outlets (madrasas, schools), political parties, charities, social movements, student unions, media, and militancy. To provide a sense of what this means in practice, one might consider the following mix of activities associated with just two groups, namely the ‘Barelwis’ and the ‘Deobandis’:

Of course these two columns are just the beginning. Similar lists could be prepared for Salafis (highlighting private educational initiatives like Al-Huda, charities like Jama’at-ud-Dawa, and militant groups like Lashkar-e-Taiba) as well as parties like the Jama’at-e-Islami (highlighting private school networks like Dar-e-Arqam, militant groups like Hizb-ul-Mujahideen, and so on).

Moving well beyond ‘Islamist’ parties like the Jama’at-e-Islami—so often compared to the Egyptian MB—this is the landscape of political Islam in South Asia and the South Asian diaspora, where so many of the world’s Muslims live.

This is not a landscape defined, in the first instance, by large-scale Islamist parties on the cusp of capturing state power. Nor is it defined by draconian efforts, on the part of the state, to stifle the advance of religious political parties. This is not a landscape overwhelmed by Sunni-Shi’i sectarian rivalries. It is a relatively open, eclectic, and competitive landscape—one defined by a wide range of actors engaged in a huge variety of sectors battling to define the parameters of pious practice within the frame-work of Sunni Islam.

II.A. Political Islam and the State: Engagement or Ambivalence?

Focusing on the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, analysts often imagine that religious social movements will ‘evolve’ into formal political parties that seek to capture state power. This push for electoral success, however, has been cut short in countries like Egypt, leaving many to wonder how the policies of an established MB regime might develop.[6] I will return to the subject of ‘political-Islam-in-power’ in the next section (II.B.). For now, I will focus on the extent to which the terms of political Islam should be framed as a quest for state power at all.

Holding fast to an appreciation for democracy, party politics is often treated as a natural—even inevitable—destination. As a normative position for the FCO, this may be a defensible position. However, as an analytical foundation, it is not.

Analytically, there is no reason to believe that ‘political’ Islam will naturally evolve in the direction of ‘party-based’ Islam. In South Asia, the most important trend does not involve any progression (from religious ‘movement’ to political ‘party’). The key trend is one of diversification (balancing multiple forms of party and non-party activity simultaneously).

The literature on political Islam has long focused on a delicate balance between two spheres, namely that of the hizb (party) and that of the haraka (religious social movement).[7] Even within the most familiar case of a religious-social-movement-turned-political party, namely the Muslim Brotherhood, however, non-state efforts focused on the Islamisation of individuals or communities have remained a top priority. In short, party politics is not always seen as the most important source of ‘political effectiveness’ in the realm of political Islam.

Within South Asia, a brief look at the experience of those embracing a ‘Deobandi’ perspective may help to illuminate this point.

The expanding influence of Deobandi movements like the Tablighi Jama’at (NB this movement is widely regarded as the largest Muslim movement in the world) has had no discernable effect on the electoral success of Pakistan’s leading Deobandi political party—a party known as the Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Islam (JUI). In fact, even despite the enormous presence of the Tablighi Jama’at, the JUI has never won more than a handful of Pakistan’s popular vote.[8]

Similarly, if we examine the relationship between political parties and religious militancy, it is difficult to identify clear links.[9] As an important regional player in the provincial politics of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, for instance, the (Deobandi) JUI’s inclusion in national and provincial governments has not limited the level of militancy associated with the (Deobandi) Taliban.

In South Asia, ‘party strength’ and ‘movement strength’ are not directly correlated.

With the exception of Turkey, Tunisia, and Morocco, and apart from Iran, the electoral profile of those falling within the parameters of political Islam has generally been quite weak (or highly localized). Yet, few are prepared to argue that the limited electoral success of so-called ‘religious’ parties in places like Pakistan, Afghanistan, or Bangladesh has rendered their narrow constituencies politically irrelevant. In fact party-based political activity is just one (often secondary) form of contemporary political engagement.[10]

In Morocco, non-electoral forms of activism have made Al-Adl wal-Ihsan     the largest Muslim movement in the country—larger, and in many ways more effective, than formal Islamist parties like Morocco’s Justice and Development Party (PJD).

In Turkey, the greatest threat to Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP) has come, not from any competing political     party, but rather from the non-electoral activism of exiled religious leader Fethullah Gülen.

Given the dynamics of globalization and the possibility of a general decline in the popular legitimacy of state structures, it may be that, contrary to the conventional wisdom, rejecting ‘party’ politics in favour of ‘movement’ politics is no longer a    step backwards. Increasingly, this move may be seen as a step forwards. This    rather unconventional possibility has been explored, quite extensively, in the context of South Asia, with particular reference to religious movements like that of the Tablighi Jama’at (TJ).

The Tablighi Jama’at is a global Muslim missionary movement steeped in the Deobandi tradition, but, moving away from traditional clerics ensconced in Deobandi madrasas, the Tablighi Jama’at focuses on lay Muslims, encouraging them to attend Deobandi mosques.[11]

Quite apart from its turn towards Deobandi mosques, however, TJ is known for its lack of interest in the state. Unlike the (Deobandi) Taliban, TJ does not challenge the state with violence. And, unlike the (Deobandi) JUI, it does not seek to capture state power via elections. Instead, the Tablighi Jama’at claims to ‘avoid’ politics, targeting conventional forms of state power with what might be described as a doctrine of acute indifference.

Departing from both violence and elections, those affiliated with the Tablighi Jama’at often describe themselves as ‘apolitical’. But, as the largest Muslim movement in the world with several million affiliates spanning scores of different countries, this withdrawal may be described as a form of politics on its own. Indeed, even as the Tablighi Jama’at greets the act/duty/right of voting with a shrug, it focuses on internal Muslim politics, facing off against Dawat-e-Islami (DI) activists who call on the same group of Muslims to visit, not Deobandi mosques, but rather Barelwi mosques.

Of course, non-party groups that challenge the state but reject violence are typically regarded as part of the political mainstream—part of ‘civil society’ lobbying the state to change its policies. But the Tablighi Jama’at is different. The Tablighi Jama’at does not limit its critique to specific articulations of state power; it questions the state itself as a locus of relevant power.

This position cannot be described as hostile; but, returning to the concerns of   British policy makers, ‘indifference’ is clearly difficult to reconcile with the task of ‘integration’.

Again, it is difficult to overlook the fact that TJ is the largest Muslim movement in the world. No account of ‘political Islam’ would be complete without a detailed understanding of its position (or that of analogous movements rooted in South Asia like Dawat-e-Islami).[12] Indeed, no account would be complete without an appreciation for what this ‘apolitical’ position reveals about the fallacy of any assumed progression from haraka, if you will, to hizb.

Paradoxically, this aversion to mainstream political engagement may be a key source of cohesion for groups like the Tablighi Jama’at. Indeed, a closer look suggests that mainstream political parties and militants are prone to chronic splits precisely because their goal (state power) is so often construed as zero-sum.

Occasionally, these splits unfold along ideological lines but, more often, they unfold along purely tactical lines: whether to contest elections; whether to take up arms; whether to negotiate with adversaries.[13] Increasingly, however, these splits also unfold along specific generational lines, with older leaders clinging to established political parties even as younger activists branch out via new forms of social media and violence.[14]

In Tunisia, generational tensions concerning religious and revolutionary con-cessions during the Arab Spring emerged as one of the most prominent axes of disagreement within the Islamist party, Ennahda (with older leaders in    the forefront, focusing on elections, even as some young Tunisians turn to Daesh).

In Libya, too, younger Islamists have criticized Ennahda’s cautious embrace of elections in favour of militant movements (including Daesh).

Given the internal diversification of so many groups falling within the parameters of political Islam, including so much political activity set apart from the state, it is often difficult to argue that the terms of political Islam are moving ‘this way’ or ‘that’. In fact, owing to chronic splits, even those associated with a single ‘Deobandi’ perspective often seem to move in several different directions at once.

Within the FCO, there is much to be gained from an effort to abjure broad cross-national conclusions in favour of a focus on local political contexts—including, especially, non-state contexts. Indeed, if there is one conclusion to emerge from the Brookings initiative mentioned above, it is this: the trajectory of political Islam does not lend itself to broad cross-national conclusions at all.

II.B. Political Islam and the State: Democracy and the Rule of Law

Occasionally, Islamist and ulema-based parties actually do focus on state power. And, in some cases, they also secure it (however briefly). But, even then, the empirical evidence clearly indicates that their behaviour can be quite variable. In fact their behaviour is often difficult to categorise in terms of advancing, or subverting, core elements of British policy—elements like democracy or the rule of law. A brief example, focusing on just one feature of Islamic law (namely inheritance), will help to illustrate this point.

In many parts of South Asia, voting is tied to specific forms of political patronage—forms of patronage in which access to state power and, therein, the ability to ‘oversee’ executive agents like the police and local bureaucrats is highly valued. The difficulty lies in the fact that, in many cases, grassroots political competition also involves rival bids to secure oversight in ways that extend ‘the benefits of impunity’ to supporters. (In short, control over the police and local bureaucrats allows those holding the reins of power to define where the sword of the law will fall and, more importantly, where it won’t.) Routine forms of ‘electoral accountability’ are not always compatible with advancing the ‘rule of law’.[15]

This adjustment in the relationship between electoral accountability and the rule      of law is, however, closely tied to the ‘anti-corruption’ agenda of many Islamist and clerical parties.

To understand this link, certain details are important. Throughout South Asia, Islamic laws of inheritance stipulate that female relatives are entitled to a particular share of every ancestral estate. However, prevailing ‘tribal customs’ favour exclusive patrilineal norms of inheritance. The trick lies in appreciating that ‘tribal customs’ favouring patrilineal inheritance feed into prevailing forms of electoral accountability in many South Asian states. Specifically, landowning families call on their elected leaders to ensure that female-friendly (Islamic) laws of inheritance are not consistently enforced.

Throughout South Asia, the ‘patronage’ offered by catch-all parties is closely tied to the satisfaction of these (tribal) landowner demands. But, for those with an eye for Islam and Islamic law—this pattern of exchange (trading     votes for the non-enforcement of existing Islamic laws) is really just a form of corruption.

To clarify, the ‘anti-corruption’ agenda of Pakistan’s Islamist and clerical parties is occasionally tied to a defence of the rule of law; it’s just that, in this case, the law is an Islamic law favouring the inheritance rights of women.

There is, however, a further irony in the fact that, although the anti-corruption agenda of Islamist and clerical parties is bound up with efforts to advance the rule of law, this is not, strictly speaking, a ‘democratic’ push for the rule of law insofar as the laws in question are seen as non-negotiable. In effect, the religious laws in question are thought to remain completely set apart from formal patterns of legislative amend-ment and reform.

A commitment to the enforcement of Islamic law (as a commitment to advancing the ‘rule of law’) is not automatically an explicitly democratic commitment. It begins to resemble a democratic commitment only when the multiple interpret-ations of Islamic law that exist in a particular community are acknowledged and subjected to various forms of legislative negotiation and the possibility of iterative reform.

It just so happens that this accommodation of parliamentary sovereignty and reform (vis-à-vis the terms of Islamic law) is baked into the constitutional architecture of several Muslim-majority countries, including Pakistan.[16] And, yet, it is difficult to say that this constitutional architecture has always been embraced by those tied to the terms of political Islam.

When Islamist and ulema-based parties like the Jama’at-e-Islami and the Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Islam (JUI) have controlled the policy agenda in various parts of Pakistan, their approach to Islamic law has not always reflected a clear commitment to these core constitutional norms.

In 2005, for example, the Jama’at-e-Islami and the JUI passed a controversial Hisba Act introducing vice-and-virtue brigades to monitor public morality. But the Act was challenged in the courts; in fact it was later struck down for two reasons. First, it was struck down because its narrow focus on a Sunni interpretation of Islamic law failed to accommodate the doctrinal diversity of Pakistan’s Muslim community. And, second, it was struck down because its reliance on vigilante enforcement undercut basic constitutional norms of due process.

The problem for those with an interest in democracy, in this case, did not involve any particular reference to Islamic law. The problem concerned the challenge of reading that law alongside constitutional requirements pertaining to the rights of Muslim minorities and established forms of due process. (These requirements are now common across the Muslim world.)

The FCO would benefit from an ability to understand, not only the tensions unfolding between Islam and democracy, but also (and perhaps more importantly) specific debates unfolding within the space of political Islam—debates regarding key aspects of democracy like the rights of religious minorities that draw out rival ‘Islamic’ points of view.

In some cases, it may be possible to recommend the enforcement of shari’ah-based legislation (as ‘legislation’) without actually neglecting British values: an appreciation for constitutionalism, parliamentarism, and a commitment to the rule of law.

III. Political Islam and Sectarianism: Coercive and ‘Cooperative’ Responses

Again, it bears repeating that the terms of political Islam rarely focus exclusively on the capture of state power. Properly understood, they tend to focus internally on competing forms of piety and authority within the Muslim community. This internal competition is closely tied to endemic doctrinal conflicts, including sectarian conflicts.

Sectarian conflicts involving Sunnis and Shi’a are important in the Middle East, but they also affect South Asia.

During the 1980s, a Sunni Deobandi party known as the Sipah-e-Sahaba was established in the wake of the Iranian Revolution to assert the interests of a rising Sunni middle-class against established Shi’i landowners in the Pakistani district of Jhang.[17] The Sipah-e-Sahaba later developed its own militant wing known as Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ); and, over time, LeJ has been responsible for a series of anti-Shi’a massacres, including a series of attacks in 2013 that killed more than 200 Shi’a in Quetta.

Even apart from cities like Quetta, however, Pakistan has several important pockets of Shi’a in strategic border areas: in the Federally Administered Tribal Area of Kurram, bordering Afghanistan; in Baltistan, bordering India; and in Gilgit, bordering China. The importance of these border areas, and the conflicts coursing through them, should not be underestimated.

Alongside the Sunni-Shi’i conflicts that have received so much attention in the Middle East, however, the sectarian climate in South Asia is also shot through with patterns of violence between and amongst local Sunnis.

The ‘Barelwi’ Sunni Tehreek, for instance, is particularly well known for tit-for-tat skirmishes involving ‘Deobandi’ Sunnis in Karachi—each attempting to seize the urban real estate (e.g. the mosques and madrasas) of the other. As in Jhang, this conflict is a religious, doctrinal, or ‘sectarian’ conflict with strong ‘materialist’ dimensions.

Whether Sunni-Shi’i or intra-Sunni, this landscape of sectarian violence is broadly tied to patterns of doctrinal disputation (munazara) and refutation (radd) rooted in local madrasas. However, moving beyond these madrasas, it is also helpful to recognize the complex role played by lay Muslims associated with the Jama’at-e-Islami.

Islamist parties like the Jama’at-e-Islami have long played a key role in bridging      the divide, not only between different Sunnis, but also between Sunnis and Shi’a.[18] In South Asia, however, this role has taken shape in two very different ways.

On the one hand, the Jama’at-e-Islami has supported cross-sectarian forums like the Milli Yekjehti Council or the National Council for Religious Harmony—an alliance of more than 25 Muslim organizations devoted to the coordination of different sectarian groups.

The Jama’at has also helped to form an electoral alliance known as the Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal or the United Council of Action to combine the party-based resources of the Jama’at with various Barelwi, Deobandi, and Salafi groups, as well as Shi’i groups, in the wake of 9/11.

At the same time, however, the Jama’at has played a far more cynical role in bringing these different groups together on a common platform committed to the demonization of Ahmadis. Indeed, stirring up anti-Ahmadi sentiment has proven to be the most reliable way to generate a more ‘cohesive’ approach to the terms of political Islam.

Within this sectarian landscape, the role of Islamist parties is complex. Whereas, on the one hand, they seek to transcend Sunni-Shi’i and intra-Sunni sectarian violence, they also urge the Muslim community to band together against specific religious ‘others’—especially the Ahmadis, but also Hindus in India and Jews and Christians in the West.[19]

Of course this role (for Islamists) is not generalizable; it is impossible to say that lay Muslim Islamists will always seek to bridge the divide between Sunni and Shi’i Muslims.

Whereas, in Kuwait, for instance, the Islamist MB has tried to work with Shi’a parliamentarians (even as Kuwaiti Salafis have continued to reject any such move as a matter of religious doctrine), in Saudi Arabia various Islamists have lined up behind King Salman and his son, Prince Mohammad, to support the war in Yemen, painting it as a war of necessity to resist Shi’a encroachments.[20]

In Syria, Brotherhood-affiliated schools vilify the ruling Alawite faction in ways that combine anti-authoritarianism with a distinctively sectarian dimension. And, yet, in Qatar, we see Egyptian Brothers like Yusuf al-Qaradawi shifting his views over time, from a pro-Hezbollah stance supporting Hassan Nasrullah in 2006 to a broadly anti-Shi’a position after 2011.

Sectarian conflict is, arguably, one of the greatest threats surrounding the Muslim community today. But its dynamics are very poorly understood. Too often, there is a sense that Sunni-Shi’i sectarian violence is inevitable, even as there is an assumption that Sunni-Sunni sectariansm is impossible. In fact, both types of violence are contextual.

Once again, the FCO would do well to focus on the micro-level political conditions that lead some doctrinal cleavages to generate sectarian conflict even as others produce complex forms of cooperation. Clearly, as the Ahmadis in South Asia remind us, some forms of ‘cooperation’ produce new victims of their own.

Conclusion

I will conclude with six summary points—points that, I believe, will help to understand and engage the landscape of political Islam moving forward.

1. The largest group of Muslims do not live in the Middle East; they are tied to South Asia (or the South Asian diaspora). To understand the field of political Islam, the FCO should not neglect South Asia.

2. Islamist parties like the Muslim Brotherhood and the Jama’at-e-Islami are not the most important articulation of political Islam; in addition to the MB and JI, British policy makers require an appreciation for the political space unfolding between Sunnis (e.g. Barelwis, Deobandis, and Salafis) and Shi’a, as well as Ahmadis. To maintain fruitful relations with those involved in the field of political Islam, the FCO must look beyond prominent ‘Islamists’.

3. Those associated with political Islam thrive on functional diversification: political parties, social movements, madrasas, schools, media, militancy, and so on. The FCO should not limit its focus to active or aspiring political parties.

4. The world’s largest Muslim movement is not a political party based in the Middle East; it is a religious reform movement (the Tablighi Jama’at) rooted in South Asia’s Deobandi tradition and known for its non-violent proselytization and its profound indifference to the state. The FCO must appreciate the appeal of non-violent groups set apart from any engagement with the state.

5. In many states the terms of political Islam are associated with an ‘anti-corruption’ agenda; in some cases, it may be possible to support the enforcement of shari’ah-based legislation (as ‘legislation’ subject to the possibility of reform) without abandoning constitutionalism, parliamentarism, or a commitment to the rule of law. The FCO must learn to engage pro-democracy perspectives unfolding within the language of Islam.

6. Overcoming Sunni-Shi’i and intra-Sunni sectarian conflicts only rarely involves a positive regard for doctrinal difference; more often, it involves a tactical alliance rooted in the demonization of a common enemy (Ahmadi, Yazidi, Alevi, Baha’i, and so on). The FCO must develop new ways to promote an appreciation for doctrinal difference within the terms of Islam.

The Diplomatic Academy of the FCO should continue its current training programme on Political Islam on South Asia, ensuring that prevailing attention to political trends is paired with a deeper understanding of religious debates within the Islamic tradition. It is important to shift our understanding of political Islam in ways that balance an appreciation for politics with an appreciation for the discourse of Islam. Religious literacy is essential.

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Biography

Dr. Matthew J. Nelson is a Reader in Politics at SOAS, focusing on Muslim politics in South Asia. He has published widely on Political Islam for academic and policy-oriented audiences. His most recent book is entitled In the Shadow of Shari‘ah: Islam, Islamic Law, and Democracy in Pakistan (Columbia, 2011). His teaching includes a course on ‘Political Islam in South Asia’ for the Diplomatic Academy of the British Foreign Office. He also serves as a consultant for a Brookings Institution project entitled   ‘Rethinking Political Islam’. This project includes numerous case-studies (Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and so on) as well as roundtable debates with leading Islamists from across South Asia, Southeast Asia, and the Middle East.

April 2016