Brother Tariq: The Doublespeak of Tariq Ramadan (3 page)

Hassan al-Banna is a figure revered by Islamists the world over. In the early
years ofthe twentieth century, this Egyptian preacher developed a program for
reasserting social and political control that has served as a model for all those
engaged in the fight to extend the reign ofa form of political Islam that is both
archaic and reactionary. He oversaw the birth of a diabolical machine-the
Muslim Brotherhood-that to this day grinds out its fundamentalist message, spreading it to the four corners of the world. Even Al-Qaeda is no competitor in terms of the scope of this negative force. Al-Qaeda militants were
often fascinated by al-Banna before they crossed the line into bin Laden-type
terrorism. Given the nature of al-Banna's influence, which remains a constant threat, citizens of Muslim origin are often uneasy when they see Tariq
Ramadan continue his grandfather's work in the very heart of the West.

In a collection of interviews with Alain Gresh, editor-in-chief of Le Monde
diplomatique, Tariq Ramadan made no secret ofthe fact that he had taken Hassan al-Banna as a model: "I have studied Hassan al-Banna's ideas with great
care and there is nothing in this heritage that I reject. His relation to God, his spirituality, his mysticism, his personality, as well as his critical reflections
on law, politics, society and pluralism, testify for me to his qualities of heart
and mind." And he added: "His commitment also is a continuing reason
for my respect and admiration."6 This admission is in itself terrifying. Every
word was chosen to play down the fanaticism and totalitarianism advocated
by al-Banna, a man for whom "the Islamic banner must wave supreme over
the human race." 7 His name still fills any Muslim who is modern and liberal-or simply healthy-minded-with rage over the crimes that have been
committed in the name of Islam. Yet his grandson finds nothing wrong in
all this. On the contrary, in a book written for a popular audience, he fully
accepted his role as one whose mission it was to continue in the footsteps of
his grandfather, whom he presented as a model of "spirituality" and of "critical appreciation of society." By extolling his grandfather's "critical reflections
on pluralism," essentially he was praising the virtues of al-Banna's totalitarian outlook.

Well aware of the negative effects that an admission of this kind could
have, al-Banna's grandson took the precaution of adding: "I put Hassan alBanna in the context of his period and his society, and I take that context into
account in analyzing his objectives and the means he used to achieve them."8
In effect, Tariq Ramadan does not repudiate al-Banna's objectives and methods as such; he only says that he is prepared to adapt them to a changed environment: not Egypt in the early years ofthe twentieth century, but the West at
the beginning of the twenty-first. In other words, what is involved is a strategic adaptation, designed to be more efficacious in this new "field"-and not a
true rejection. One could, however, be tempted to think otherwise when reading the rest of the interview in L'Islam en questions [Questioning Islam]: "I don't
consider anything in al-Banna's way of thinking to be sacred: my approach
is to make a selection, keeping what remains interesting and well advised
for today, leaving aside what is dictated by the context and the strategy of his
time, and leaving aside all sorts of judgments that I don't agree with."9 Even
if this does not amount to an outright condemnation of al-Banna's philosophy-one may well wonder what is to be considered "interesting" about itsuch statements have sufficed to convince a good number of people that Tariq Ramadan is capable of taking a critical view of his heritage. At any rate, that's
what he claims. However, if one listens carefully to his lectures and reads his
writings attentively, it becomes evident that exactly the opposite is true.

If he had really wanted to adopt a critical perspective in regard to his heritage, and not simply transmit it, Tariq Ramadan would not have been content
to simply sift through al-B anna's program, but would have clearly denounced
what he found to be negative in it and in that of the Muslim Brotherhood. But
he has never done so. When speaking to a Muslim audience, in particular
young Muslims under his guidance, Tariq Ramadan never criticizes Hassan
al-Banna or the Muslim Brotherhood in any way. He does, of course, emphasize certain aspects, but he remains true to the doctrine of the Brotherhood,
and the Brotherhood's leader is clearly identified as a model to be imitated.

He has converted a whole generation of French-speaking Muslims
to Hassan al-Banna's brand of political Islam, thanks to a series of cassettes,
of which tens of thousands have been sold by Tawhid, an Islamist publishing house with close ties to the Muslim Brotherhood. In these cassetteswhich are, in effect, taped lectures-Tariq Ramadan begins by introducing
the Brotherhood's ideology and its theoreticians. Two of the first three cassettes-which are intended as training material for Tawhid's audience-are
entirely devoted to Hassan al-Banna's philosophy, presented as the culmination of "contemporary Muslim thought," and as a turning point in the "Muslim renaissance." Far from expressing any reservations regarding the fanaticism that is an integral part of al-Banna's ideology, he accuses those who
would point to the unsavory aspects of his political and family heritage of
conspiracy or post-colonial racism. He then invites his audience to disregard
such caricatures and witch hunts; on the contrary, they should take inspiration from al-Banna's message-which he describes as "a step-by-step philosophy," "a profound philosophy," "a philosophy without violence," but "a
demanding philosophy."I° This unquestioning acceptance sometimes even
finds its way into articles written for the general public. In a glossary that figures as an annex to the French edition of Etre musulman europeen [To Be a
European Muslim]-which was originally intended as part of a special issue
of the weekly magazine Le Nouvel Observateur-his grandfather is presented in these terms: "Hassan al-Banna: founder ofthe Muslim Brotherhood, often
cited but seldom read. In the West he is known by what his political enemies have to say about him, in particular English colonialists and Zionist
militants."" This description merits a closer look.

Al-Banna was born in 19o6 in a small Egyptian village and grew up in a
family with strong political and religious beliefs. His father, a clockmaker in
the town of Mahmudiyya, was a fervent imam of the Hanbalite school, the
most rigorous of Islarns four legal schools. At an early age, his eldest son
left home to begin his studies in a Koranic school, where the principal activity was learning to recite the Koran by heart. The young al-Banna was a zealous student. At the age of twelve, he became the leader of a Society for Correct Moral Behavior, an association whose aim was to enforce discipline and
ensure that within the school strict moral standards were maintained. His
zealousness in this respect was to be a permanent feature of his character. A
few years later he founded a "group for the prevention of illicit acts," proposing that Egyptians denounce in writing any immoral behavior that they witnessed. The struggle to establish moral order seemed literally to haunt the
young boy, influenced as he was by his father's fundamentalist propaganda.
Gamal al-Banna, Hassans younger brother, recalls: "He was the oldest of us,
which meant he was his parents' favorite. More than any of us, he soaked up
the religious atmosphere in which the family lived. My parents used to tell
me that, when he played hide-and-seek, he played according to his own rules.
He was the leader of the Muslim army combating the enemies of God."12

This Manichean outlook was to be a lasting trait. As an adolescent, he
continued his training as a mystic in a particularly orthodox Sufi fraternity,
where he developed a taste for secrecy and for brotherhood in the service of
Islam. Unlike other fraternities, his fraternity rejected any kind of innovation
in religious matters. Many of their meetings consisted simply of chanting
extracts from the Koran and from the Surma for hours on end. But al-Banna
would not have stayed for long if the fraternity was simply a separatist mystic
movement. He wanted to act; he dreamt of "fighting against evil" by preach ing. And the opportunity was close at hand. He and his comrades preached
unendingly against the Christian missions, which they accused of corrupting morals "by charity work, by healthcare initiatives and by their teaching in
the schools." His rejection of colonialism was based not on a commitment
to independence but on his fundamentalism. In his eyes, the worst feature
of colonization was not the occupation itself, but the fact that the occupation
went hand in hand with an acceptance of Christianity and, above all, with the
liberalization of moral standards. If Egypt had not been a colony, Hassan alBanna would no doubt have had the same sort of career as William Jennings
Bryan, the American fundamentalist Protestant who crusaded against Darwinism and the moral decadence of his fellow countrymen in the 1920s.
But al-Banna was born into a quite different context, at a time when the war
against modernity could easily be taken for a war against colonialism. Thus
al-Banna's combat against liberalizing moral standards led him to take part
in the popular demonstrations against British occupation in 1919 and 1922.

He was already more ofa politicalthan a religious figure. Instead ofbecom-
ing a theologian at Al-Azhar, the prestigious Islamic university of Cairo, he
chose to enrol in the Science House in order to become a schoolteacher. Not
that he intended to give up preaching-on the contrary. A teaching job would
bring him into close contact with the people and thus provide an opportunity for a far more effective kind of political proselytizing: "I will serve as a
counselor and a teacher. Even if I have to spend most of my time instructing
children, I will also instruct their fathers about Islam, at times by writing, at
other times by giving talks and engaging them in conversation, and by travelling as well."'3 These were the terms in which he was later to explain to his
companions his reasons for choosing teaching as a profession. But al-Banna
always considered pedagogy as a means of propaganda. His vocation was
strengthened after he was assigned to a school close to the Suez Canal, where
he could observe with disgust the Westerners' style of life. His revolt intensified when he settled in Cairo, where city life horrified this puritan villager.
Everywhere around him he saw decadence, and this he attributed to Western influence. Adopting the style of the Protestant preachers, quick to imagine new methods for "awakening" faith, he took to preaching in the streets and cafes against the "creeping modernism' that was contrary to the spirit of
Islam. Tariq Ramadan has provided us with an impassioned description of
his grandfather's gift for seducing his listeners and adapting his message to
fit the audience in question-a description that tells us as much about Ramadan himself as it does about al-Banna: "His personality, his way of speaking,
his charisma and his erudition won over those who heard him speak. Gifted
with a prodigious memory, capable of adjusting the level of his discourse so
as to reach not only the academics and the city ulemas but the village peasants as well ... he was simple, accessible, and affectionate, as well as intellectually rigorous and demanding. His personal qualities contributed greatly to
the spread of his ideas."14

The Cairo intelligentsia was then in a state of constant upheaval, torn
between conflicting political and religious options. In 1923, Mustafa Kemal
Ataturk-who ascribed the decline of the Ottoman Empire to a mixing of
politics and religion that had paralyzed the Muslim world-abolished the
caliphate that was the symbol of this fusion and founded Turkey as a secular state. This was a traumatic event for an ultra-religious person such as alBanna, all the more so since Egypt was itself caught up in the debate. In 1925,
Ali Abd al-Raziq published an audacious book, Islam et lesfondements du pouvoir [Islam and the Origins of Power], which argued that Mohammed had never
taken steps to provide for a government that would succeed him. On the contrary, the Koran, in a sura known as the "consultation' sura, clearly encouraged men to "conduct their affairs by mutual consultation. "15 The author then
encouraged his compatriots to set foot once again on the road to progress via
a secular Islam and by instituting a system that would separate religion and
politics. The book created a scandal comparable to the reception of Darwins
theories that split the Protestants into two camps: one arguing that the Bible
should be updated to take account of the new scientific discoveries; the other
arguing for a return to fundamentalist Protestantism that rejected the theory of evolution. Abd al-Raziq's book had exactly the same effect: on one side
were the Muslims who favored an aggiornamento of Islam; on the other, the
purists who wanted to return to Islarns initial precepts. But once again, the
Egyptian context and the fact of colonization make interpretation of these debates more complex. In the United States, the fundamentalist movement
was immediately identified as a reactionary movement, to which progressive
Protestants were firmly opposed. On the other hand, Muslim fundamentalism (which includes literalist Salafism and reformist Salafism)'6 claimed to
be an alternative to colonization, which gave it a far more ambiguous status.
Afghani (1838-97), the founder of the Salafist school, was also an anti-colonial militant. At one point, he advocated a rationalist secular reform as a way
to breathe new life into the Arab world, but he subsequently initiated a brand
of reformism that consisted essentially of a return to basic religious principles; in so doing he was following in the footsteps of Ibn Taymiyya (12361328), a medieval Hanbalite jurist who, in opposition to the rationalist Muslims of his era, argued for a purification of Islam. To this day, a number of
Arab nationalists and progressive Muslims admire Afghani, even if, in referring to him as a source of inspiration, they find themselves in the company
of a religious generation that is more fundamentalist than anti-colonial. The
difference between the two is, however, considerable. An anti-colonial militant resists colonization because he believes in the people's right to self-determination and refuses all forms of domination, whereas a fundamentalist
opposes colonialism because he believes Islam is superior to the West. Moreover it is in order to re-establish this superiority that he wants to purify Islam
and return it to its founding precepts-in order to recover the power that had
fuelled Muslim expansion. In other words, he wants to return to a form of
colonialism of which he is the beneficiary and not the victim.