Muslim Piety as Economy: Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast Asia 9780367336684, 9780429321146

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‘This new volume substantially expands current conversations beyond dominant discourses of Islamic economy and its technical focus on financial instruments, to broader critical engagements with market regulation, public policy, and symbolic communication through examinations of contemporary halal discourses that transcend formalistic understandings of “shari’a compliance” to more complex dynamics across the interlinked spheres of governance, finance, fashion and family life.”  – R. Michael Feener, Oxford Centre for Islamic Studies, University of Oxford, UK ‘This superb volume brings together experienced scholars in sciences, social sciences and Islamic studies to examine contemporary developments around halal standards in Southeast Asia. Few treatments of this topic succeed as this one does in both ranging broadly – from economics to colonial history to fiction – and plunging in depth – especially into biology and genetics.’  – John R. Bowen, Dunbar-Van Cleve Professor, Washington University in St. Louis, USA ‘Over the past generation, many Muslim-majority societies have experienced a revival in religious observance at the same time as they have witnessed unprecedented levels of market growth. The changes have been nowhere more transformative than in the Muslim-majority societies of Southeast Asia. This meticulously researched and highly original book brings together some of the finest scholarship on Islam and economic change in Muslim Southeast Asia, and offers rich insight into one of the most distinctive but little-studied features of Muslim modernity.’  – Robert W. Hefner, Pardee School of Global Affairs, Boston University, USA ‘An unrivalled and thoroughly documented investigation of Muslim Southeast Asia, indispensable to the understanding of one of the most remarkable and comprehensive transformations of Islam in recent decades: the emergence of Muslim piety as an economic system unto itself.’ – Rémy Madinier, Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, France ‘A more informed analysis and understanding of Islam and Muslims in Southeast Asia and their contemporary articulations must be embedded in the historical reality of plurality, plural society and diversity templates that become the mould of social life in the region. In equal measure, any attempt to explain and analyse recent major developments of Islamic economy in the region must be embedded not only in its historical reality but also in the reality of its pluralistic capitalist economy, in which formal and substantive economies are enmeshed. This book, Muslim Piety as Economy: Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast, arguably is the first that has successfully captured both of the “embedisation processes” grounded in impressive empirical evidence. It is a must-read for anyone interested in contemporary articulation of Islamic economy in the vast maritime-riverine complex, called the Malay world, that constitutes the major component of Southeast Asia.’  – Shamsul A.B., Distinguished Professor and UNESCO Chair (Communications & Social Cohesion) at The National University of Malaysia, Malaysia

Muslim Piety as Economy

The first volume to explore Muslim piety as a form of economy, this book examines specific forms of production, trade, regulation, consumption, entrepreneurship and science that condition – and are themselves conditioned by – Islamic values, logics and politics. With a focus on Southeast Asia as a site of significant and diverse integration of Islam and the economy – as well as the incompatibilities that can occur between the two – it reveals the production of a Muslim piety as an economy in its own right. Interdisciplinary in nature and based on in-depth empirical studies, the book considers issues such as the Qur’anic prohibition of corruption and anti-corruption reforms; the emergence of the Islamic economy under colonialism; ‘halal’ or ‘lawful’ production, trade, regulation and consumption; modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications; and financialisation, consumerism and housing. As such, it will appeal to scholars of sociology, anthropology and religious studies with interests in Islam and Southeast Asia. Johan Fischer is Associate Professor in the Department of Social Sciences and Business at Roskilde University, Denmark. He is the author of Proper Islamic Consumption: Shopping among the Malays in Modern Malaysia; The Halal Frontier: Muslim Consumers in a Globalized Market; Islam, Standards, and Technoscience: In Global Halal Zones; Halal Matters: Islam, Politics and Markets in Global Perspective; Religion, Regulation, Consumption: Globalising Kosher and Halal Markets; and Kosher and Halal Business Compliance. Jérémy Jammes is Associate Professor at the research Institute of Asian Studies at the Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. He is the author of Les oracles du Cao Đài. Étude d’un mouvement religieux vietnamien et de ses réseaux and Chrétiens évangéliques d’Asie du Sud-Est. Expériences locales d’une ferveur conquérante, and was Deputy Director of the French Research Institute on Contemporary Southeast Asia (IRASEC) from 2010 to 2014.

Studies in Material Religion and Spirituality Series Editors Julius Bautista, Kyoto University, Japan Johan Fischer, Roskilde University, Denmark Jérémy Jammes, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei

This series welcomes scholarly monographs and edited collections that explore the social, cultural and economic relationship between religion, materiality and spirituality. This series invites cutting-edge scholarly work that critically and imaginatively explores these transformations globally. Focused on contemporary issues and grounded in strong empirical, ethnographic and archival work, volumes in the series speak to multiple audiences in the social sciences disciplines, including anthropology, history, sociology, political science, cultural studies, global studies and area studies, moving beyond well-established paradigms to explore the reconfiguration of material religion and spirituality in the era of globalised production, trade, regulation and consumption. Muslim Piety as Economy Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast Asia Edited by Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge.com/ Studies-in-Material-Religion-and-Spirituality/book-series/SMRS

Muslim Piety as Economy

Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast Asia

Edited by Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-33668-4 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-32114-6 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Contents

List of figures List of tables List of contributors Acknowledgements 1 Introduction: Muslim Piety as Economy: Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast Asia

ix x xi xiii

1

JOHAN FISCHER AND JÉRÉMY JAMMES

2 Social trust, the Qur’anic prohibition of corruption, and anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia

29

MICHEL DION

3 Muhammadiyah, membership dues and the Islamic economy in colonial Aceh

53

JOSHUA GEDACHT

4 Brunei Halal certification: A review and way forward

75

NAZLIDA MUHAMAD, MASAIROL HJ MASRI, AND AHMED MASOOD KHALID

5 Consumer goods and the role of science in the halal industry in Southeast Asia

101

NURA FAZIRA NOOR AZAM, SYAZANA ABDULLAH LIM, NUR DIYANAH MATASSAN AND MINHAZ UDDIN AHMED

6 Contamination of halal food products: Insights on theological rulings AHMAD LABEEB TAJUDEEN AND IBRAHIM ABDUL-RAHMAN

129

viii Contents

  7 Middle-class projects in modern Malaysia and beyond

149

JOHAN FISCHER

  8 Modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN

169

MUHAMMAD TALHA SALAM, NAZLIDA BINTI MUHAMAD AND VAI SHIEM LEONG

  9 Packaging MIB: Representations of Islam in Anglophone Bruneian fiction

193

KATHRINA MOHD DAUD

10 Tales from two cities: Financialisation, consumerism and affordable housing in Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta

211

LENA RETHEL, JUANITA ELIAS AND LISA TILLEY

11 Afterword: Contemporary halal tropism, or Islam and economy between the global and the traditional era

229

JÉRÉMY JAMMES AND JOHAN FISCHER

Index

239

Figures

  4.1 Southeast Asia trademarks and halal certified logos 77   4.2 Bruneian authorities in charge of the Halal Food Control Division (2018) 85   5.1 Simplified procedures for the production and packaging of halal foods 103   5.2 DNA-based methods 113   5.3 Modification and immobilisation procedures of the reported immunosensor115   8.1 A multidimensional review of the research and three main sections 171   8.2 Revised conceptualisation to reflect influence of religion on Islamic Fashion 186 10.1 Value of residential property transactions, 2001–2016, in RM million 218

Tables

4.1 Global halal market versus global demand 8.1 Sample posts from CbA’s social media 8.2 Selected responses from exploratory survey on modesty in fashion marketing 9.1 Anglophone Bruneian texts

83 182 184 198

Contributors

Ahmad Labeeb Tajudeen is Assistant Professor at the Department of Educational Sciences, Islamic University of Minnesota, USA. Ahmed Masood Khalid is Professor and Dean of the School of Business and Economics, Universiti Brunei Darussalam and Convenor, Global Development Forum, Bond University, Australia. Jérémy Jammes is Associate Professor on Social Anthropology and Religious Studies at the Institute of Asian Studies, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Johan Fischer is Associate Professor in the Department of Social Sciences and Business at Roskilde University, Denmark. Joshua Gedacht is Visiting Assistant Professor at the Department of History, Rowan University, USA. Juanita Elias is Reader in International Political Economy at the University of Warwick, UK. Kathrina Mohd Daud is Assistant Professor in the English Studies programme at the Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Lena Rethel is Lecturer in Politics and Leverhulme Early Career Fellow, Birkbeck, University of London, UK. Lisa Tilley is Lecturer in Politics at Birkbeck, University of London, UK. Masairol Hj Masri is Assistant Professor at the School of Business and Economics, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Michel Dion is Full Professor at the School of Management (École de gestion), Université de Sherbrooke, and Chairholder of the CIBC Research Chair on Financial Integrity.

xii Contributors

Minhaz Uddin Ahmed is Senior Assistant Professor of Analytical Chemistry and Biotechnology at the Faculty of Science, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Muhammad Talha Salam is Assistant Professor at the National University of Computer and Emerging Sciences (FAST-NU), Pakistan. Nazlida Muhamad is Assistant Professor at the School of Business and Economics, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Nur Diyanah Matassan is Research and Administrative Assistant at the Biosensors and Biotechnology Laboratory, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Nura Fazira Noor Azam is Research Assistant at the Faculty of Science, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei. Syazana Abdullah Lim is Assistant Professor at the School of Applied Sciences and Mathematics, Universiti Teknologi Brunei, Brunei. Vai Shiem Leong is a Senior Lecturer at the School of Business and Economics, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, Brunei.

Acknowledgements

This book is, to a large extent, based on discussions after the talk entitled “Islam, Standards and Technoscience: In Global Halal Zones” given by Johan Fischer at the Institute of Asian Studies, Universiti Brunei Darussalam, on 18 January 2017, and during the interdisciplinary seminar, Islam and Economy in Southeast Asia, organised by Jeremy Jammes at the Sultan Omar ‘Ali Saifuddien Centre for Islamic Studies (SOASCIS), on 21 January 2017. We are grateful for all the support and encouragement from both Universiti Brunei Darussalam and Roskilde University that made this volume possible.

Chapter 1

Introduction Muslim Piety as Economy: Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast Asia Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes

Since the 1980s, a global Islamic economy has emerged, giving rise to a specific type of Muslim ethics in the areas of consumption and marketisation. The very idea of ‘economy’ has been re-constructed by diverse Muslim groups, ranging from the personal and the national to the global, and Islamic identities are transforming as a result of these entanglements with the economy. Nowhere is this more apparent than in Muslim Southeast Asia, yet so far no book has systematically explored the idea of Muslim piety as economy across the Muslim majority nations of Southeast Asia, that is, Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia. In this volume, we understand the phrase ‘Muslim piety as economy’ as denoting specific forms of production, trade, regulation, consumption, entrepreneurship and science that condition – and are themselves conditioned by – Islamic values, logics and politics. Most extant scholarship on the Islamic economy focuses either on specific local/national contexts, or takes a more global, and often abstract, approach. This book explores Islam and the economy by looking at shared, diverging and broadly speaking (in)compatible discourses and experiences of Islam and the economy across Muslim Southeast Asia. Moreover, the Islamic economy has attracted interest from states/governments, Muslim organisations, businesses and education, and again, the Southeast Asian region is playing a central role in these transformations. This relates to a central characteristic of the relationship between Islam and the economy in Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia: namely, that Islam and the economy are nationalised, that is, national and religious identities are actively fused (Balibar and Wallerstein, 1991). More specifically, at the core of the nationalisation of Islam lies the question of proper Islamic practice – especially with regard to the boom in everything considered to constitute proper Islamic consumption (Fischer, 2008) in the wider fusion of Islam and the economy. We will show how state regulation affects diverse experiences of (in)compatibility between Islam and the economy across Muslim Southeast Asia. In sum: this book explores why and how Islam and the economy are of such special importance in Muslim Southeast Asia. The title of the book, Muslim Piety as Economy: Markets, Meaning and Morality in Southeast Asia, highlights its central argument, namely that nowhere is the

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integration of Islam and the economy, or the (in)compatibilities between the latter, as significant and diverse as in Southeast Asia. Thus, we argue that a general move towards Islam as an economy over the past two decades or so has actively produced Muslim piety as an economy in its own right. Each of the contributions in the book explores different aspects of this process. We also explore the notion that Islamic markets create meaning, helping Muslims to answer the question: ‘What is Islam or what should Islam be?’ One of the obvious answers that runs through this volume is the constant attention to establishing proper and pious Islamic practices as part of the economy. These efforts also evoke the idea that Islam and broader societal development, for example, marketing, regulation and charity, overlap and are inseparable (Benthall and Bellion-Jourdan, 2009; Benthall, 2016) and that the economy helps to further this integration. However, the effort to forge Muslim piety as an economy is not a smooth process in contemporary Muslim Southeast Asia. For Malaysia, Fischer (2008) argued that controversies over what Islam is, or ought to be, are intensifying as cultures of consumption assert themselves. As new consumer practices emerge, they give rise to new discursive fields within which the meanings of Islam and Islamic practice are debated. Thus, the idea of Muslim piety as an economy can also be reformulated in terms of an (in)compatibility between Islam and the economy, which manifests as constant debates about why/how Islam and the economy are compatible or not. Bowen’s (1993) monograph on Islam among the Gayo in highland Sumatra, Indonesia, tackles the diversity of Islam by drawing attention to debates about what Islam is or ought to be and the different responses produced by these controversies. Bowen’s focus is on ‘the field of debate and discussion in which participants construct discursive linkages to texts, phrases, and ideas held to be part of the universal tradition of Islam’ (Bowen, 1993, 8). We are inspired by this discursive approach in our exploration of the (in)compatibility between Islam and the economy in Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia, but also in examining how this issue came to be at the centre of discourses and experiences in and between these countries. A lot has happened in the last decade since the publication of Fischer’s book, not least a major, global financial crisis. In their volume, Religion and the Morality of the Market, Osella and Rudnyckyj (2017, 2) argue that ‘organised religion suggests that an appropriately moralised market could (and should) become the means for the realisation of ethical values compatible with religious injunctions for social justice,’ and this point also runs through our book. The research question we address in this edited volume is: How is Muslim ‘piety as economy’ understood, practised and contested in Southeast Asia? A note on piety before we proceed. As early as the eighth century, pious rectitude became a standard of legitimacy that challenged the existing, privileged model based on the Arab clan lineage (Feener and Gedacht, 2018, 1). The travels of Sufi leaders like Muhammad Shams al-Din to Aceh and the Maldives in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, for instance, attempted to eradicate bid’a (‘blameworthy innovation’ or local adaptations of Islam to

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regional customs) from Islam and propagated a universalist ‘shari’a-minded’ piety (Feener and Gedacht, 2018, 15–18; Peacock, 2018). Exploring Muslim ‘piety as economy’ means regarding piety not exclusively in behaviourist terms as frugality or moderation, but rather as a kind of economic activity. Mahmood (2004) argues that in Egypt, with regard to the cultural politics of a women’s grassroots piety movement, Islamic revivalism is to a large extent focused on personal forms of piety, freedom and agency. Thus, we stress the point that piety and economy go hand in hand in the ‘contingent relations of the global marketplace’ (Devji, 2005, 11). Mona Atia (2013) has referred to the idiom of Muslim markets in terms of Islamic lifestyle and ‘pious neoliberalism’ – a transformation both of religious practices and modalities of capitalism representing a new compatibility between business and piety as a result of the ways in which religion and the economy interact in the contemporary moment: ‘Pious neoliberalism produces new institutions, systems of knowledge production and subjectivities’ (Atia, 2013, xvi–xviii). Obviously, this topic is situated in the intersection not only between the spiritual and the material, but also between individual/collective intentions and calculations, as well as discourse and practice. The Islamic economy is itself conditioned by diverse ways in which Muslims in specific geographical and temporal contexts understand and practice property, the accumulation of profits, goods, savings, services, the collective interest, personal desire and competition; as well as constructive/cooperative monopoly. Scriptures such as the Qur’an and Hadith (traditions concerning the life and works of the Prophet Muhammad) provide answers to some of these questions, while others are of recent origin or even emergent. In other words, these Islamic scriptures are regularly invoked in Muslim narratives as the dominant representations and authorities on how to behave in a proper and pious way, and as such they are cited to justify the economic experiences of Muslims. One of the most fundamental changes has thus been the recalibration of definitions and practices of ‘economy’ (consumption, money management) seen through the Islamic lens and with an orthopraxical concern.1 Such processes have involved significant reworkings and rewordings of elements of canonical texts, which have come to be discussed, criticised, translated, reinterpreted and disseminated to match the concerns and needs of Muslim societies in the contemporary economy. The book is written from an interdisciplinary perspective, that is, the authors draw on their expertise on the Islamic economy and Muslim material culture when looking at understandings and practices of production, trade, regulation, consumption, entrepreneurship and science. Thus, the book critically explores Muslim Southeast Asia’s role in the specific fabric of an Islamic economy and Muslim consumer culture, global trends and local diversities in the field comprised by (in)compatibilities between Islam and the economy, and the various methodologies and perspectives that go into studying it. Moreover, the exchange of products and ideas within and beyond the Islamic economy is inseparable from transnational ideals and strategies focusing on Muslim

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entrepreneurship, as well as patterns of global consumerism. At the same time, this Southeast Asian praxeology and reinterpretation of global predispositions is mirrored, both at individual and institutional level, in a series of more or less coordinated attempts to legitimise and regulate their particular kind of religious economy. Another important issue examined in this volume across Muslim Southeast Asia is how the Islamic economy and Muslim consumer culture generate claims about a unique Southeast Asian Muslim experience and reappropriation of modernity and globalisation.

1 Islam and the economy in Muslim Southeast Asia Geertz’s seminal work on Indonesia arguably spearheaded the study of religion and the economy in Southeast Asia. His 1956 article, ‘Religious Belief and Economic Behaviour in a Central Javanese Town: Some Preliminary Considerations’, was followed by The Religion of Java (1960), The Social History of an Indonesian Town (1963a), Agricultural Involution (1963b), Peddlers and Princes (1968a) and Islam Observed (1968b), throughout which Geertz writes that the power of Islam in Indonesia, and other parts of Southeast Asia more generally, is based on an inclination to absorb all styles of thought into one broad stream. This tradition is generally receptive to the argument that Islamic doctrine and scientific discovery are really not opposing but complementary forms of belief (Geertz, 1968b) and we show that this is also the case with Islam and the economy. Ong’s seminal study, Spirits of Resistance and Capitalist Discipline: Factory Women in Malaysia (1987), stands out when exploring the (in)compatibility of Islam and the economy in Malaysia. The book explores disruptions, conflicts, and ambivalence in the wake of rural Malay Muslim women’s entry into the workforce in large factories owned by multinational companies. There is a direct link to Sloane’s work on the relationship between Islam, modern­ ity, entrepreneurship and networking in modern Malaysia. This study moves beyond universal images of entrepreneurship and explores this relationship as an urban Malay middle-class or elite phenomenon in Malaysia (Sloane, 1999). The author continued this line of research when exploring ‘Shari’a -compliant’ companies, that is, ways in which Malaysia’s Islamic economy has emerged in some Malaysian businesses as a form of corporate culture, reconfiguring workplace identities and social relations based on the rules for commerce and management contained within the Qur’an and Hadith (SloaneWhite, 2011). Sloane-White’s (2017) study, Corporate Islam: Sharia and the Modern Workplace, is a good example of integration between Islam and the economy in Malaysia. The author argues that Shari’a principles in the region’s Islamic economy produce a version of Islam that is increasingly conservative, financially and fiscally powerful, and committed to social control over Muslim and non-Muslim public and private lives. The book is based on an ethnographic study of the modern Islamic corporation, and focuses on how power,

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relationships, individual identities, gender roles and practices are mobilised on behalf of Islam. Fischer has explored similar trends in Malaysia and Singapore, looking at Muslim consumer culture and halal (an Arabic word that literally means ‘permissible’ or ‘lawful’) production, trade, regulation and consumption in particular (2008, 2011, 2015). Within the last two decades or so, globalisation has become a buzzword in academia and everyday life in relation to intensified flows of people, goods, images, technology, finance and ideas. Fischer argues that the relationship between religion and the economy should be explored from a global perspective. Arguably, Malaysia and Singapore have also become ‘halal hubs’ because of Islamic tourism from the Middle East in particular (Henderson, 2003). Thus, based on extended periods of fieldwork in Malaysia, Singapore and Europe, he shows how truly global phenomena and flows in the interfaces between religion and the economy are understood, practised and contested in Muslim Southeast Asia. The proliferation and regulation of religious markets also testify to the different ways in which religion and spirituality are given expression in everyday consumption. Thus, in today’s globalised world Islam regulation and consumption are not only fully compatible even in highly secular contexts, but are also reshaping sacred/secular authority, morality and identity at different levels of the social scale. Studies on the entanglements of capitalism, Islam and the state in Southeast Asia explore, for example, how moderate Islamic ‘spiritual reform’ movements in Indonesia combine business management principles and techniques from popular life-coaching seminars with Muslim practices. These forms of ‘market Islam’ and ‘spiritual economy’ merge Muslim religious practices and capitalist ethics with effective self-management by attempting to make people ‘better from the inside’ (Rudnyckyj, 2009, 2010). The interaction between Islam and ‘material’ reality has opened up for new interpretations of religion in post-tsunami Aceh since 2004. This natural disaster was perceived by Muslim survivors as classical theodicy: ‘God’s hand was perceived to be at work in the event in various ways, ranging from divine retribution for the sins of the people, to a test of faith, or something pre-ordained regardless of human actions in the world’ (Feener and Fountain, 2018, 6, note 19; also on the interpretative and exegetic process that occurred in Aceh, see Feener and Daly, 2016). Similarly, Barkin (2014) explores ‘commercial Islam’ by looking at the way in which TV producers mediate religiosity nationally, while Hoesterey (2012) studies charismatic Muslim televangelists who are portrayed as spiritual salesmen for Western-style capitalist self-transformation. In another publication focusing on Muslim prayer and charity in Indonesia, Hoesterey (2015) showed how the emotional registers of religious practitioners reformulate Islamic discourse and practice in innovative and hybridised ways to accommodate for neoliberal interpretations of worldly economic success. Similarly, several recent volumes

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explore, from a sociological perspective, the relationship between religion, capitalism, political economy and material culture in Southeast Asia (Bautista, 2012; Elias and Rethel, 2016; Koning and Njoto-Feillard, 2017). As discussed above, building on ethnographic explorations across religions and crypto economies, a recent volume by Osella and Rudnyckyj (2017) examines modalities of economic action and religious practices: namely, how economic practices and market forms elicit specific, and sometimes new, moral dispositions and religious configurations; and the ways in which religious moralities frame contemporary economic practices. Thus, a rich literature exists on material religion across Southeast Asia on the one hand, and Muslim material culture in countries such as Indonesia and Malaysia on the other, and the present book fuses these approaches by exploring Muslim piety as economy or (in)compatibilities between Islam and the economy across Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia.

2 The bigger picture Relationships between religion and economy are ancient, and can be found in all types of societies, giving rise to many interpretations and theories in sociology, economic anthropology and philosophy. Here, we will only mention authors whom we regard as particularly relevant to keep in mind before reading the various chapters of this volume. Man has consistently rationalised a subsistence economy and surplus management approach (from hunting to agriculture). The economy has meaning, and can even assume social functions, creating bonds, alliances and reciprocity. Simultaneously, figures and logic of the sacred (geniuses, spirits, diviners) were invited to give meaning to these economic practices and management of the territory. Let us remind ourselves of the two ideal–typical models in economic anthropology that are based on a non-market logic of exchange. On the one hand, we have the Amerindian potlatch (the word means ‘give’ in Chinook language) in which consumer goods are brought together, presented to a community in the form of offerings and then destroyed at a feast. On the other hand, we have the Melanesian kula system (necklaces and bracelets that run in two opposite directions and from one group to another during fishing campaigns). Of course, the potlatch and the kula are not the only rites (in pre-industrial or non-industrial societies) from which theories of exchange and economics in religion have been developed or discussed. However, they invite us to consider the logics of trade and the moral obligations that are interwoven at different stages of the production, circulation and consumption of goods. They also encourage consideration of the ritual aspects of exchange, that is, the logics and practices (symbolic and material) of accumulation, production, distribution or transfer of the sacred in action. Following Durkheim’s The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life (1995 [1912]), the sacred emerges singularly in binary – but dynamic and not

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exclusive – opposition to the profane. The persistence of this struggle actively produces the sacred as a dynamic and negotiable category, given opportunities for the sacralisation of profane sites and practices, and vice versa for the profan­ ation (we would say nowadays ‘secularisation’) of sacred sites and practices. The sacralisation of certain consumer objects and actions that is taking place in the Islamic field in Muslim Southeast Asia comes into being as an antithesis to the profane, as discussed by Durkheim. For Durkheim, the sacred is generated when it is lifted out of the context of ordinary, functional human use. Sacred things should be protected and isolated by prohibitions and must be separated from the profane. Significantly, the cultural distinction between the sacred and the profane accompanies social practices in relation to the sacred through the expression of a ‘ritual attitude’ of awe and respect for sacred things and shared religious values. Commodities can be seen as ‘things with a particular type of social potential’ (Appadurai, 1999, 6). Politics (relations, assumptions and power contests) links value and exchange in the social life of commodities. Kopytoff’s notion of ‘singularisation’ accurately captures this mechanism (1999, 73). With reference to Durkheim, singularisation works to mark certain fields of society as sacred and thus resistant to any commoditised (or profane, secularised) ‘pollution’. In this sense, singularisation takes on the effect of the transmutation of commodities into mere things or artefacts, whether secularised or religious. Focusing on ‘the desire to give’, Bornstein (2012) argued that we must explore the impulses that inspire people to engage in specific spatial and temporal contexts, that is, why and how individuals and organisations engage in philanthropic and humanitarian work. Interestingly, the anthropologist Godelier (1981), a specialist on Marcel Mauss and on the Melanesian kula system and related systems, proposes a new definition of economics. According to Godelier, we should consider, diachronically and synchronically, the production, distribution, circulation and consumption of goods and services whose operations ultimately lead to the exchange and use of other material goods. Godelier nevertheless evades the principle of marginal utility, which states that value is defined by work, but also by the (physical or symbolic) rarity and (material or ritual) utility of the object. Such paradigms will inform our further development of halal discourses and practices, for example (what we will call ‘halalism’ in our Afterword), and prophetical mimetic consumption for the rarity and selected (elected) processes they invoke. At a philosophical level, Bataille’s (1991) central critique is of radical material­ ism and of the utilitarian reduction of individuals to individualists in modern capitalism. Rather than as destructive processes of commodification in a profane world, Bataille sees religion and sacrifice as fields of resistance and opportunity. He writes that ‘Religion is this long effort, and this anguished quest: it is always a matter of detaching from the real order, from the poverty of things, and of restoring divine order’ (Bataille, 1991, 57). To Bataille, religion

8  Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes

is simply the pleasure a society invests in the use or destruction of excess resources, and this gives religions their rich material dimension with respect to religious activities such as sacrifices, festivals and luxurious amenities. Essentially, Bataille argues that religion is all about resignifying ‘things’ to become the opposite of things, products or commodities and this takes place in the form of authenticating consumption – for example, Islamic finance2 or halal (food), commodities and services.

3 From moral to human economy 3.1 Moral economy

In the introduction to their recent edited volume, Koning and Njoto-Feillard (2017, 2) recognise that ‘not much is known about the moral complexities in Southeast Asia that (potentially) arise when religious and economic developments converge.’ However, since the mid-1970s when the moral economy concept3 emerged, proponents have argued that since pre-modern times ‘the provisioning of human beings was embedded in non-economic institutions and values’ (Booth, 1994, 654). Likewise, Carrier (2018) argues that a moral economy can be fruitfully explored as the production and circulation of things and ways in which people engage in economic transactions with others; and of how those transactions can generate a relationship with those others and an obligation to transact again in the future. These takes on moral economies or humanitarianism encourage us to look at economic transactions in terms of relationships and their histories, and they also allow us to see some economies and some realms of life as more or less moral, depending upon the degree to which moral economic activity or humanitarianism are predominant in them – for example, the issue of corruption in Islamic jurisprudence in Chapter 2. Thus, we explore Islam as a moral economy in Muslim Southeast Asia from an interdisciplinary perspective that also entails historical explorations. We explore the role of Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia in global Islamic markets, that is, how since the 1980s these markets have become global in scope and part of wider moral economies (Scott, 1976). For example, global halal markets can be seen as modern religious or moral economies that are embedded in social action: Muslim piety as economy. More specifically, as modern capitalism evolves, it undergoes permutations as a result of its imbrication with local networks, organisations and ethical traditions as well as production, trade, consumption and regulation (Granovetter, 1985). Moreover, this tendency has been reinforced post-9/11 with the focus on Islamic ethics at a global level. The 9/11 attacks seemed to add a more global, ethical and identity dimension to the above processes, (re)fuelling sentiments that are embedded in Islamic consumption in local, national and global marketplaces. The (in)compatibility of Islam and the economy has been labelled ‘Islam de marché’ or market Islam in which the Muslim bourgeoisie aspires to

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‘self-realisation’ and ‘individual well-being’ (Haenni, 2005). Similarly, Fischer (2008, 2011, 2015) has explored halal production, trade, regulation and consumption in Southeast Asia from a global perspective. In these studies, the growing Muslim middle class plays a vital role. These transformations have also been called the march of the new Muslim middle class (Nasr, 2009). Similarly, Tuğal (2009) argues that in Turkey, the pious Muslim business community has established a hegemony advocating free markets, privatisation, integration with the international business community, and conservative morality. In Turkey, the politics of identity among Islamists and secularists were deeply influenced by an expanding ‘market for identities’ in the context of globalisation during the 1980s and 1990s (Navaro-Yashin, 2002). Starting with Robison and Goodman’s The New Rich in Asia: Mobile Phones, McDonald’s and Middle-Class Revolution (1996), the emerging middle class has been explored in a large body of literature, and this is also the focus in Johan Fischer’s Chapter 7. The global integration or (in)compatibility of Islam and the economy plays a growing role in transnational financial and regulatory space as evidence of more ‘ethical’ modes of investing and of the power of capital and its accumulation (Aamir Rehman, 2010). From an interdisciplinary perspective, the edited volume Muslim Societies in the Age of Mass Consumption (Pink, 2009) argues that in spite of the intensifying globalisation of markets and consumption, these processes have received modest scholarly attention. More specifically, this volume explores issues such as changing spaces of consumption, branding and the marketing of religious music, as well as the consumption patterns of Muslim minority groups. With a specific focus on Amman, Jordan, Tobin (2016) explores how Muslims in the Middle East navigate in the global economy and capitalism – for example, between Islamic authority and piety on the one hand, and Islamic finance and consumer culture on the other. In much the same vein, Utvik (2006) explores Islamist economics in Egypt. As we shall see, Muslim piety as economy across Southeast Asia is characterised by a number of differences between these national cases in the Middle East: in Southeast Asia, Islam is nationalised and ‘state regulated’ (see above); Islamic revivalism has revitalised interest in halal and Muslim material culture more broadly; there has been steady economic growth, the emergence of a Muslim middle class, urbanisation and global market integration, including shopping malls and mass consumption, as well as ethnicity, that is, in Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia, there are sizeable Chinese and Indian populations and while most Chinese do not observe significant food taboos, many Indians are fastidious about food, purity and spirituality. More specifically, quite a number of Hindus are vegetarians, and we speculate that Muslim material culture, most prominently halal, is evoked in the interfaces between these culinary cultures that are essential identity markers and are inseparable from commodification, and also from exchange more broadly (Fischer, 2008, 2011, 2015, 2016, 2019).

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One important study looks at urban Muslims in China, where Hui (Muslim minority) halal food and eating stood out as the most important identity markers in contradistinction to the surrounding Han majority. Besides nutritional and economic functions, food and eating practices expressed values and traits that they regarded as fundamentally Hui (Gillette, 2000; Erie 2019). Chapters in the present book explore halal by taking into consideration the ‘bigger institutional picture’ that frames the halal in everyday life. Erie (2018) explores the ‘spread of halal’ controversy in China, that is, while halal is essential among Chinese Muslims this creates anxiety about Islamisation among Han Chinese. Research has also focused on the Islamic economy’s increasingly global nature (Tripp, 2006; El-Gamal, 2008). A global trend in recent years has been the thriving business in Islamic goods. Everything from stickers, rugs, holiday cards and plaques featuring Islamic calligraphy, to special types of holidays aimed at Muslim consumers, watches displaying prayer (salat) times and other features, logos and ringtones on mobile phones, and clothes, touch upon and Islamise virtually every aspect of life (D’Alisera, 2001). Especially in the interiors of homes, offices and cars, one often finds an abundance of Islamic paraphernalia, which constitutes the visible effects of a wider structural transformation of state and market. At the same time, there has been a marked shift from craft production to the mass production of religious commodities (Starrett, 1995). 3.2 Human economy

This book explores Islam and the economy together as a form of moral eco­ nomy, but at the same time we are also inspired by the concept of a human economy (Hart et al., 2010), that is, an emphasis both on what people do for themselves and on the need to find ways forward that must somehow involve all of humanity. In the wake of the financial crisis, the notion of a ‘human economy’ evokes renewed concern about whether capitalist markets are the best way of organising economic life. The aim of a human economy is to ensure the reproduction of human beings and of whatever sustains life in general. The concept of human economy encompasses psychological and socio-cultural factors inseparable from producer/consumer choice. Chapters on halal insist, among other things, on the detection of substances considered to be non-halal in everyday life, which has become essential among individuals, communities and Muslim states. In other words, Muslim individuals examine all the information available on a product before choosing it – before optimising their satisfaction, as Adam Smith would say (his Homo economicus refers to a rational individual who acts selfishly to optimise his needs and self-interest) – and before maximising their chances of salvation, we would add, following Max Weber (2002), who argued that under Western capitalism labour became an obligation and capital accumulation a virtue. The point here is that Muslim piety as

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economy at once takes its cue from rational choice, but also diverges radically from that kind of thinking in insisting on piety as spirituality. Revisiting Durkheim, he argued that economic facts have to be considered as social facts – a way of acting capable of exercising an external constraint on the individual – with functional and normative significance in terms of social regulation and integration. His holistic approach to societies, as well as the key role he conceded to the normative regulation, by moral foundations, of the differentiated spheres of social life in guaranteeing socio-political order, make Durkheim a pioneer in the analysis of propaganda mechanisms and disciplinary regimes. He denies any rational choice possibility at the individual level, instead arguing for a series of institutional moral norms that guide individuals’ choices (his study of suicide is exemplary in this respect).4 If we accept the hypothesis that a religion can trigger in the believer some clear economic initiatives – consuming, producing or exchanging goods and services – and an element of clear and rational action and choice both in ethical and religious terms, then this volume paves the way for an alternative model to that of Protestantism, for example an Islamic ethics of economic development. Our book is part of a series of works that have reflected on the role of non-Christian religions in economic transactions,5 and it stands in contrast to the current swathe of studies that see in Protestantism the only ethical component of global entrepreneurship. World capitalism is certainly the backdrop of our contemporary societies, and it simultaneously represents a matrix for the transformation of ideas, techniques and cultures within those same societies. This system authorises and encourages many inventions in religious matters, whether social or technical. We purposefully undertake a de facto shift away from using Bourdieu’s notion of ‘field’ – denoting the domination of official religions in a situation of monopoly over entire nations, such as Islamic, Catholic or Buddhist nations – and towards using Weber’s notion of the ‘market’– denoting the negotiation of spaces and cohabitation in the context of the pluralisation of religious landscapes (Obadia, 2013, 189). The meaning behind this methodological shift is to enable us to observe not only politics and agents (the notion of field), but also religiosity, scriptures/discourses and actors (the notion of market). Significantly, contemporary Islam may be seen as a desire to return to the authenticity of the deeds and life of the Prophet, the Messenger of Allah. Hence, the cultural significance (i.e. Arab milieu, language and culture) of the Hadith functions as a guide to the authentication of everyday practices. Following Bowen’s terminology, we would say that the commitment of Muslims in Southeast Asia to following the ‘universal tradition of Islam’ also involves applying the principles of the Prophet’s behaviour (or way of consuming) as understood from the scriptures (the behaviours described therein are adopted more or less literally by Muslim people and sects). Furthermore, Annemarie Schimmel (1985) analysed the orthopraxy that constitutes The Veneration of the Prophet in Islamic Piety. According to her (Schimmel, 1985,

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228–238), the reformer of Indian Islam, Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan (1817–1998), was the first to theologically conceptualise the full realisation of a Muslim life through the daily performance of the akhlaq-i muhammadi, the noble qualities of the Prophet, which the believer is expected to imitate. Such practices are presented as a prophetic orthopraxis, i.e. as at once the vehicle and the fulfilment of the simplest and clearest message of the Holy Book, whose content risks being obscured by intellectual exegesis. In other words, the Prophet is presented as ‘a living reality’ (Schimmel, 1985, 228) for the Muslim community, a model to imitate. Significantly, the Prophet is described and venerated ‘no longer as the Perfect Man on the mystical plane but as the most perfect human being ever born on earth’ (Schimmel, 1985, 231), quickly giving rise to a totally new genre of Muslim literature,6 namely books, which ‘show the Muslims a Prophet of whom they may well be proud’ (Wilfred Cantwell Smith cited by Schimmel, 1985, 230). We have termed this daily performance by followers of the Prophet’s behaviour ‘prophetical mimetic consumption’, which seems more anchored in the quotidian life and economic strategies of believers than in the notion of imitatio Muhammadi coined by Armand Abel (1952).7 Examples of the behaviour, habits and tastes of the Prophet that are mimicked are diverse, and performing them is believed to bring one closer to salvation; it is an encouraged and supererogatory act. The most difficult behaviours to mimic are certainly the most abstract or philosophical (generosity, kindness, humility, forgiveness, etc.), but a series of more pragmatic human economy aspects are taught to Muslims from childhood: for instance, the Prophet had a preference for certain fruits, and consuming them today is considered to assure the faithful some spiritual rewards. Nowadays, an ‘energetic’ and therapeutic description of each of these fruits accompanies the consummation of the believer and convinces him – in a virtuous circle – of the validity of his/her mimetic acts and of the sacredness of the Prophet, while assuring him/her of the modes of religious healing and basic hygiene. According to the At-Tibb an-Nabawi (‘The Prophetic Medicine’) written by the fourteenth-century Sunni Imam Ibn Qayyim al-Jauziyya (1958), the ‘Prophetic’ fruits and their accompanying therapeutic properties are dates (which contain glucose, fructose, sucrose, potassium, magnesium and iron, and which heal constipation), figs (which contain minerals, trace elements, calcium, vitamins, iron, zinc, potassium, etc., and which offer a cure for fibroma, hormonal imbalances, the absence of ovulation, amenorrhea, asthma, angina, coughs, etc.), grapes (which contain sugar, vitamins C and B, mineral salts, calcium, potassium, iron and magnesium, and which cure constipation, anaemia, fever, sexual dysfunction, cardiovascular diseases, stomach infections, colon and prostate cancer, Alzheimer’s disease, etc.), melon (which contains carotene and fibre, and which heals arthritis, hypertension, and diseases of the eyes and skin), and pomegranate (which has anti-inflammatory, antiviral and antibacterial properties).

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We could extend the list to include other products that the Prophet may have consumed and appreciated during his time in Arabia (barley, honey, milk, mushrooms, olive oil, vinegar, but also mutton, pumpkin and cucumber, fresh water, sweet and cold drinks). The same mimetic logic that encourages contemporary Muslim consumption choices also applies to the ‘outward appearance’ (Shamā’il, ‘character, temperament, behaviour, attitude’) and manners of the Prophet (his hair, the size and colour of his beard, his clothes, his walk, his eating habits and practices,8 etc.), as drawn from the testimonies of the companions of the Prophet in various collections of the Hadith (compiled in the ninth century, and containing 399 narrations). Wearing the special na’l sandal (two strings of which are drawn between the toes), as the Prophet did, provides ‘an amulet full of baraka [blessing power], particularly strong against the evil eye’ (Schimmel, 1985: 40). The Prophet’s aversion to onion and garlic indicates that these should not be consumed before going to the mosque (Ibn Qayyim al-Jauziyya, 1958, 223), and some theologians went on to forbid the consumption of food which is not clearly defined in the Qur’an and the Hadith.9 Thus, these Scriptures invoke and organise, at the level of preaching and other commentary, a stock of symbolic and praxeological resources to be dynamically deployed across a variety of contexts. For instance, the performance of this Prophetic mimetic consumption at the vibrant, global turn of the early 1990s was described as follows: ‘Islam is not only compatible with progress but rather is progress in itself’ (Schimmel, 1985, 231). In this sense, mimetic consumption in relation to the Prophet runs counter to the commonly accepted idea that the commodification and globalisation of religions would have meant the dilution of their connection to any geographical point of reference. In other words, globalisation would have meant the end of a spatial focus point and the beginning of an era characterised by the fluid and non-anchored circulation of ideas, goods and services. On the contrary, however, we observe that in order for Islamic products to be recognised as ‘Islamic’ by Muslims, they must be explicitly associated with the Prophet and/or with a Surat of the Qur’an or the Hadith with explicit reference to the locus of the Saudi Arabian climate, but also to cultural, ethnic and linguistic values. The invocation of these texts and of this quasi-tutelary figure, as well as imaginary Arabic representations and the emotions that they arouse in the believer, can also now at times become ‘sales-oriented’ and significant in the trading of goods and services. A series of ethnographic explorations followed Geertz’s mid-nineteenth century endeavours, which observed Southeast Asian Muslim communities in their negotiation of doctrine prescriptions, material and life needs, and salvation agendas. Most of the research undertaken focused on the pastoral dimension – that is, the tactic of securing the loyalty (fidélisation) of people who are Muslim by birth or conversion (Obadia, 2013, 161–162) – relating to the people, actions and institutions involved in local, national or international economies. Investigation of the missionary role of these economic actors came much later.

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Peter van der Veer (2007) called these phenomena ‘spiritual nationalism’: the Islamic religious market does not necessarily dissolve territories; rather, goods and services become goods of salvation through their convocation of territorialities, e.g. in our case the territoriality of the Arabic origin of Islam (lands trod upon by the feet of the Prophet), the territoriality of the present (lands converted in the world) and the territoriality of the future of Islam (lands yet to be converted).10 This programmatic added meaning carried by the goods’ real or supposed origin adds to their effectiveness on the (short term) therapeutic level and the (long term) salvation level. Such commodification phenomena are not new, and they are comparable with other practices of consumption of religious biographies for therapeutic purposes.11 These aspects invite us to keep in mind this Islamic conception of the market for goods and services, which we will explore at the micro-sociological and macro-sociological levels in our volume.12 For now, it is interesting to note that this type of therapeutic practice gives rise to the creation of ‘grey markets’ within Muslim societies. This terminology refers to the work of Yang Fenggang (2006) in China, who uses a chromatic parabola to designate ‘red’, ‘grey’ or ‘black’ markets according to whether or not they comply with state directives. Between the ‘red’ (recognised) and the ‘black’ (illegal), the ‘grey’ market would correspond to the actors and their offers that oscillate, ambiguously, between the legal and the illegal (such as domestic churches and the magico-therapeutic sector). Therapeutic practices invoke both market exchange and social relations: namely, a social relationship between two individuals, but also between humans and the spiritual world (God, angels and the jinn in a Muslim conception). These healing practices (shifa), which adopt their meaning and practices both from shamanic rites and possessions in a Malay context, adapt to the market of Islamic belief (as governed by the Shari’a in Brunei) by revealing market and clientelist logics that are part of the landscape of the moral and human economy of Muslim societies in Southeast Asia. Moreover, Weller et al. (2017) argue that unregulated markets alone do not work effectively to solve essential human problems, and this legitimates the role of religious philanthropy and a focus on social wellbeing.

4 The content of the book This book is, to a large extent, based on the interdisciplinary seminar, Islam and Economy in Southeast Asia, arranged at the Sultan Omar ‘Ali Saifuddien Centre for Islamic Studies (SOASCIS), Universiti Brunei Darussalam, January 2017. This seminar was one of the first of its kind to explore Islam, morality and markets across Southeast Asia from an interdisciplinary perspective. Thus, the conference sessions covered different fields in the social sciences, humanities, history, law and philosophy based on a wide spectrum of case studies. The above-mentioned context also explains why this volume presents

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particularly in-depth explorations of the relationship between Islam/morality and the economy in Brunei. Each of the ten chapters approaches Muslim piety as economy and the (in) compatibilities between Islam and the economy in its own way, but some general tendencies may be identified: halal concerns, economic growth, Islamic revivalism, urbanisation, globalised markets and ethnicity – for instance the complex and at times strained relationship between Muslims and the Chinese – all these aspects signify the (in)compatibility of Islam and the economy in Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia. Epistemologically, we use comparison as a powerful conceptual mechanism that focuses attention on similarities and differences. This can also be said to be a reflexive comparison (Herzfeld, 2001) building on empirical data from the case countries. Methodologically, this study endeavours to follow ‘the people’ (Islamic revivalists, consumers, bureaucrats, scientists, activists, and company representatives); ‘the thing’ (the circulation of Muslim commodities as manifestly material objects of study) (Marcus, 1995, 106); and ‘the metaphor’ (Islam and the economy embedded in particular realms of discourse, modes of thought, and practices) (Marcus, 1995, 108). Thus, the contributions in this book follow people, things and metaphors between Islam and economy in Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia, but also global­ly as in Chapter 7 on the Malay middle class. To sum up, the chapters of this book are based on the following types of material: participant observation, in-depth interviews among the above groups, and the representation of Islam and the economy in media. We explore Islam and the economy in Southeast Asia from a comparative perspective. While there is a good deal of research on Islam and the economy in Indonesia13 and Malaysia, this is not the case for Brunei, and the present volume fills this gap in arguing for a comparative perspective on moral economies in Southeast Asia. The official implementation of the Islamic penal code (hudud) in 2014 promulgated legislation aiming to establish a more religious social order in Brunei. In the process of aligning economic practices with Islam, we can observe the emergence of new languages of identity and shared values, as well as new types of agency and institutional forms. Shared Shari’a values are integrated into an ‘organic solidarity’, as Durkheim would say, because all parts of the social system under the same Islamic law thus become interdependent. Like the implementation of Shari’a in Aceh over the course of 2002–2003, new spaces, new legislation and new agencies were created in Brunei from 2014 onward ‘for formally advancing new Islamic laws, as well as the institutions to administer and enforce them’ (Feener and Fountain, 2018, 6). Concrete plans for reshaping society and its moral economy were implemented by the State, which legally regulated alcohol and tobacco consumption, dance and music performances, and leisure practices; prohibited apostasy and gambling; and monitored relations between the sexes. Like Aceh in Indonesia, a galaxy of official bodies – ‘while formally distinct, […] also closely inter-related’ (Feener

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and Fountain, 2018, 6) – were set up to administer a Shari’a landscape and a gradual implementation of the Islamic penal code. These new institutions included the Department of Syariah Affairs,14 the Darusysyifa Warrafahah (‘the House of syifa’, an exorcist or spiritual healing unit), Unit Kawalan Aqidah dan Syariah (‘Faith and Shari’a Control Unit’), the Syariah Courts, and other subdivisions of offices, like the Halal Food Control Division.15 To promote and encourage Shari’a sensibilities, the theological concept of halal was brought into a wide variety of arenas that extended well beyond the formal food sphere. The extensive body of local publications produced and gathered together in this volume (5 chapters) illuminates the social, economic, and trans-lingual (see Afterword) transformations that the Sultanate of Brunei is undergoing today. To investigate the (in)compatibility of Islam and the economy presupposes an ethical approach building on ‘powerful, pervasive, and longlasting moods and motivations’ (Geertz, 1966, 4). The two first chapters address this aspect by looking at moral introspection in the specific Islamic theological framework. The way to spend or not spend money, for instance, becomes part of public morality, as described by Michel Dion in his chapter on ‘Social trust, the Qur’anic prohibition of corruption, and anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia’. The interconnectedness between the theological prohibition of corruption and the issue of trust is here observed in two hermeneutic contexts. From a theological perspective, corruption is seen as an attitude of unbelief: corruptors do not trust in God’s providence and divine will. From a social viewpoint, corruption is perceived as denying mutual trust. Corruption is antithetical to a community orientation, because it involves anti-trust behaviours (bribery) and/or physically or morally unjustified constraints (extortion). The effects of corruption are such that a sense of community is impossible to build and corruption erodes social cohesion and mutual trust. The Qur’anic prohibition of corruption mirrors a twofold notion of trust and Islamic human economy, based as it is on losing trust in God’s providence (trust in God’s will) and annihilating mutual trust (as expressed through close relationships). Finally, the author questions the extent to which anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia are religiously based and closely linked to Pancasila and Indonesian cultural values. He thus analyses the way in which Indonesian anti-corruption reforms and Islamic behavioural norms (corruption as religious prohibition) seem to be disconnected. In line with modern Islamic reform currents, practices of almsgiving (zakat) have come to serve as a major site for cross-fertilised religious and economic justifications and projects. Existing scholarship on zakat highlights its importance as vested in beneficiaries as well as the transformation of the spiritual state of the giver (Feener and Fountain, 2018, 13) and Joshua Gedacht explores this question of discourses and practices of Islamic charity in Indonesia through a historical lens. He focuses on the illuminating case study of ‘Muhammadiyah, membership dues, and the Islamic economy in colonial Aceh’. The Muhammadiyah organisation has long occupied a venerable status as a pillar of the unique ‘Civil Islam’

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social sphere in Indonesia. Founded before the establishment of an independent Indonesia in 1912 with a commitment to dakwah, or religious propagation, Muhammadiyah sought to renew the commitment of Muslims to scriptural authority and core spiritual tenets such as the ‘Oneness of God’ (tawhid). However, most scholars agree that Muhammadiyah made an even larger contribution through its novel projects of institution building and social service provision. Within its first 20 years, Muhammadiyah established hundreds of branches, schools, hospitals, and orphanages spanning across the Netherlands East Indies (Indonesia), from Sumatra to Java to Sulawesi. That growth only intensified in the post-colonial period, as today the organisation encompasses over 20 million Indonesian members and persists as a vital force in society and politics. Yet, all this impressive growth raises a critical question posed by Joshua Gedacht: did Muhammadiyah actually signal a far-reaching transformation towards a novel form of Islamic economic ‘modernity’, or did it continue to rely on pre-colonial networks, personal relationships and local economies during its formative stages? His chapter addresses this question not by looking at Muhammadiyah’s many colonial-era triumphs, but instead by focusing on one notable failure in the Aceh region. In spite of aggressive outreach in this area, which is best known today for its separatist tendencies and the tragic Boxing Day tsunami of 2004, Muhammadiyah struggled to gain much traction in Aceh. Paying particularly close attention to one distinct facet of the emerging spiritual economy and social engineering – membership dues – this paper argues that the difficulties experienced by Muhammadiyah to gain paying members in Aceh illustrates how local, often personalised contingencies ultimately conditioned the pursuit of ‘progress’ (kemajuan) and the transition to novel forms of Islamic economy.16 The halal industry has been growing exponentially in recent decades. This is due to the growing Muslim population globally. Therefore, demand for, and consumption of, halal (permissible) products is also growing, evidently challenging our question of (in)compatibility and the reconstruction of Islam and the economy in contemporary times. Southeast Asia has many countries in which the population is mainly Muslim, and hence this region is a strong potential market for the halal industry. The growing demand for Islamically certified products and services has led to the proliferation of halal certifiers worldwide. Brunei Darussalam takes pride in its Islamic tradition and heritage, so it was not unexpected when Brunei took steps towards planning and enfor­ cing halal certification policies and processes in order to meet global demand. In fact, the Brunei Halal certification logo has won considerable trust from local Muslim consumers, and abroad, due to the country’s reputation in Islamic governance. This is one of the findings by Nazlida Muhamad, Masairol Hj Masri and Ahmed Masood Khalid, described in their chapter, ‘Brunei Halal certification: a review and way forward’, after a close and comprehensive review of regional efforts in the halal industry and halal certification, with a special focus on the initiatives taken by the government of Brunei Darussalam. The authors––all trained in business studies––argue that halal certification in Brunei

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falls within the category of ‘Global Halal’, which is part of Brunei’s strategic vision for economic diversification. As such, they discuss in detail the regulations and processes regarding Brunei Halal certification, and analyse the potential for Brunei to become a regional hub for halal certification, as well as the challenges posed by competition from regional halal certifiers. Science plays an important role in facilitating the branding and quality assurance of halal products, mainly in the detection of haram (forbidden) constituents, which may be present in the products consumed. Science has also contributed to the discovery of safer and healthier alternatives to meat-derived food ingredients. Furthermore, the proper system of handling, packaging and labelling halal products has improved with the help of science. In their chapter entitled ‘Consumer goods and the role of science in the halal industry in Southeast Asia’, Nura Fazira Noor Azam, Syazana Abdullah Lim, Nur Diyanah Matassan and Minhaz Uddin Ahmed focus on the progress made by these Southeast Asian researchers in pioneering alternative products. As such, their analysis aims to understand the techno-chemical challenges posed by the search for authenticity in halal products and packaging, in order to ensure a genuine halal label at the microscopic level. Not only is the halal food industry one of the most lucrative and fastestgrowing industries globally, its notion of ‘purity’ and ‘contamination’ resonates with the public, along similar lines to the themes explored by the anthropologist Mary Douglas in her seminal work Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo (2003 [1966]). With ‘halal’ structures, which emphasise farm-to-fork compliance with Islamic legal rulings, the halal food consumption paradigm has persistently posed challenges for concerned stakeholders in terms of their awareness of Islamic do’s and don’ts. The chapter ‘Contamination of halal food products: insights on the theological rulings’, by Ahmad Labeeb Tajudeen and Ibrahim Abdul-Rahman, aims to shed light on halal food contamination, taking Brunei as a case study. The authors explore the theological legal rulings on halal food contamination as contained in the verdicts passed by the Mufti (the most senior Muslim legal adviser of the Sultanate of Brunei). Significantly, this chapter examines how the concept of contamination in halal food parlance is extending beyond doctrinal scriptures to include biological, chemical and physical forms of contamination. Contamination by haram components is analysed in the dynamic phrasing both of Islamic dietary law and legal rulings as applied to contemporary issues in the food industry. To unpack the Malay Muslim middle class over time is important in order to understand the broader picture surrounding this class and its relationship to national repertoires such as Islamic revivalism, politics, philanthropy, consumer culture, social mobility and the state–market nexus. Within the last two decades or so there has been increased scholarly focus on the emergence, consolidation and future of the middle class in developing Asia. This is also the case with the Malay Muslim middle class in Malaysia, but the development of this class over time is not well understood, even though Malays constitute

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the largest and fastest-growing section of the middle class in Malaysia. In his chapter ‘Middle-class projects in modern Malaysia and beyond’, Johan Fischer analyses middle-class projects as the making of local class culture in Malaysia, and examines how Malay Muslim informants perceive and practise ‘middleclassness’ in different spatial and temporal contexts. In short, his findings show how Malay Muslim middle-class projects, such as Islamic consumption, shape local class culture in Malaysia. In the last three chapters of the book, we explore other aspects of the (in) compatibility of Islam and the economy: fashion, literature and housing financialisation, respectively. In their chapter ‘Modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN’, Muhammad Talha Salam, Nazlida Binti Muhamad and Vai Shiem Leong study modesty in marketing communication by Islamic fashion brands in the Southeast Asian Muslim consumer market. An interesting piety-driven dynamic is observable in theological explorations and translations of the idea of ‘modesty’ (furūj), and its subsequent marketisation, especially in relation to the emerging Islamic fashion industry. The authors’ analysis of Islamic fashion modesty shows how theological dimensions and Islamic injunctions are open to diverse interpretations. While Islamic fashion brands claim to create exposure to a modern and trendy way to sell and wear fashion, this paradoxical duality of being modest and modern at the same time manifests in the personal aspirations of the entrepreneurs behind these brands. The comparison between Bruneian ‘modest’ fashion with the Southeast Asian and global ‘modesty’ market thus provides invaluable insight into official views on the importance of matters such as the definition and enforcement of ‘modest’ dress codes for the success of the broader project of engineering social transformations in desired directions. In ‘Packaging MIB: representations of Islam in Anglophone Bruneian fiction’, Kathrina Mohd Daud illustrates the national ideological framework of Brunei, coined as Melayu Islam Beraja (MIB)17 by Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddin III in 1952, but brought into the ranks of national ideology from January 1984 by his son – the current Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah. Malayness is defined in the Bruneian context in terms of religious belonging and a specific political system, the Sultanate. The Bruneian normative conception of Shari’a is another brilliant illustration in Asia, as it is in Aceh and the Maldives, of entanglements of state-building, coercion and a universalising ethos of Islamic cosmopolitanism (Feener and Gedacht, 2018, 17; Peacock, 2018). What is more, Kathrina Mohd Daud’s chapter highlights the role of 9/11 in the media’s portrayal of Muslims and Islam globally in mostly negative terms, with Muslims and Islam being framed in terms of religious extremism and a clash of civilisations and cultures (Ahmed and Matthes, 2016). According to the author, these portrayals have a profound and tangible impact on Muslim communities worldwide. How do writers from Muslim communities counter and correct these negative representations of Islam and Muslims as monolithic entities? Often, Muslim writers also have to contend with the challenges of publishing from a

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marginalised community. This chapter considers the representation of Islam in the Anglophone Bruneian fiction market, describing the challenges of packaging Islam for a global audience, and what this means for the construction of a national identity. Using the close reading approach and the conceptualisation of the postcolonial exotic and the ‘marketisation of the margins’, the author proposes that Anglophone Bruneian fiction represents a uniquely Bruneian form of Islam designed for a global audience and market that is constructed in direct opposition to global media narratives about Brunei and Bruneian Islam. Last, but not least, in the chapter entitled ‘Tales from two cities: financialisation, consumerism and affordable housing in Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta’, Lena Rethel, Juanita Elias and Lisa Tilley pose the question of how practices of land, property and shelter have been given new meanings as they are increasingly wrapped up in the triple onslaught of neoliberalism, financialisation and consumerism, with a specific focus on the role of Islamic finance. Indeed, since the economic crisis of the late 1990s, countries in the region have accelerated their market-oriented reform programmes. These reforms have had a significant impact on everyday life in the region’s cities, ranging from an intensified regime of evictions of the urban poor in Jakarta, to the skyrocketing of house prices and concomitant household debt in Kuala Lumpur. On the one hand, Islamic finance – despite its moral claims – has become complicit in the region’s financialisation. A slew of new products has created new financial subjects and subjectivities. Islamic mortgages, car loans and personal finance products, and even crowdfunding platforms are designed with the aim of drawing an ever-expanding middle class into the market. On the other hand, Islamic values are inspiring new forms of contestation, be it taking mortgage lenders to court over the Islamic-ness of a loan; crowdfunded alternatives to state-provided public housing; or assistance provided by Islamic organisations in covering the rent in new public housing developments. This chapter draws on a combination of reflections and ethnographic observations from Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta in order to analyse these dynamics of transformation, resistance and modification, and to understand how Islam and Islamic values are invoked in them. It argues that housing has become an increasingly important site of contestation that warrants further examination. In the Afterword entitled ‘Contemporary halal tropism, or Islam and eco­ nomy between the global and the traditional era’, Jérémy Jammes and Johan Fischer attempt to epistemologically measure significant shifts occurring in the current Southeast Asian Muslim economy – and especially in the transfiguration and rationalisation of theological and social interventions related to (in)compatibilities between Islam and the economy. Inspired by Talal Asad’s (1993, 27–54) understanding of religion as a transhistorical and transcultural phenomenon, we propose that the term ‘halal’ is not fossilised in one place and time; rather, we need to analyse it in terms of historical shifts that bring it into a new and hybridised moral economy framework, and as the historical and geographical product of discursive processes. Hybridity is also reflected in tensions between two types of ‘Muslim economic man’: a traditional potlatch or kula form in

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which the individual essentially accumulates in order to redistribute, make alliances, create social bonds and contribute to the functioning and reproduction of society; and the capitalist form in which the individual accumulates in order to satisfy (consumerist) desires rather than real biological needs. The authors conclude that contemporary halal practices and their accompanying rationalised efforts to ‘halalise’ the world – i.e. to transform the secular world into a ‘good’ and ‘pure’ landscape compatible with a Muslim pious life and missionary agenda – are comparable to a painting that offers multiple vanishing lines and numerous angles of approach and interpretation, illustrating not only the bonds but perhaps the tensions between Islam and the economy. To think about the religious economy is to understand economic acts as thought out, practised or even justified and reconstructed by religious actors. Indeed, neither the ‘economy’ nor ‘religion’ are fixed objects. Rather, both terms are undergoing transformation, and are practically and conceptually in motion. The ways in which religion and the economy can be engaged and also re-evaluated in Southeast Asia have recently been discussed in a sub-field of economy, i.e. development. Following the conclusion of this work, but focusing exclusively on Southeast Asian Muslim societies, our volume observes and analyses the prevalent rhetoric about the ‘rediscovery of the economy’ by Southeast Asian Islam; and vice versa, the reconfiguration of Islam in the age of the global capitalist economy and consumption. We further investigate why and how the historical, political and institutional settings in the studied countries give shape to (in)compatibilities between Islam and the economy. Thanks to its comparative approach and diverse and comprehensive case studies, this book also demonstrates how these religious economies are understood and practised globally. As such, the relationship between Islam and the economy may be regarded as producing new discourses and new enactments of what is currently claimed to be ‘an Islamic economy’.

Notes 1 In the religious field, ‘orthopraxy’ refers to a practice or a behaviour that follows the prescribed rites of a religion, whereas orthodoxy is concerned with doctrine, dogma, or theology. For a recent case study on the researcher’s relationship and epistemological distance to orthodoxy and orthopraxy (in doctrinal and practice terms, respectively), to this methodological requirement of identifying and saying what is true and what is false, what is superstitious and what is rational, what is orthodox and what is heterodox, what is orthopraxical and what does not follow the prescribed rituals, etc., see Jammes (2018). 2 There is a large and growing body of literature on Islamic finance (Bassens, Engelen, Derudder, and Wilcox, 2012, 2013; Maurer 2005; Kuran 1995, 1997; Tripp 2006). Most recently, Rethel (2018) examines how the certification of Islamic financial products in Indonesia and Malaysia works in practice. 3 For an archaeological study of the legacy and use of this concept, see Koning and Njoto-Feillard (2017, 5–7).

22  Johan Fischer and Jérémy Jammes 4 For a detailed study of Durkheim’s ‘non-rational-collectivist’ approach, see Mellor (2000). 5 The same idea underlies the influence of religion on economic development in the Nepalese Dor Bahadur Bista (1991), which attributes to Hinduism (and its culture of passivity and wait-and-seeism) the responsibility for underdevelopment in South Asia. For Buddhism, see Bernard Formoso (2000) in Thailand, where ascetic and devotional practices are in no way a hindrance to the production of material goods and wealth. 6 Especially under the pen of Syed Ameer Ali (1849–1928). 7 Inspired by the fifteenth-century famous volume De imitatione Christi, the term Imitatio Muhammadi refers to the imitation of the Prophet’s actions and activity, and was coined by Abel to understand the emergence of the ancient ‘cult’ of the Prophet, not the consumption performance of the believer. This terminological distinction may be useful for further research. 8 It is said that the Prophet exclusively used his right hand for eating, employing its first three fingers for grasping food. Likewise, the Prophet began every action with the right hand (and the right foot): ‘The left hand should be used for the purification after urinating and defecation’ (Schimmel, 1985, 44). 9 According to Sayyid Ahmad Khan: ‘If a person refrains from eating mangoes for the sole motive that the Prophet did not eat them – the angels will come his deathbed to kiss his feet’ (quoted by Schimmel, 1985, 44). 10 The case of the Christian Evangelical Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) is worth mentioning to illustrate the global competition we observe between different ‘spirit­ ual nationalisms’, at the nexus of conversion strategies, the moral economy and foreign policy. From the mid-1930s onward, SIL based its activities in the United States and in Central America. The organisation started its missionary, linguistic and development activities in Southeast Asia in the 1950s, implementing educational programmes and sometimes a Pax Americana (during the Vietnam war for instance) through a certain conception of conversion. For an archive- and fieldworkbased investigation on the SIL’s activity in Southeast Asia during the Cold War, see Jammes (2016). 11 In Theravada Buddhism, for instance, Pattana Kitiarsa analysed the market for amulets (many of them are monks’ bones and teeth remain). Kitiarsa also explained that the symbolic efficiency of these amulets may be seen as a combination of different factors: the inscription of objects in a sacred biography, modes of production and proper distribution channels, a commonly shared acceptance of special qualities attributed to these objects (sacred or magical), propagation in particular contexts (rituals, festivities, sites or religious events), and media support. 12 Muslim ethics applied to global finance, for instance. 13 We do not explore halal in the Indonesian context in subsequent chapters, but halal is a major issue in Indonesia. In 2001, a major food scandal in the country triggered a new phase of halal proliferation and standardisation on a global scale, leading it to cover areas such as enzyme production. The Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI), or Indonesian Ulemas Council, accused a Japanese company, Ajinomoto, of using pork products in the production of the enhancer, monosodium glutamate, and demanded that the Indonesian government take appropriate action. If true, the company would have violated halal rules and, as a consequence of the scandal, several of the company’s employees were arrested, and a public apology was issued. It is most likely that the enhancer did not contain any pork products; instead, the company conceded that for economic reasons, it had replaced a beef derivative with the pork derivative bactosoytone in the production process. Bactosoytone was used as a medium to cultivate bacteria that produces the enzymes necessary to make monosodium glutamate. As the company’s products had previously been certified as halal by MUI, the scandal seemed to undermine

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or question the legitimacy of these religious scholars in the eyes of millions of Muslim consumers. The scandal also made it clear that even multinational companies can come into conflict with the rising number of Muslim consumers and organisations if they overlook or disregard religiously inspired customs. Indeed, the Indonesian scandal generated inquiries at companies worldwide. Thus, even though we do not discuss halal in Indonesia in the contributions to this book, arguably the globalisation of halal is inseparable from the above events in that country (Fischer 2015). 14 Syariah is the local spelling of ‘Shari’a’ in Brunei and Malaysia. 15 For the Bruneian case, see Müller (2015). About the use of a coercive apparatus by Aceh and Malaysian authorities to inculcate desired moral sensibilities based on Islamic law, see Feener and Fountain (2018, 7) and Maznah Mohamad (2010, 512–516), respectively. The authors are very grateful to R. Michael Feener for his meticulous reading of our introduction. 16 On historical traditions of religious giving in Islam, see Singer (2008). For modern transformations of Islamic charity, see Benthall and Bellion-Jourdan (2009) and Fauzia (2013). 17 For the origins and the implications of this MIB ideology, see Marie-Sybille de Vienne (2015).

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Chapter 2

Social trust, the Qur’anic prohibition of corruption, and anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia Michel Dion

Introduction Bribery is not explicitly mentioned in the Qur’an. However, Rosenthal (1964) explained that some Qur’anic verses (Surah V.42, 62) prohibit eating suht, although the meaning of the term suht is not self-evident. The author added that it is traditionally connected with bribery, insofar as it refers to unlawful gains. In his comments on the Qur’an (Tafsir), Ibn Kathir (1301–1373) explicitly confirmed that eating illegal things could mean ‘unjustly consuming one’s property through bribes and Riba’ (Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 3:218). In his translation of the Qur’an, Abdullah Yusuf Ali adopts the same viewpoint: in a figurative sense, suht would mean ‘usury or bribes, or taking undue advantage of people’s weak position, or their own fiduciary powers to add to their own wealth’ (note 747); ‘fraudulent misappropriations of other people’s property or trust property’ (note 771). Another Qur’anic verse (Surah II.188) includes a prohibition ‘to consume our property wrongly and knowingly, in order to corrupt judges or people in authority’. According to Ibn Kathir, judges will have to meet Allah on their Day of Resurrection: they judge someone as being influenced by bribes. Judges could settle the legal dispute in favour of one party without having any reasonable motivation to do so (Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 1:523). Such judges will be severely judged by Allah. The way they tried to avoid a dispute could give birth to other disputes (with business partners, employees, or friends, for instance). And a Hadith said that ‘the most hated person in the sight of Allah is the most quarrelsome person’ (Sahih Bukhari, v. 3, bk. 43, no 637). Abdullah Yusuf Ali mentioned that Surah II.188 clearly refers to a prohibition of public corruption (note 201). But does it follow that bribery is necessarily prohibited? Rosenthal (1964) thought that this verse is not very clear at all. According to Al Agha (2007), Islam clearly prohibits bribery. However, the author does not provide any set of verses dealing with bribery. Ali and Al-Owaihan (2008) also asserted that bribery is prohibited in Islam, while quoting a single Hadith. Indeed, we must infer from basic theological and ethical Islamic concepts that bribery is prohibited. Although those verses (Surah II.188; V.42, 62) do not explicitly prohibit corruption, their figurative sense has been traditionally linked to a prohibition of corruption, and particularly of bribes.

30  Michel Dion

In this article, we will present theological and ethical arguments for the Islamic prohibition of corruption. We will see to what extent corruption is perceived as denying God’s providence (theological level) and mutual trust (social level) in a Qur’anic context. Finally, we will see to what extent Indonesia’s anti-corruption reforms are religiously based and closely linked to Pancasila (as Indonesian state philosophy) and Indonesian cultural values.

1 The Islamic prohibition of corruption: theological arguments The basic principles of Islamic faith converge to prohibit any practice of corruption, whether it is bribery, extortion, or any other similar dishonest action. In each case, corruption appears not to be morally or spiritually justified, since it is an attitude of unbelief, that is, a loss of trust in God’s providence. The theological notion of trust could refer to affective and cognitive dimensions of faith. However, it does not mean that believers experience affective/cognitive trust when thinking about God. Affective/cognitive trust is rather closely related to personality cues and sensory connections (Swift and Hwang, 2013). Losing trust in God’s providence means that believers no longer abandon themselves to God’s will. Trust implies a decision (choice) to make ourselves vulnerable to the trustee’s actions and decisions (Guillén Parra et al., 2011; Koeszegi, 2004). Trust requires us to believe that the other person/group will fulfil their own duties (Lee, 2004). That is precisely the meaning of trust from an Islamic perspective. Qur’anic principles make economic life much more spiritually focused than materially oriented. Corruption then appears to be an act of: (a) believing in materialism, (b) denying God’s providence and divine will, (c) annihilating the sense of community. 1.1 Corruption as the act of believing in materialism

Corruption is a way of focusing on material goods and wealth, while neglecting God’s remembrance. Soliciting, offering, or receiving bribes implies putting the emphasis on the material dimension of human existence. Believers are then forgetting that God’s Love is the most precious thing for them (Surah II.165). They want a higher level of wealth here and now, without considering that God would have improved their existential situation in the future. They focus on their present condition, without looking at the impact of their behaviour in the long run, whether it is in earthly life or in the Hereafter. Corruption is essentially a dishonest practice. In addressing the issue of corruption, we should grasp the inner structure of soliciting/offering/receiving bribes. The phenomenon of corruption involves unethical intent (from the demand side as well as the supply side) and disastrous consequences (for third parties as well as one’s moral reputation).

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1.2 Corruption as the act of denying God’s will and divine providence

Corruptors do not bother about God’s will. They even do not fear God. They are only trying to avoid poverty and to become rich and powerful as soon as possible. Corruption is a way of denying the crucial importance of conforming to God’s will. God prohibits unjust deals. Therefore, God cannot approve any form of bribery/extortion. Believers who go ahead with corrupt practices are negating social justice, although social justice is a divine requirement. Corruptors are self-sufficient beings who acquire wealth, power and knowledge by themselves, without any recognition of God’s ultimate power over their own existence. Corruptors do not trust God’s providence. Corruptors free themselves from their social/economic inequalities, without considering God’s providence. Corruption is then unbelief. Corruptors deny both God’s guidance/ultimate power of creation and just distribution of wealth among humankind. Corruptors do not trust divine justice and God’s will. Corruption is an attempt to deny the perishable character of earthly goods, and even ontological–existential finitude. Undertaking corrupt practices means refusing to be perishable, and thus existentially finite. It implies the (somewhat unconscious) belief that the wealthier we are, the less we will be subjected to existential finitude. Moreover, corruption is an abuse of power. Corruptors get money without any effort: the donor (the party who offers bribes or practices extortion) acquires a morally unjustified advantageous position. Corruption implies that we are not waiting for God’s reward. We are, rather, rewarding ourselves through illegal means. Corruption is so much the opposite of charity, that all acts of charity (zakat and sadaqah: Sahih Bukhari, v. 4, bk. 53, no 328) are rendered useless if they are followed by acts of bribery/extortion. Corruption is an act of unbelief. Corruptors actually show that they do not believe in God’s providence and divine will. Corruptors have lost an important part of their faith: the believer’s trust in God. Corruptors are then dissatisfied with what God has given to them. They try to get more money through illegal and unethical means, becoming ungrateful. They neglect God’s grace/mercy. 1.3 Corruption as the act of annihilating the sense of community

Osella and Rudnyckyj (2017) claimed that religion conveys specific morality (with more or less precise ethical norms of behaviour) and makes sense of the world in which believers live. Corruption destroys the sense of community between believers. It annihilates the sense of mutual trust, and thus social ties. Corruption cannot be approved by God, since it creates the social disorder/chaos that God hates. Corruption implies imposing unjust conditions for business activities. We cannot, then, reasonably believe that corruption could improve collective wellbeing and reinforce social ties within a given community.

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Corruption is the trap corruptors actually fall into. Corruptors are led by selfinterest (rather than the common good) and self-salvation (self-providence) rather than God’s salvation and providence.

2 The Islamic prohibition of corruption: ethical arguments Human beings have the usufruct of goods that have been created by God (who is the owner of the universe: Surah II. 284; LVII. 3). According to Garaudy (1981), ownership is not an issue of individual rights, but rather of social functions that are closely linked to the divine requirements of Goodness. Wealth must be spent ‘in the way of Allah’ (in the Cause of God), that is, in accordance with God’s will and in a way that improves collective wellbeing (Surah IX.41). The way we use wealth in this life will have effects both in this life and in the Hereafter (Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 4:434). Osella and Osella (2009, 207) asserted that Muslims’ entrepreneurial ethics are basically influenced by a strong community orientation. Corruption contradicts any community orientation, because it implies anti-trust behaviours (bribery) and/or physical/moral unjustified constraints (extortion). Neither effect of corruption can help to build up and strengthen any sense of community. On the contrary, corruption makes social cohesion disappear. All goods are considered as the ultimate property of God (Garaudy, 1981, 52). Every business transaction thus has two simultaneous effects: a social impact (depending on the way goods are used or exchanged) and a theological impact (on faith and Eternal Life). The Qur’an is quite clear about the infinite quest for wealth: God hates greed (Surah LXXXIX.18) and hoarding, since such attitudes do not have any social benefit. Moreover, greed makes people neglect to remember God, to pray and even to pay the zakat (Surah XXIV.37). According to Ibn Khaldûn (1967), God is our refuge from power addiction and misfortune (Muqaddimah, I:33). Corruption is an expression of greed, since corruptors use all means possible to become rich/powerful people. Corruption makes people become ‘Machiavellian individuals’, that is, people who seek (political, social and economic) power and who believe that the end justifies the means. Such a Machiavellian principle (see The Prince) is the opposite of Islamic morality. In the Qur’an, God has defined the desirable ends and means. Human beings do not even have the possibility of defining the most desirable means to reach their personal ends. The ends as well as the means are theologically and ethically limited by God’s will. According to Siddiqi (1972, 5), we must cultivate and develop all desirable attributes in human personality and eliminate all undesirable traits of character. God said that those who purify themselves and manage their selves in order to grow as individuals will prosper (Surah LXXXVII.14). We must not be attached to the worldly life (Surah LIII.29). Nobody knows if he/she will be wealthy tomorrow (Surah XXXI.34). Although rich people will prosper because of God’s providence, they will have no specific status in the Hereafter if they

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are more attached to material goods than to God (Surah XLII.20). We must strive for our wealth, while guiding our whole life in the way of Allah (Surah IX.41). Even spending our money must be done for the cause of Allah (Surah II.195). A Hadith explained that we should wish to be ‘a man to whom Allah has given wealth and who spends it in the right way’ (Sahih Bukhari, v. 9, bk 92, no 419). God does not love those who waste their goods by excess (Surah VI.141; VII.31). Moderation implies not being extravagant in how we spend money or buy goods. Muslims should thus always strive for a balance between extremes, such as niggardliness and extravagance (Surah IV.37; V.90; XXV.67). Moderation and generosity are basic Islamic values (Surah II.237). Those who are imbued with avarice (not spending in the Way of God) cannot be saved (Surah IV.37; IX.34; LIX.9). Corruption is a way of self-salvation, that is, a way of denying the basic link between our present behaviours and the Hereafter. Corruption presupposes that corruptors have replaced God by wealth, as if wealth would have been able to save them from any threat or existential anxiety. Justice is a very important Islamic virtue. God asks us to be just people (Surah II.279; XVI.90; XLIX.9). The most honoured people (in the sight of God) are the most generous (charitable) and the most righteous ones (Surah XLIX.13). Righteousness is the basis of human life (Surah XXIII.51). According to Siddiqi (1972, 38), justice has a systemic meaning, involving all aspects of human life, be they social, economic, political, cultural or religious conditionings of human existence. It implies balance, proportionality and a sense of harmony. Corruption imposes social and economic conditions that set up injustice and iniquity. It cannot be morally justified. God asks human beings to ‘give full measure and weight in justice’ (Surah VI.152; VII.29; VII.85; XI.84–85; XVII.35; XXVI.181–183; LV.9; LVII.25). There is a divine command to establish justice, when giving and taking goods (Surah VI.152; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 3:517). We should ‘give as we take and take as we give’ (Surah XXVI.181–183; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 7: 270). Ibn Kathir suggested that justice means fairness and honesty (Surah VII.29; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 4:43). Sometimes, he treated justice and fairness as two different values, although they are interconnected (Surah LV.9; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 9:379). In other cases (Surah LVII.25), Ibn Kathir interpreted justice as truth and fairness. In such cases, what is at stake is the obedience of believers to God’s will and his prophet’s words (Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 9:499). Ibn Kathir explicitly said that the prohibition of ‘giving short measure or weight’ is indeed a prohibition of cheating in business transactions (Surah XI.84; Sahih Bukhari, v. 3, bk. 41, no 597; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 5:96). Ibn Kathir believed that the prohibition of cheating in business means ‘do not try to make it weigh less or wrong people with their belongings’ (Surah XVII.35; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 5:621). Surah XXVI.183 said that we should never ‘make corruption and mischief in the land’. Ibn Kathir rightly confirmed that such verse refers to banditry (Surah XXVI.181–183; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 7:270). God requires that human beings be just, because God is the ultimate justice

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(Surah VII.29; LVII.25). As the infinite justice, God can ask us to be just in our relationships and business deals. We will never reach perfect justice. But as believers, we have to be fair and honest. According to Chapra (1981, 153), the requirement to be just in measure and weight applies to individuals, society, and the state. It should not be confined to conventional weights and measures. It should also be applied to all measures of value. In Islam, the exact measures and weights constitute a powerful symbol of justice. Its meaning is much wider than the simple concern for due quantity. The basic concern for exact measure and weight mirrors the crucial importance of social justice. Corruptors do not bother with ‘fair measures and weights’. They either demand money they should never receive, or exert strong (physical and/or moral) pressure in order to get money, without any close link to contractual/legal duties. While measures and weights focus on ‘the exact quantity that could ensure just deals’, corruption reflects a deep concern for unjust and unfair deals. God asks people not to act as corruptors: to neither undertake morally wrong actions, nor be mischievous (Surah XXVI.183). A Hadith requires one not to give false statements (tell lies), not to undertake wrong deeds, and not to use mischievous words when talking with others (Sahih Bukhari, v. 8, bk 73, no 83). Corruption could actually be considered as a wrong deed. However, corruption could also be connected to lies. Undertaking corrupt actions (such as offering/soliciting/receiving bribes, or practising extortion) does not necessarily imply the use of lies. But lies could happen either during corrupt deals or after their completion. Corrupt practices hide corruptors’ real intent, whether or not their lie has deep effects on their superiors or peers, relatives or friends. Corruptors could also lie to third parties, whether they are competitors, suppliers, distributors, or even governmental officers. So, although corruption does not necessarily involve the use of lies, it could reasonably be expected that lying will be sometimes necessary in order to save face. Moreover, those who practice corruption (bribery and extortion) seem to be hypocrites. A Hadith explained three conditions for being a hypocrite. Those conditions could easily be applied to corruptors (Sahih Bukhari, v. 1, bk 2, no 32). Firstly, when the corruptor speaks, a truth is veiled. Victims are manipulated (used as an object) for some ‘hidden ends’. Corruptors then mirror that their notion of mutual trust focuses on perceived benefits and consequences (calculus-based trust: Trong Tuan, 2012). Secondly, when corruptors promise something, they can break their promises. They are not reliable people. Thirdly, if we trust corruptors, they will certainly prove their lack of honesty. Corruptors will give bribes. But insofar as they reveal themselves as dishonest people, corruptors cannot be perceived as reliable individuals. Another Hadith added a fourth condition: ‘if the hypocrite quarrels, he behaves in a very imprudent evil insulting manner (unjust)’ (Sahih Bukhari, v. 4, bk. 53, no 403). Corruptors have high propensity to be quarrelsome. They will use any means to reach their illegal and unethical ends. When mutual trust is endangered, then the quality of communication between parties is adversely affected (Sankowska, 2013).

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God does not love those who misuse goods, since everything has been originally provided by God, the creator and owner of the universe (Surah V. 88). According to Beekun and Badawi (2005, 141), the payment of bribes is especially prohibited ‘when the payment of a bribe was intended to get a privilege to which the person is not entitled, usually at the expense of others’. Saeed et al. (2001, 136) believed that Islam condemns all forms of bribery, regardless of the motives people had in mind when they solicited, offered or received bribes. Bribery does not improve collective wellbeing (Surah II.188). Bribery is prohibited because it deeply affects social cohesion and welfare. According to Mannan (1986, 20–21), all illegal means of acquiring wealth are prohibited, since they destroy people and then the sense of community. There are no economic activities which are not subjected to moral judgement. An Islamic state can only encourage economic activities that could enhance collective wellbeing. Mannan believed that a monopoly of resources by the few (he called them ‘capitalists’) is not favoured by Islam (Surah LIX.7). Being attached to earthly goods is condemned by God (Surah VI.141). We must spend wealth in order to improve collective wellbeing: spending in the way of God (Surah XLVII.38). Corruption is never a means to spend money in the way of God. Corruption does not improve collective wellbeing. It only favours individual welfare (for both parties, in the case of bribery; but only for the most powerful party, in the case of extortion). According to Mannan (1986, 65–67), individual ownership is fully accepted in Islam. However, every individual owner is subjected to the moral obligation to share part of his/her wealth. The poor and the needy have the right to receive goods from the wealthiest (Surah LI.19). Sharing natural resources (created by God) is a basic religious requirement in Islam, since God has given order and perfection to His Creation (Surah II.29). Islam tries to avoid the concentration of wealth in few hands, that is, the pitfall of capitalist societies (creating the monopoly of the wealthiest). Islam focuses on collective wellbeing (as it is the case for socialism, although socialist countries are atheist). Islam attempts to avoid any kind of monopolies (cf. Surah LIX.7). When such monopolies do exist, Islamic states have the right to intervene if such monopolies do not favour the common good. The aim of every Islamic state is to both ‘enjoin the good and avoid the evil’ and to implement justice in the whole of society (Surah III.110; IV.58; LVII.25). According to Taleghani (1982, 44), Islamic states must supervise expenditure and safeguard the public interest. There is a primacy of common good over self-interest. Corruption shows how individuals only focus on their personal interests (egoistic viewpoint). In an Islamic perspective, the common good is always at the forefront of any decision-making process. However, people do not have the same talents and abilities (Mannan, 1986, 88, 117). That is why there is a diversity of earnings and material rewards (Surah IV.32; VI.165; XVI.71; XVII.30; XLIII.32). God has made people different ‘with regards to conduct, qualities, evilness, shapes, color of skin’ (Surah VI.165; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 3:546). As Mannan (1986, 90) said, our individual ownership is limited by our moral obligation to

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share our wealth with others (Surah LI.19). According to Mannan (1986, 354), ‘the Qur’an places every person under an obligation to safeguard and promote the welfare of his own soul as well as the welfare of his fellow being’ (Surah III.110, 114, 115). Siagh (2003, 32) believed that the Islamic notion of ownership avoids the pitfalls of social egoism/excessive individualism that usually follow from a notion of absolute ownership. In Islam, a human being is nothing but the vicegerent of God’s Creation (Surah VI.165). Human beings do not have absolute ownership of everything-that-is. Corruption is a way of denying that we are the vicegerents of God’s Creation: corruptors are using human, financial and natural resources in order to favour their self-interest, although God’s Creation emphasises social welfare. Gambling and Karim (1991, 33) made clear that the right of private ownership is limited by unlawful means of acquiring wealth, including usury (Surah II.278–279), cheating (Surah IX.34), and theft (Surah V.38). The Qur’an does not explicitly deal with corruption (bribery, extortion). However, acts of corruption include two basic components: (1) acquiring goods (most of the time, money) that are not due, according to contractual or legal duties. Corruption is then nothing but theft. Two Hadith explicitly prohibited stealing (Sahih Bukhari, v. 3, bk. 43, no. 654; v. 9, bk 89, no. 320); (2) creating anti-trust advantage for the party who has offered bribes, in comparison with his/her competitors. Corruption is a mode of cheating, in the face of other competitors who follow the (legal/contractual) rules of the game. When thieves devour others’ wealth in falsehood, they are confusing truth with falsehood and ‘pretend before ignorant followers that we call to righteousness’ (Surah IX.34; Tafsir Ibn Kathir, 4:415). Cheating means distorting the meaning of truth and giving falsehood an artificial truthfulness. So corruption reflects common characteristics which are usually linked to theft and cheating. It annihilates the usual constructs of trust: fairness, confidence and risk-taking (Ertürk, 2008). Since corruption introduces a lack of moral consistency (the ‘walk-talk principle’), integrity as the basis of trustworthiness cannot be put into practice (Joseph and Winston, 2005).

3 From Pancasila to anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia: does religion really matter for prohibiting corruption? Transparency International’s Corruption Perception Index (CPI) could be used to identify how Indonesia was perceived in terms of corruption issues. From 1998 to 2003 (in percentile ranks), the position of Indonesia was quite stable, ranked between 96th (1999, 2001) and 91st (2003). If we focus on the way various social agents perceive corruption in a given country (this is exactly CPI’s methodology), then Indonesia was clearly one of the most corrupt countries in the world. However, we must be cautious with such results. Indeed, perceptions do not mirror complex realities. Thus, any index (such as the CPI) could become a post-colonialist instrument that serves (consciously

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or not) to give a very bad picture of developing countries (and a very good picture of developed countries), although large-scale corruption in developing countries usually comes from developed countries (De Maria, 2008). Media coverage of given scandals could make social perceptions distort reality. Thus, the way social agents assess the level of corruption in a given country should never be considered as the final word about corruption in that country. From 2004 to 2011 (in percentile ranks), the position of Indonesia in the CPI was progressively improved from 91st (2004) to 54th (2011). However, since 2012, a third period began: from being ranked 67th (2012) to 51st (2016). The year 2012 thus seems to be quite significant in the way Indonesia fought corruption and the way the level of corruption has been perceived in this country. Indeed, through Presidential Decree No. 55 (2012), a National Strategy of Corruption Prevention and Eradication (2012–2025) was launched. The results on the CPI seem to prove that such a national strategy could have been successful globally. 3.1 From Pancasila (1945) to the Commission for the Eradication of Criminal Acts of Corruption (2002–2011)

Pancasila (five meaningful principles) constituted Indonesia’s state philosophy. It was included in the 1945 Constitution of the Republic of Indonesia. In its 2002 version, the five principles are described as follows: a belief in the One and only God (whether it is from an Islamic or a Christian perspective), just and civilised humanity, the unity of Indonesia (nationalism), and democratic life led by wisdom of thoughts in deliberation amongst representatives of the people, and achieving social justice for all the people of Indonesia. As Eklöf (2003) rightly said, Pancasila as the state philosophy was used in opportunistic ways by political decision-makers and bureaucrats. Pancasila unveiled an ideal democracy that could have been perceived as a very strong national symbol unifying the various subcultures of Indonesia. However, the five main principles of Indonesia’s state philosophy have not met the acid test of political, economic, and social reality. That’s why some authors suggested that a Pancasila economic system would require a socialist framework in order to make social justice a reality (Budiman, 1982). The principle of democratic deliberations among representatives has been used in very different ways during Sukarno to Suharto. Pisani (2014, 24–25) mentioned that Sukarno used it to combat ‘Western-style confrontational democracy’, while Suharto distorted it as means to fight any democracy at all. In the same way, Sukarno interpreted the principle of social justice for all Indonesian people as strengthening economic interventionism, while Suharto believed that it could justify trickledown economics. According to Geertz (1968, 85), under President Sukarno’s leadership (1945–1967), Pancasila was considered as a means ‘to lay the foundations for Revolutionary unity by restoring the sort of spiritual balance of power’. Weatherbee (1985) explained how the original Pancasila (1945) has been ideologically focused and operationalised through President Suharto’s

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leadership (1966–1998). The author acknowledged that Pancasila is not a set of universal values, as it seemed to be in the original (1945) version. Suharto was identifying Pancasila to the Indonesian people itself, that is, to the Indonesian culture and collective identity. Pancasila was then claimed to be ‘the source of all sources of law’. However, what does it mean to be the ‘source of all sources of law’? Pratsetyo (2016, 108) explained that Pancasila could historically be the ‘First Agreement of the Indonesian People’, so it could really be seen as the ultimate source of law. But the author did not distinguish what is ultimate and what is historically based. Historically, Pancasila played a major role in the way the Indonesian Government was developing its own national and legal agenda. However, it does not necessarily mean that, philosophically speaking, all sources of Indonesian law must absolutely be based on Pancasila. Pancasila is so brief that it could hardly be the real basis for all sources of Indonesian law. Iskandar (2016, 726) saw Pancasila as the fundamental norm, without deepening the meaning of Kelsen’s grundnorm and its applicability to Pancasila. Siswoyo (2013, 142) rather believed that Pancasila presented an ‘ideal image of Indonesian people’. If that were actually the case, then Pancasila would open the door to anthropological and philosophical questioning about an eventual ‘Pancasila Human Being’. But Pancasila has never been so clearly defined that it could give birth to such apolitical and areligious reflection. Huda (2018) perceived Pancasila as a philosophical system, that is, ‘the basis of state philosophy as well as the philosophy of life of the Indonesian nation’. Pancasila could hardly be considered as a philosophical system. It does not give rise to philosophical questioning and open deliberation. Pancasila cannot be compared to existing philosophical systems, regardless of their basic perspectives, principles and beliefs. It is, rather, a national ideology that has been more or less politically exploited. Bourchier (2015, 140) mentioned that any criticism of Pancasila was thus perceived as ‘an affront to the Indonesian people as a whole’. Any criticism of Pancasila was also politically considered as an affront to President Suharto (Thoolen, 1987, 38). Rejecting any Western-style ideology, Suharto tried to implement a new democratic life in Indonesia, as it is impregnated with Pancasila. However, according to Bourchier (2015, 191–200), the way Suharto implemented Pancasila (from 1978 to 1998) was a real process of indoctrination for all Indonesian society. Indoctrination was accompanied by a strong (political) will to raise the level of morality in all social institutions, particularly among civil servants. Moreover, Bourchier explained that such indoctrination was also a way to reduce the influence of Muslim political parties (ibid., 198). The indoctrination programme was thus socially interpreted as strengthening Suharto’s authoritarian (and corrupt) regime. Bourchier concluded that it has really discredited Pancasila throughout the country, but not once and for all (ibid., 245–254). Since the mid-2000s, Pancasila has become a real source of hope for many Indonesian groups, since it could make tolerance and pluralism spread everywhere in the country. Pancasila is now becoming a tool for making violence and religious intolerance disappear.

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Steenbrink (1998) asserted that the social role of Pancasila could be compared to that of Confucianism in traditional China. However, such a belief could distort the real social role of Pancasila in Indonesia as well as the historical role played by Confucianism in traditional China. Confucianism is an atheistic philosophy that has moulded the social, economic and political ethos in China, from Confucius to neo-Confucianist contemporary China. Chinese philosophers have historically contributed to deepen the meaning of Confucian (philosophical) notions and to make them socially and politically influential. Confucianism has strengthened social cohesion and political conformism in China. Conversely, Pancasila implies belief in One God (and thus theistic beliefs). It focuses on components of social life that could make cohesion possible in a highly pluralistic society. However, Pancasila has never been defined by philosophers. It has never contributed to deepening any philosophical notion. It could hardly be compared to Confucianism in traditional China. Pancasila was perceived by some Muslims as a system of agnostic principles (Mehden, 2008, 14). Indeed, the belief in the One and Only God (‘One Lordship’) was not a precise assertion. It clearly sent the message that monotheistic religions could be considered to reflect Indonesia’s state philosophy, whether it is Islam or Christianity. Buddhism and Confucianism are spiritualities without any god. Worshipping ancestors and Heaven (Confucianism), or Bodhisattvas/Buddhas (Buddhism) does not involve any belief in a god. Buddhas are not gods at all. In Tibetan Buddhism, the belief in deities does not refer to any god who could intervene in human life. Tantric Buddhism uses deities to represent the primordial purity of mind, and thus, the buddha-essence that is universally and equally present in every sentient being. Looking at deities (visualisation) is, then, realising our own potential for buddhahood. It has nothing to do with existing gods. That’s why Buddhism could be defined as an atheistic philosophy, while strengthening the visualisation of deities. Although Confucianism and Buddhism could be considered religions, they do not imply any belief in the existence of God. So, at the real beginning, Pancasila was asserting the belief in One God, while considering Confucianism and Buddhism to be theistic religions. It was a way of excluding any kind of atheism (Hoon, 2013), and more specifically, of fighting communism (Pisani, 2014). At the real origin, Pancasila tried to control extremist Islam, and in doing so, to maintain an equality between all religions (mainly Islam and Christianity) in Indonesia. The real positive outcome was to protect minority rights (Jones, 2005; Hoon, 2011, 2013). During the Sukarno regime (1945–1967), such equality was the political ideal which has hardly been put into practice. Pancasila was not so powerful a political ideal that it could have made anti-corruption reforms possible. Although Pancasila was not directly addressing the issue of corruption, corruption remains part of the global picture. We cannot deal with integrity and justice without trying to eradicate large-scale corruption. Pancasila was not only the foundation of cultural pluralism in Indonesia, but also the five principles of a societal ethos that cannot avoid the issue of corruption.

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Sukarno introduced the notion of Pancasila on 1 June 1945. He proposed it as ‘a compromise between the ideas of an Islamic state and of a secular state’ (Darmaputera, 1988, 163). Pancasila should thus never contribute to ‘islamise’ or secularise Indonesian culture and society. Indeed, the belief in One God is shared by Muslims (87% of people) and Christians (10%) in Indonesia. Pancasila respects all beliefs in One God: it cannot be used as an islamising tool. On the other hand, Pancasila does not favour secularism, since it includes the belief in One God. From an understanding based on the text itself, Pancasila is neither an Islamic ideology, nor a secular ideology. It could be seen as a culturally based ideology that favours belief in One God. However, Ichwan Moch (2012, 40) has rightly suggested that, from an historical perspective, Pancasila has been used as a secular ideology with a more or less high degree of ‘religionalisation’, as the way religious groups and institutions have assimilated Pancasila out of their religious beliefs and practices. Religionalisation then deconstructs any universal import of Pancasila’s political components: religious groups and institutions build up rationalisation schemes and propose systems of meanings that could justify the application of Pancasila in daily political and religious life. Ichwan mentioned that the degree of religionalisation in Indonesia has varied since its first inception: a very low level of religionalisation (from the Sukarno period until 1990), a moderate level of religionalisation (1990–1998), and finally a liberal degree of religionalisation (from 1998 onwards). Religionalisation does not make a national ideology objective and universally applicable (García and Ivanescu, 2013). In Indonesia, religionalisation has subjective contents that must be interpreted by various political and religious groups and institutions. Darmaputera (1988, 150–159) explained how Sukarno had reduced Pancasila to one principle: mutual cooperation. But if Pancasila could thus be reduced to mutual cooperation, how could mutual cooperation be an implementation of the five principles? How could mutual cooperation favour Indonesian nationalism? How could mutual cooperation contribute to just and civilised humanity? How could mutual cooperation strengthen democracy? How could mutual cooperation improve social welfare? How could mutual cooperation be closely linked to the ‘One Lordship’? The notion of mutual cooperation is so vague that it could hardly enlighten the way the five principles should be applied in daily life. Darmaputera (1988, 181–182) argued that Pancasila was connected to Indonesian cultural values, such as harmony and balance. The meaning and scope of harmony and balance are not crystal-clear. How could it be self-evident? Harmony and balance presuppose that no a priori solutions to given problems actually exist. If mutual cooperation is a way of favouring harmony and balance, then its vagueness cannot be strongly criticised. Nobody should expect that searching for harmony and balance through mutual cooperation means that we actually hold ultimate solutions in advance. Pancasila tried to maintain order, openness, and transparency in the public sphere. But in doing so, Pancasila was playing a paradoxical role on the political

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stage (nationalism; just and civilised humanity; social justice; democracy) as well as on the religious stage. The paradoxical role of Pancasila could be observed from two general viewpoints. On one hand, Pancasila was really favouring tolerance (between monotheistic religions, mainly Islam and Christianity), while allowing constraints to religious freedom. On the other hand, Pancasila became a secularised tool for good governance, while corrupt practices were becoming an integral part of Indonesian daily life. In a Statement of Concern Regarding the Crisis of the Indonesian Democratic Party (17 June 1996), the Secretary-General (Baharuddin Lopa) and the Second Vice-Chairman (Marzuki Darusman) of Komnas HAM (Indonesian National Commission on Human Rights) acknowledged that the political crisis ‘appears to lie in violations of the political ethics and morals advocated by the traditional values in the Pancasila Doctrine and in the Constitution of 1945’ (Komnas HAM, 1996, 41). Six weeks later, they published a Statement Regarding the Riots in Jakarta on 27 July 1996. And again, they said that ‘human rights violations have resulted from the cultivation of violent ways of thinking and from the use of violent methods to attain political goals which are in contradiction to Pancasila’ (Komnas HAM, 1996, 42). Thus, political and social crises seem to make Pancasila quite relevant for the Indonesian National Commission on Human Rights. As Darmaputera (1988, 189) said, the principle of ‘One Lordship’ could favour dialogue and mutual understanding among believers (monotheistic religions: Islam and Christianity). But it also limits religious freedom, in two ways. On one hand, the principle of ‘One Lordship’ excludes non-theistic spiritualities (such as Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism) as well as atheism and agnosticism. On the other hand, it does not presuppose tolerance and dialogue among believers. Christians and Muslims could agree that there is ‘One Lordship’. But it does not mean that they will show tolerance and mutual understanding when living and working together. In Indonesia, Islam remains the religion of the majority of people. Through the principle of ‘One Lordship’, Pancasila was an attempt to counterbalance the strong power of the majority (Muslims) by acknowledging the richness of other monotheistic religions (mainly Christianity). From a religious viewpoint, it has nothing to say to atheism (there is no god at all), agnosticism (I will never be sure if God actually exists), Confucianism (worshipping ancestors and Heaven), Buddhism (searching for Enlightenment) or Taoism (the omnipresence of Tao in everything). In Indonesia, only Confucianism and Buddhism (as spiritualities without god) really contribute to spiritual pluralism. However, as an integral part of the Indonesian Constitution, the principle of ‘One Lordship’ unveils that (monotheistic) religions actually contribute to building Indonesian society and culture. As Intan (2006, 20) said, it makes clear that ‘religions play a major role in social and cultural matters’. President Suharto has secularised the role of Pancasila in Indonesian society. He defined it as the ‘only basis’ of the nation and state. In doing so, President

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Suharto was excluding any religious effect following from Pancasila. Pancasila became a tool for good governance. Nothing more. Pancasila thus could only be understood as the basis of the state, but never as the basis for Muslims’ social life. Although the government repeatedly made assurances that the policy was not aimed against a certain religion, it was seen as a major attack upon Islam. Muslims viewed the politics of ‘only basis’ as maneuvering not only to remove the significance of political Islam, but also to promote the idea of secular ideology’ […] It is important to note that great fear over the political implications of ‘only basis’ were not restricted to Islamic groups. Christians also worried that the ‘only basis’ was a governmental strategy to create a secular ideology, or state religion. (Intan, 2006, 56–57) Transforming Pancasila into a secularised tool of good governance paradoxically made corruption increase in the public sphere. Bubandt (2014, 20) claimed that in Indonesia, corruption is the ‘ambivalent medium of democracy’. The Suharto regime (1967–1998) was a repressive as well as a deeply corrupt regime (Suryani and Entus, 2004). Such an authoritarian regime has contributed to instrumentalising Pancasila as a tool for focusing on national identity and acknowledging cultural and religious pluralism, but only in specific (pre-determined) ideological ways (Hoon, 2013). Pancasila was an integral part of decolonisation processes as well as a tool for deepening nationalism among Indonesian people (Nishimura, 1995). During the Suharto regime, the rules of corruption were perceived as a means for the Islamisation of some Christian enclaves (Schrauwers, 2003, 126–132). In those years, the basic aim of Pancasila was distorted. If the perception of islamisation of Christian enclaves was right, then the Suharto regime was destroying the notion of equality between monotheistic religions, as it was grounded in Pancasila. The inapplicability of Pancasila on the political and religious scene was sending an implicit message: people should not bother with the application of Pancasila in daily political and religious life. The irrelevance of Pancasila for people in the street then opened the door to various corrupt practices. In the long-term, no moral/ religious meta-norm could get rid of them. Corruption was then perceived as a necessary evil. According to Palmier (1969, 144–145), corrupt practices were arising mainly for reasons of economic and social status. It was especially the case with local leaders who liked to safeguard their higher living standards in order to maintain a social and economic distance from their followers. King (2008, 155–177) referred to Palmier’s argument without criticising it: corruption would be caused by public officials’ poor wages. Robertson-Snape (1999, 590–596) explained that, during the Suharto regime, corruption aimed at ‘securing his position by enabling key figures in the bureaucracy and the military to benefit economically for their loyalty’ as well as ‘ensuring the financial security of his family and friends’. Some studies (Prabowo and Cooper,

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2016; Budiman et al. 2013) concluded that rationalisation techniques were used by Indonesian civil servants in order to justify corrupt practices, including their low salaries. But rationalisation techniques always confuse explanations and justifications. An explanation unveils the historically based process through which a given phenomenon occurs. It can never be used to morally justify such a phenomenon. Every explanation deals with social, cultural, economic, political and religious conditioning factors. It helps people to understand how given phenomena could have been possible in a specific societal culture. A moral justification refers to objective norms of behaviour, whether they are rooted in ethical (philosophical) theories or spiritual/religious ethics. Moral justifications can never reach absolute objectivity. But they try to be as objective as possible, while favouring their own framework as the best world-view. Moral justifications could then close the door to any questioning about the (philosophical and/or religious) foundations of one’s behaviour. If this is the case, then moral justifications are distorted and become processes of self-justification. The real worth of moral justification remains in the basic openness to other claims to truth, although such openness could make reality much more uncertain and fragile than what an absolute truth could provide. Moral justification opens the way to question any claim to truth, even from a religious/spiritual viewpoint. That is why it is so hard to take moral justification upon ourselves when embracing a given religion/spirituality (as a system of interconnected meanings and symbols). Very often, deciding to accept/refuse bribes is simply a cost–benefit assessment, including financial advantage/difficulty, increasing/decreasing power and prestige (Prabowo, 2014). According to Robertson-Snape (1999, 597), corruption was actually fitting in with cultural habits in Java. In the context of cultural customs, corrupt practices were not seen as morally wrong, but rather as a means of strengthening family ties and loyalties. Mietzner (2007, 256) stated that some politicians became corrupt because greed was their reason for entering politics. Olken (2007) claimed that low-level corruption, at least in villages, could be quite hard to eradicate, because of the interconnectedness between villagers and because of their will (and ability) to contribute to the common good. Even anti-corruption initiatives would not necessarily be positively perceived in local communities. Many studies focused on the way corruption could threaten social order and engender the rule of law, and even annihilate social and economic rights (Butt, 2012; Zacchea and Widjajabrata, 2004). With the Government Regulation in Lieu of Law 24/1960 on the Prosecution, Investigation, and Examination of the Crime of Corruption, corruption as a criminal offence was defined as being detrimental to the national economy, or provoking financial harm to a governmental agency, or enriching a person or an organisation, while abusing of one’s position (article 1). The preamble to Law No. 31 (1999) Regarding Eradication of Criminal Acts of Corruption asserted that corruption could have a negative impact on ‘the

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finances and economy of the state’. Why should we eradicate corruption? Simply because we need to create an ‘equitable and prosperous society’. There was then an assumption that corruption could be detrimental to national economic and social development. But such an equitable and prosperous society was defined as being based on Pancasila (and the 1945 Constitution). The implicit message was that there is a basic continuity between Pancasila and the anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia. However, such continuity is not self-evident. The criminal acts of corruption, collusion and nepotism are not only committed by the state organizers, between the state organizers themselves, but also between the state organizers and other parties, such as families, cronies, businessmen, so that they corrupt the principles of lives in maintaining a society, nation and state, and jeopardize the existence of the state. In the framework of saving and normalizing the national life according to the reform demands, the sameness of vision, perception and mission of the entire state organizers and the public is needed. This sameness of vision, perception and mission shall be in line with the people’s conscience wishing the materialization of state organizers who are capable of performing their duties and functions seriously, full of sense of accountability, effectively and efficiently, free from corruption, collusion and nepotism. (Elucidation of Law No. 28 of 1999 on the State Organizer who is Clean and Free from Corruption, Collusion and Nepotism) In 2001, it seemed that Law No. 31 (1999) needed revising. The preamble to Law No. 20 (2001) describes the theoretical as well as social and economic motives behind such an amendment to the law. There are two basic motives which were neglected when designing Law No. 31 (1999). On one hand, corruption cases are defined as having a negative impact on the state budget (losses). Corruption actually violates the social and economic rights of people. It is striking to read that corruption ‘needs to be categorized as a crime that must be eradicated in an extraordinary way’. What does it really mean? Should we understand that Law No. 31 (1999) was simplistic and unrealistic? Should we conclude that the Government of Indonesia had underestimated real efforts to effectively fight corrupt practices? On the other hand, the amendment to Law No. 31 (1999) was required in order ‘to ensure legal certainty, avoid various legal interpretations, protect the social and economic rights of the public, and give fair treatment in eradicating corruption’. Does it mean that Law No. 31 (1999) was unfair and could not protect the social and economic rights of the Indonesian people? In Southeast Asia, the most ‘successful’ anti-corruption initiative was launched in Singapore (Corrupt Practices Investigation Bureau, 1952). In the CPI, Singapore’s percentile rank could be analysed from two periods: (a) 1995–2003: from 17th (1997) to 3rd position (2003); (b) 2004–2016:

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from 1st (2009, 2010) to 4th position (2014–2016). In 2002, the Indonesian Commission for the Eradication of Criminal Acts of Corruption (Komisi Pemberantasan Korupsi, KPK) was founded and launched a year later, under the leadership of President Megawati Sukarnoputri (2001–2004). In the Amendment of Law No. 30 (2002), the rationale behind the creation of the KPK was explained. Firstly, in order to realise a fair and prosperous community under the Pancasila (and National Constitution), optimal means to eradicate corrupt practices should be implemented. The term ‘optimal’ expressed professionalism as well as intense and continuous improvement. It is taken for granted that corruption could be detrimental to the national economy and social development. Secondly, the Government of Indonesia admitted that government agencies have been unable to eradicate corruption. There is thus a need for an independent commission. For both reasons, the creation of KPK was closely linked to a more effective fight against corrupt practices in Indonesia. Article 4 expressed the primary purpose of KPK: ‘improving the effectiveness and efficiency of efforts to eradicate criminal acts of corruption’. The KPK is led by five principles: legal certainty, transparency, accountability, public interest, and proportionality (article 5). The National Action Plan on Corruption Eradication (NAPCE) (2004–2009) focused on corruption prevention and law enforcement. By its Law 7/2006, the Indonesian government ratified the UN Convention Against Corruption (31 October 2003; General Assembly Resolution 58/4). 3.2 From the National Strategy of Corruption Prevention and Eradication (2012–2025) until now

The National Strategy of Corruption Prevention and Eradication (2012–2025) had two basic objectives. For the medium term (2012–2014), the objective was ‘to create a government that is free from corruption, and having the capacity to prevent and take action against corruption and a system of cultural values with integrity’. Long term (2012–2025), the objective was to create ‘an anti-corruption nation that is supported by a system of cultural values with integrity’. Such objectives could not be reached without reforming laws/regulations, especially through codes of professional ethics, better law enforcement (including reporting mechanisms and whistleblower protections), and harmonisation of regulations. Reporting mechanisms and whistleblower protections could be quite hard to put into practice, since they do not necessarily fit in with Indonesian culture (at least, the crucial importance of ‘saving face’). The National Strategy acknowledged that it is an issue of ‘public trust toward the law and law enforcement officers’. A mechanism of corruption assets recovery/confiscation must be created and made effective. Implementing an anti-corruption culture in the government structure (executive, legislative, and judiciary powers) as well as in society as a whole could not be done without aligning politicians, bureaucrats, and citizens with the Indonesian cultural values system, insofar as such a

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values system is actually annihilated through corrupt practices. Bearing in mind Indonesia’s religious/cultural pluralism, how could we define basic Indonesian cultural values? Even if Indonesians could clearly define them – and it is no easy task for any country to define its societal values, especially not for a multicultural society – could they implement them in daily life and refer to consensual (and specific) norms of behaviour? If it is actually possible, then how could it be possible to avoid the issue of corruption, given that corruption is one of many ways to violate integrity and justice? If we look at the value of integrity, we can easily grasp the deep axiological challenge. In Indonesia, the value of integrity was considered in three different contexts. However, it is not always crystal-clear how the three notions of integrity were interconnected within the National Strategy: 1 Supporting the system of (Indonesian) cultural values with integrity implies that integrity strengthens Indonesian cultural values rather than being a single component of the cultural values system. Unlike Suhartati Lukito (2015), we believe that ethics is not a cultural value and that integrity is an integral part of ethics. Promoting integrity and ethics would mean that endorsing the principle of integrity in daily life is qualitatively different from behaving ethically. This is certainly not the message the Indonesian private sector, members of parliament, judges, police officers and government officers expect to hear. Should a modern organisational culture enforce a universal value system, be it part of the Government or in the private sector? The main problem is to define universal values. Moreover, a universal value system would then not necessarily coincide with Indonesian cultural values. Finally, Suhartati Lukito (2016) discussed ‘corrupt values’. It is not self-evident what this is all about. Does it mean that some values support corrupt practices? If so, which human values could actually strengthen corruption? Did Suhartati Lukito (ibid.) believe that Western practices (particularly during the Dutch colonial period) were the historical roots of corruption in Indonesia? If corrupt values mean that human values are corrupt, then the author should better define the process through which human values have been corrupted, degenerated, or annihilated. 2 The way integrity comes into effect in the life of the individual, as part of one’s character (for judges, politicians, bureaucrats, citizens), and the need for integrity education (education and the implementation of an anti-corruption culture). The urgent need for integrity education is defined in the following way: ‘a public with a culture that encourages a social structure with corruptive behavior must change its thought patterns to be free from corrupt values, moreover, to uphold its integrity’. Rudnyckyj (2009b, 115) explained that spiritual training could make corrupted practices much more visible, so that they become a real focus of religious/moral reflection. Although they could be influenced by the market, religious practices could even induce

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strong market reforms. Such dialectics between market and Islam is what Rudnyckyj (2009a) called ‘market Islam’. 3 The vague notion of the Nation’s integrity: ‘the development of national character with integrity’ can only be realised through the implementation of anti-corruption values, that is, honesty, openness, and integrity. The National Strategy insisted on the fact that anti-corruption values must be internalised by everyone, in society as a whole and, more specifically, in the education system (Buehler, 2012), in the private sector and among government officials – even among judges (US Department of State, 2014). Leaders could shape organisational culture. They actually have a moral responsibility for corrupt practices within their organisation (Prabowo, 2016). Some studies (Butt and Schütte, 2014; Schütte, 2012) showed how KPK has been successful in implementing real changes in perception and anti-corruption behaviour, while meeting a high level of resistance from some private sector partners, parliamentary members and government officials. According to Chan (2014), the role of KPK was redefined by various epistemic communities, including the Anti-Corruption Court and the Constitutional Court, as well as legislators, police, and prosecutors. In each case, some social agents have become more reluctant to convict people for corruption, whether it is for opportunistic, legal, economic, and/or political motives.

Conclusion From a social viewpoint, corruption is perceived as denying mutual trust. Corruption contradicts any community orientation, because corruption implies anti-trust behaviour (bribery) and/or physical/moral unjustified constraints (extortion). Such effects of corruption cannot help to build a sense of community. On the contrary, corruption makes social cohesion and mutual trust disappear. The Qur’anic prohibition of corruption mirrors a twofold notion of trust: losing trust in God’s providence (trust in God’s will) and annihilating mutual trust (trust as it is expressed through close relationships). Through its various anti-corruption reforms, the Government of Indonesia dealt with religious issues in three different ways. Firstly, the instrumentalisation of Pancasila: Pancasila as a political ideal was used for opportunistic motives rather than as the basis of real social, economic, and political changes. Secondly, anti-corruption reforms tried to be connected to the value of integrity and to the Indonesian cultural values system. However, the value of integrity remains so vague that it could hardly be the core principle of any anti-corruption reform. Moreover, the Indonesian cultural values system is never clearly defined. So, there seems to be a political wish that anti-corruption reforms be closely linked to the value of integrity and to Indonesian cultural values system. But there is many a slip

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twixt cup and lip. Thirdly, anti-corruption reforms in Indonesia seem to be quite disconnected from the Qur’anic prohibition of corruption. The same reforms could have been created by countries with a population of 260 million, of which 87% would be Non-Muslims. Thus, religion did not matter in the way the Government of Indonesia went ahead with anti-corruption reforms. Insofar as the enactment of Pancasila strengthened social cohesion within the Indonesian pluralistic culture, it was not a way to favour any religion in particular. But it was implicitly disadvantageous to atheistic philosophies (such as Confucianism and Buddhism). That’s why Indonesian people should not expect that the Government make Pancasila and anti-corruption reforms interconnected from an Islamic viewpoint. However, it does not necessarily mean that religious groups (whether they are Islamic or Christian) should remain silent. Every religious group (mainly Islamic or Christian) could see to what extent Pancasila is suitable to its own basic religious principles and values (for Islam, see: Acac, 2015). Those who actually believe in One God (Muslims and Christians, in Indonesia) could make the point: Pancasila and anti-corruption reforms are basically interconnected, since they both focus on the same ultimate aim (favouring integrity). Nobody is perfect. Religious institutions could be vulnerable to corrupt practices. Organised crime networks could even affect religious institutions (Dobovšek, 2008). Focusing on the interconnectedness between Pancasila and anti-reform corruptions from a religious perspective (at least, for Muslims and Christians) could make it possible for religious institutions to take their moral responsibility upon themselves. Among the whole community of believers (Muslims and Christians), it could also open the door to an examination of conscience, on an individual, group, and/or institutional level.

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52  Michel Dion Trong Tuan, Luu (2012). “The Linkages among Leadership, Trust, and Business Ethics.” Social Responsibility Journal 8(1): 133–148. US Department of State (2014). Indonesia 2013 Human Rights Report. Weatherbee, Donald E. (1985). “Indonesia in 1984. Pancasila, Politics, and Power.” Asian Survey 25(2): 187–197. Zacchea, Nicholas M. and Widjajabrata, Safaat (2004). “International Corruption: The Republic of Indonesia Is Strengthening.” The Journal of Governmental Financial Management 53(3): 34–43.

Chapter 3

Muhammadiyah, membership dues and the Islamic economy in colonial Aceh 1 Joshua Gedacht

Introduction In 1912, a young Javanese religious scholar and batik merchant, Kyai Ahmad Dahlan, founded an organisation that would come to occupy an outsized role in the history of Indonesian Islam: Muhammadiyah. From its very inception in the central Javanese city of Yogyakarta, Dahlan and Muhammadiyah embarked on a campaign of dakwah, or religious propagation, aimed at renewing the commitment among Muslim believers to scriptural authority, core spiritual tenets such as the ‘Oneness of God’ (tawhid), proper behaviour (akhlaq) and regular performance of ritual obligations known as ibadat (Federspiel, 1970, 57). In addition, this movement also derided longstanding allegiance to the established precedents of Islamic legal scholarship (taqlid), instead prioritising the role of the individual believer in exercising their faculty of reason (ijtihad) to directly make sense of the sacred scriptures of the Qur’an and Hadith for themselves (Haj, 2008, 71–72). However, for all this emphasis on renewing belief, it was not really in the theological domain that Muhammadiyah marked such a radical departure. Indeed, Muhammadiyah represented a particularly prominent manifestation of a strain of renewal (tajdid) and renovation that had animated Islam in Indonesia, not to mention the entire Muslim world, for centuries (Haj, 2008, 72; Federspiel, 1970, 58). Instead, it was in the organisational and economic realm that this movement broke new ground: the embodiment of a fledgling, predominantly urban and commercial Muslim middle class, Muhammadiyah sought to realise its vision of renewal by launching a formidable array of social, educational, and c­haritable organisations with unprecedented reach across the Indonesian archipelago, from Java to Sumatra and Sulawesi. Drawing at least in part from the Qur’anic sura (chapter) 107 that enjoins almsgiving to ensure the ‘necessaries of life’ for all believers, the organisation raised substantial revenues that underwrote rapid expansion from a mere 15 local branches in 1923 to over 437 local branches in 1932, including 316 schools in Java alone, along with numerous hospitals, medical clinics and orphanages (Fauzia, 2017, 381; Alfian, 1989, 186). It was in this institutional and economic realm, which together seemed to point in the direction of a new Islamic economy, that Muhammadiyah left a lasting imprint upon Indonesian Muslim society.

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Yet the rise of an unprecedented network of well-funded religious institutions invites an important question: did Muhammadiyah genuinely represent a novel form of Islamic economic and social organisation, a new configuration of Muslim modernity? Or, in explicitly advocating new forms of institutional arrangement centred on the watchwords of the era, of ‘reform’, ‘progress’ (kemajuan) and a ‘modern’ Islamic world that pervaded their promotional literature (e.g. Reid, 2015, 298), did Muhammadiyah truly represent a radical departure from the past? Did the organisation, paradoxically, need to harness and mobilise longestablished religious traditions, practices, and financial mechanisms to organise for a novel vision of Islamic economic modernity? Historians tend to agree, in broad outline, that before the 1900s, Muslim religious practices were rooted in highly localised webs of patron–client relations. As the historian Amelia Fauzia has demonstrated, local villagers sustained the material livelihoods of Muslim clerics (ulama) in return for the provision of spiritual services such as the performance of funerary rituals, the maintenance of mosques, and education. Payment often assumed the form of in-kind crops rather than cash, and Muslim scholars thoroughly immersed themselves in the overlapping spiritual, social and material realms of rural communities (Fauzia, 2013, 89–92, 127–128). Sometimes various sultans or local rulers would also directly patronise religious functionaries at court (ibid., 78). To be sure, none of this should be construed as a sign of some closed Islamic village economy; long-distance trade and religious scholarly networks penetrated port cities and rural areas alike. Yet the boundaries of local community or urban kampung (neighbourhood), with its many formal and informal patron–client relations, nonetheless comprised the essential foundation for religious community in island Southeast Asia before the twentieth century. Muhammadiyah, by contrast, appeared to incarnate a transition to a rationalised ‘bourgeois’ capitalist economy where the dictates of a de-personalised market economy took precedence over clients and patrons. Muhammadiyah exhorted pious shop-owners, traders and civil service bureaucrats to both pay membership fees and make zakat donations to serve not just their immediate neighbours in the village, but the much more abstract needs of the wider Indonesian umma. Indeed, rather than simply donate money to needy neighbours or the local alim cleric, Muhammadiyah established professionalised hospitals, poorhouses and orphanages directed towards any ‘human being’ in need, irrespective of family ties, location or even whether they were Muslim (ibid., 140–142; Fauzia, 2017, 383). In sum, Muhammadiyah’s ambitions reflected new assumptions of a ‘rationalised’ and ‘modern’ Indonesian Islamic economy. This chapter seeks to examine the understudied transition in the Islamic economy of the colonial age from the personalised dynamics of the village or local kingdom to a more abstracted community of the Indonesian umma. Did Muhammadiyah signify a far-reaching transformation towards a novel form of Islamic economic ‘modernity’, or did leaders and followers still rely on pre-existing networks, personal relationships and local economies to sustain their vision of ‘progress’ (kemajuan)? To answer these questions, this chapter

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will analyse one specific case study: Muhammadiyah membership dues in the Indonesian region of Aceh. Membership dues, in many respects, represent the perfect distillation of Muhammadiyah’s ‘modern’ aspirations. While dues payments only comprised about 1% of the organisation’s revenues (NjotoFeillard, 2014, 9), they nonetheless reflected the de-personalised voluntarism at the core of its mission: the assumption that pious Muslims would willingly pay ten cents a year not to reap any immediate service or reward from a local landlord or cleric, but rather, to express their spiritual, social, and material affiliation with co-religionists across a vast archipelago. In the case of Aceh, however, Muhammadiyah struggled to win dues-paying members, and in contrast to other prominent Indonesian regions, failed to gain a significant foothold despite a vigorous outreach effort. This paper will argue that the difficulties experienced by Muhammadiyah in trying to gain dues-paying members in Aceh illustrate that local, often personalised contingencies ultimately conditioned the pursuit of ‘progress’ and the transition to a novel form of Islamic economy.

1 Situating Muhammadiyah between ‘neoliberal’ and patron–client economies For many decades, scholars have interpreted ‘reformist’ religious groups, whether Islamic ones such as Muhammadiyah or their Hindu, Buddhist, and Christian counterparts, as both the vanguard of an emerging capitalist ‘bourgeoisie’ and the repository of values consonant with the advance of market economics. Anthropologists Filippo Osella and Daromir Rydnyckyj recently wrote that scholars continue to evoke ‘the ghost of Max Weber not only to claim the compatibility of certain forms of religious reformism with modernity, but also to establish degrees of rationalisation of religious life and the adoption of “modern” market practices’ (Osella and Rydnyckyj, 2017, 5). Reform movements, which emphasise individual interpretation of sacred scriptures and the establishment of ‘modern’ schools and charitable institutions, thus predispose ‘particular subjectivities and dispositions that resonate with, and eventually foster, novel political and economic orientations’ (ibid., 5). As a result, studies of Hindu, Buddhist, and Islamic ‘reformism’ that resonate with Weber’s Protestant ethic have continued to proliferate. From this framework, colonial-era reformist organisations like ‘Muhammadiyah’ thus appeared to provide the necessary antecedent for the ‘neoliberal’ economic order of the post-colonial era to follow. Osella and Rydnyckyj observed how many studies seem to imply religious practice and discourse have become inextricably bound to the (neoliberal) market, either by fostering the development of novel forms of consumption and securing the allegiance of consumers, or by producing specific dispositions toward competition,

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entrepreneurship and flexibility that resonate with the demands of […] globalized capitalism. (Osella and Rydnyckyj, 2017, 4) From this perspective, Muhammadiyah thus seems to represent a harbinger of a world where the imperatives of consumption and entrepreneurship conscript religion into the service of neoliberalism. From the outset, Muhammadiyah has proclaimed that many of its ‘members go on commercial journeys and bring the Muhammadiyah with them’ (Njoto-Feillard, 2014, 4). It also actively embraced the principle of ‘improving the economic condition of the Muhammadiyah community’, establishing organisations such as the Directive Council for the Economy and an Economic Affairs Department (ibid., 12). Muhammadiyah even went so far as to embrace the idea of entrepreneurialism, starting a ‘business’ section (bahagian perusahaan) and launching various companies mainly in the field of publishing (Njoto-Feillard, 2014, 12; Alfian, 1989, 166). With these various revenue-generating schemes, Muhammadiyah might seem to represent a harbinger of consumer-driven Muslim projects and a future ‘neoliberal’ Islamic economy. And yet, ample evidence contradicts this retrospective understanding of Muhammadiyah and other religious reform organisations as the starting point for neoliberal ‘market practices’. While Osella and Rudnyckyj praise recent research for engaging with the persistent role of religion in twenty-first-century economic life, they also warn against a tendency to go too far, to present capitalism as an all-encompassing hegemonic force with the ‘power to colonise’ religious practices (Osella and Rydnyckyj, 2017, 4). Indeed, Muhammadiyah reveals important discontinuities with neoliberal futures. For example, in his study of twenty-first-century Malaysia, the anthropologist Johan Fischer shows how suburban Muslim groups like Darul Arqam (House of the Prophet’s Companions) prioritised consumption as a means of defining proper Islamic practice, selling halal (lawful) food products, toothpaste, and talcum powder (Fischer, 2008, 3). At first glance, it might seem like Muhammadiyah’s modest businesses in support of dakwah (uplift of Muslim communities) laid the predicate for the multi-million-dollar halal businesses of the future. Yet, as Fischer demonstrates, such configurations of Malaysian dakwah entailed a fundamental inward turn, albeit one harnessed by the Malaysian state, a process wherein consumer capitalism served to privatise, individualise, and domesticate religious impulses through suburban households (ibid., 9–10). By contrast, whatever incipient entrepreneurialism marked colonial-era Muhammadiyah, it embraced almost the opposite ethos of a privatised dakwah, instead seeking to harness its small-scale entrepreneurial ventures to advance Muslim solidarity and mutual obligation across the Indonesian archipelago. Indeed, the membership dues for new social organisations, arguably, embodied this social solidarity ethos and represented the antithesis of consumer capitalism: spending money not for a consumer good, but rather, for gaining

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community with access to meetings, local cabang (branches) and newsletters like the Soeara Muhammadijah which provided news from across the archipelago. Such historical discontinuities, coupled with a few continuities, thus illustrate the importance of not rushing into oversimplified historical lineages, but instead searching for the ‘heterogeneous assemblage of intellectual orientations, [and] social practices’ that shaped the shifting set of ‘congruencies, articulations and intersections’ between religious reformers and the marketplace (Osella and Rudnyckyj, 2017, 11). If a careful study of Muhammadiyah can help to problematise the forwardlooking claims of many scholars that religious reform organisations constitute some sort of origin story for neoliberal ‘subjectivities’ and ‘dispositions’, it can also suggest similar caution when looking back in time from the colonial era and making assumptions about a completely transformative break from the personalised, patron–client relations that defined religious economies in the pre-colonial era. Indeed, recent scholars have sought to dismantle the distinction between ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ religious economies altogether. Writing in a 2018 Modern Asian Studies special issue about philanthropy, a distinct subset of religious economies, Filippo Osella again sought to upend the extant scholarship by enjoining researchers to ‘destabilize […] teleologies of giving that confine some practices to the realm of tradition and others to modernity’ (Osella, 2018, 14). In particular, Osella challenges the tendency to contrast ‘older’ forms of charity intended to yield some personal benefit like mercy or salvation against more rationalised forms of giving marked by a putatively ‘disinterested and non-reciprocal manner’ (ibid., 9). In other words, modern religious charity serves particular economic interests just as much as the personalised clientage webs of the past. In an effort to illustrate the intermingling of altruism and self-interest, Osella concentrates on the case of Protestant missionaries in India (ibid., 18). As Osella notes, people like Reverend Samuel Mateer of the London Missionary Society promoted the idea that missionaries had sought ‘to alleviate the actual conditions of suffering of an undifferentiated humanity’ through a ‘rational’ study of actual needs and poverty (ibid., 9). However, even if British Protestants juxtaposed their own supposed altruism with the ‘wasteful’ charity that upheld caste through elaborate ceremonies and ‘gaudy’ temples, neither was their association with oppressed ‘untouchable’ Hindus an act of unqualified benevolence. These proselytisers also ‘facilitated the recruitment of converted exuntouchable agricultural labourers as indentured coolie labour for the colonial plantation economy’ (ibid., 18). Thus, ‘inevitable rationalisation’ and ‘moral enlightenment’ suggested by Protestant conversion were intertwined with ideas of ‘socio-economic progress’ that served specific capitalist and colonial patrons (ibid., 19). While Osella makes an important observation that European Protestants blend altruism with capitalist self-interest in their philanthropy, such an analysis nonetheless risks reinforcing a problem he identified elsewhere: the

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tendency to reify Asian religious reformers as mere echoes of Weber’s view of capitalist bourgeois modernity. Scholars have discussed at length the affinities between Protestant missionaries and religious reformers of various Buddhist, Hindu, or Muslim stripes. For example, Osella himself narrates the example of Hindu businessmen deploying missionary models of charity essentially as a means to cleanse themselves of the bourgeois ‘stink of new money’ (ibid., 12, 20). Other historians, meanwhile, move beyond charity to underscore this tight link between class and religious reform. In Bombay Islam, Nile Green discusses how the Protestant impulse to restore Christianity to its ‘pristine purity’ resonated first with ‘the wealthy comprador elite at the heart of Bombay’s Parsi community,’ and later with the city’s ‘aspirant’ middle classes who valued reformism’s ‘stripping away of custom’ (Green, 2011, 32–34). Capitalist economics thus appeared inextricably intertwined with religious reform. Indeed, it is no accident that Muhammadiyah first developed in Yogyakarta, the Indonesian city with the highest density of Christian missionaries. The founder of the organisation, Ahmad Dahlan, carried on extensive dialogue with Dutch Protestants and exhorted his followers to emulate the schools, hospitals, and orphanages established by their Christian counterparts (Beck, 2005, 13; Fauzia, 2013, 381). However, does this mean that Muhammadiyah and other Asian religious reformers embraced ‘new articulations of philanthropic imagination’, giving simply because their commercial values aligned them with the colonial order? Or did a more variable set of contingencies shape the rise of particular religious organisations? Just as the heterogeneous assemblages surrounding Muhammadiyah entrepreneurship should call into question efforts to define religious reform organisations as the genesis of a neoliberal Muslim orientation, these assemblages should also challenge the assumption that ‘modernity’, philanthropy, and a new spiritual economy of individual believers only appealed to members of the bourgeoisie. Yes, Muhammadiyah emerged from a prosperous, urban milieu. However, this should not be construed as a sign that this membership consisted of atomised Muslim subjects who would simply pursue their own individual interpretation of the Qur’an and Hadith while joining associations that advanced ‘rational’ economic self-interest and the common good. Ahmad Dahlan and his closest advisors belonged to a centuries-old elite of indigenous religious officials known as penghulu, serving at the highest echelons of kraton (palace) courts (Alfian, 1989, 144). Such historically accumulated social and religious status conferred needed legitimacy upon Muhammadiyah. Indeed, the decision to not only support Muhammadiyah, but to voluntarily pay something as abstract as ‘membership dues’, was inextricably interwoven with existing social webs of patron–client relations and the validation of trusted members of the religious community. An examination of Muhammadiyah’s struggles in Aceh will demonstrate that, paradoxically, the capacity to advance new ideals of modernity, progress, and obligation to a wider Islamic common good depended upon the

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rootedness of the organisation in local social webs. In locations like central Java and West Sumatra, Muhammadiyah leaders deeply embedded in overlapping religious and political networks proved well positioned to advance novel articulations of an Islamic economy. By contrast, in regions such as Aceh, the social isolation of Muhammadiyah’s local leaders ultimately undermined the appeal of the organisation. None of this is intended to imply that the continued salience of existing social networks and cultural practices in any way rendered Asian Muslim claims to religious ‘modernity’ ersatz or lesser than those made in Europe or North America. As Filippo Osella suggests, it is ‘unproductive’ to challenge the ‘motivations and interests’ of religious reformers and to see the presence of ‘traditional’ social relations as somehow exposing novel expressions of Islamic mutuality as a ‘veneer’ (Osella, 2018, 10). Such assumptions distract scholars from understanding the non-linear evolution of the Islamic economy and the extent to which religious reformers relied on longstanding cultural practices, social networks, and hierarchies to infuse new ideas with meaning and to advance profound transformations.

2 Patron–client relations and the Islamic economy of pre-colonial Aceh Much of the historical research on Muhammadiyah proceeds from the premise of success, charting an arc from the modernising impulses of the colonial period to its role as exemplar of Islamic civil society in the post-colonial age. In central Java and West Sumatra, Muhammadiyah did enjoy a sustained upward trajectory in terms of membership, students, schools and overall influence (Alfian, 1989, 186). The experience of Aceh, by contrast, furnishes a stark counterpoint in which aggressive, large-scale efforts to implant Muhammadiyah over the course of more than a decade languished with little success. Unsurprisingly, full-scale histories of Muhammadiyah rarely examine Aceh in depth, given the ephemeral nature of its local engagement. Yet, a survey of Muhammadiyah’s sustained but ultimately failed campaign in Aceh, particularly in the field of dues-paying members, can do more than simply complicate the picture of unalloyed, rapid success presented by a focus on the regions where the religious organisation flourished most. This focus can also explain how reformist Muslim organisations depended upon the local economic terrain of patronclient relations to help navigate a transition to novel articulations of Islamic economy and modernity. Renowned as the ‘Verandah of Mecca’ (Serambi Mekka), the region of Aceh at first would seem to present particularly fertile ground for a religious organisation such as Muhammadiyah (Riddell, 2006, 39, 46–48). Since the establishment of the Acehnese Sultanate in the fifteenth century on the northern coasts of Sumatra island, in the far northwestern section of what is today Indonesia, the kingdom flourished as a cosmopolitan locus of Indian Ocean trade, Islamic fiqh jurisprudence and Muslim culture. In the 1500s and 1600s, in particular,

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trade and the patronage of the royal court proved a magnet for formidable religious scholars like the Gujarati alim Nur al-Din al-Raniri and locals such as ‘Abd al-Ra’uf al-Fansuri al-Singkili. These scholars wrote prodigiously, writing numerous works in various fields of jurisprudence and mysticism, also devoting themselves to reformist projects of purifying Islam from supposed accretions and examples of innovation, or bid’a (ibid., 45–46). While the power of the Sultanate itself would wane in the succeeding centuries amid royal infighting, declining trade, and escalating European intrusion, this commitment to Islam would leave a lasting imprint, continuing the kingdom’s reputation as the Serambi Mekka. Given the well-established role of Islam in the Acehnese Sultanate, it is unsurprising that the obligatory alms-giving to the wider Muslim community known as ‘zakat’ (Singer, 2008, 18–20) would play an important role in structuring the patron–client ties of the local Acehnese economy. In her book Charity and the State, Amelia Fauzia demonstrates that Acehnese sultans conformed to Shafi‘i jurisprudence and instructed subjects to fulfil their religious obligation of alms-giving as early as 1577 (Fauzia, 2013, 76–77). During the celebrated ‘golden era’ of Sultan Iskandar Muda (r. 1607 to 1636), this emphasis only intensified. According to Fauzia, the aforementioned Acehnese legal scholar, Shaykh al-Islam Nur al-Din al-Raniri, wrote that the Acehnese sultan ‘set up the […]‘ushr of Aceh Darussalam’, the legally mandated Islamic one-tenth tax on land or crops, along with market taxes on the sale of goods. Al-Raniri reported that it was also Sultan Iskandar Muda ‘who was so generous to his people and gave sedekah [donations] to all the poor […] every time he went to the Friday prayer’ (ibid., 77). From an early date, zakat and ‘ushr thus comprised a key component in the Islamic political economy that upheld the power of the Sultanate while re-distributing benefits throughout his realm. Further evidence, meanwhile, suggests how these frameworks of zakat not only persisted well past the heady days of Aceh’s seventeenth-century golden age, but also played an instrumental role in binding Acehnese peasants to more localised patrons well into the nineteenth century. While the Sultan nominally exercised sovereignty during this period, beyond the royal court and the capital city, many historians have argued that real power tended to reside in two local officials: the customary ulèëbalang, known by the title ‘teuku’, who served as the nominal representative of the Sultan over a piece of territory but actually exercised considerable autonomy as local potentates; and the religious ulama officials known by the title ‘teungku’, who provided basic religious services and upheld local power (Siegel, 1969, 40–50). The Dutch colonial official and scholar, Christiaan Snouck Hurgronje, provides the best insight into how zakat almsgiving sustained peasant-patron bonds. In his influential work, The Acehnese, Snouck Hurgronje reported that Acehnese villagers made irregular payments of ‘ushr, or one-tenth of their agricultural harvests, to tengku and ulèëbalang (Snouck Hurgronje, 1906, 74). Sometimes, the preponderances of these harvests went to the village clerics, or teungku, whom Snouck Hurgronje noted often ‘himself goes

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to the field where the crop is standing to remind the owners of their obligation’ (ibid., 74). In return, religious officials officiated at funerals, maintained mosque facilities, and taught children the lessons of Islam. Meanwhile, Snouck Hurgronje also described how ‘in some provinces a considerable portion of the jakeuet and pitrah falls into the hands of the ulèëbalang,’ or the customary landed ruler in rural Acehnese districts, ‘while the teungku only gets the share elsewhere allotted to the “poor and necessitous”’ (ibid., 74). In sum, Hurgonje sketches a paradigmatic zakat dynamic of patron–client ties, mutual obligation, and charity for the poor. Beyond sketching out this everyday village scene, moreover, Snouck Hurgronje also detailed how the well-established, religiously sanctioned clientage networks sustained and supported Acehnese resistance in the aftermath of the Dutch colonial invasion. For instance, the Dutch military landed on the Acehnese coast in 1873, and they quickly moved to decapitate the local leadership by abolishing the office of the sultanate (Reid, 1969, 112). Yet, when such measures failed to quell resistance that would morph into a decades-long insurgency, the Dutch later sought to co-opt most of the ulèëbalang officials into the role of collaborators who could help uphold colonial administration (Reid, 1979, 11–16). However, even with the Sultan deposed and the preponderance of ulèëbalang officials supporting the Dutch, the old clientage networks of Aceh did not simply vanish. Rather, alms-giving and donations began to crystallise around one charismatic member of the ulama, Tengku di Tiro, who emerged as the leader of the resistance in the inland mountainous terrain of Aceh. By the late 1880s, ‘people from all corners of Aceh who wished to devote themselves’ to the cause of perang sabil (holy war) flocked to Teungku di Tiro’s encampment (Sipakah Orang Besar, 1940). While future newspapers from Aceh retrospectively tended to attribute such support for Teungku di Tiro to a righteous desire, according to Pandji Islam 50 years later, ‘to receive the bliss of the death of the syahid (martyr)’, the Islamic resistance relied on more than fervour; Teungku di Tiro also depended upon the collection of zakat to underwrite his guerrilla efforts (Sipakah Orang Besar, 1940). Snouck Hurgronje writes that Tengku di Tiro defrayed the costs of the holy war by ‘specially’ setting aside ‘a portion of the religious tax zakat’ for resistance and issuing ‘strenuous appeals […] for increased voluntary contributions, emphasis being laid on the great reward that hereafter awaits’ (Hurgronje, 1906, 177). In many respects, Teungku di Tiro assumed the role of previous Acehnese sultans by urging that ‘all the chiefs […] contribute the portion of the tax called zakat set apart for the holy war’ and give ‘money contributions towards the good cause, even if they would take no personal part in the conflict’ (ibid., 180). Teungku di Tiro thus did not so much intend to establish a new paradigm for zakat as hope to harness it for the resistance. Payments of ‘ushr crop donations and profits earned on the international pepper markets should not simply flow to village ulèëbalang or religious teungku clerics. Instead, these resources should contribute to an Islamic, Aceh-wide political community.

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In the end, the Dutch would scuttle such aspirations by ensuring the death of Teungku di Tiro and killing the bulk of his most committed devotees, thus extinguishing the last embers of resistance by 1910. After Panglima Polem and his compatriots finally signed a peace treaty with the colonial army that slowly ended the armed conflict, the bulk of the ulèëbalang would gradually be absorbed into the apparatus of the colonial state (Hadi, 2011, 194; Reid, 1979, 11–16). But what would become of this resilient Islamic economy in the colonial age?

3 Great expectations: the arrival of Muhammadiyah in Aceh Although it took many decades for the Dutch to impose their effective authority over the region of Aceh, by the turn of the twentieth century, colonial administrators appeared to move away from brute military might towards a somewhat subtler strategy of harnessing and co-opting the existing Islamic economy of patron–client relationships. This shift in policy turned on converting ulèëbalang teukus into compliant colonial collaborators. Indeed, local Dutch administration sought to bolster local patrons by conferring upon the ulèëbalang new perquisites, subsidies, and honours (Siegel, 1969, 82). One critical dimension of these honours included codification of ulèëbalang authority over the moesapat Muslim religious courts, in which local rulers would be given the authority, in the words of one Dutch official, ‘to intervene in regulations in […] money and property disputes’ according to the dictates of Islamic law (Anonymous, n.d., 1–2). The nexus of religious and financial authority – only strengthened by various colonial legal moves – would seem likely to entrench ulèëbalang authority over the flow of Muslim zakat alms-giving. However, Dutch efforts to vest religious authority with the ulèëbalang produced an effect contrary to that intended, besmirching this class with the taint of collaboration and detaching them from the Acehnese rural peasantry (Reid, 1979, 27). Already distrusted for insufficient rebel fervour during the DutchAceh war, the ulèëbalang would become further estranged from their putative subjects over the ensuing decades. Tax receipts of ulèëbalang shrivelled in the thirty years after the end of the Dutch-Aceh war, thereby yoking them to colonial stipends (Siegel, 1969, 86). Moreover, to the extent that these customary rulers did continue to collect zakat, they often committed egregious acts of extravagance and malfeasance, as in the case when Teuku Panglima Muda Dalam Bambi of Pidie drove around in a car purchased from religious tax proceeds and derisively referred to as auto zakat (Morris, 1983, 71). Such acts only further undermined the legitimacy of the ulèëbalang elite. The struggle of the ulèëbalang class thus invites the question: in which direction would zakat move in the age of colonial hegemony? Would religious giving evaporate? Or would the steady urbanisation that swept across Aceh’s north coast cities in the twentieth century through the capital city then

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known as Koetaradja, as well as the important ports of Lhokseumawe, Sigli and Meulaboh, signify a complete transformation of the Islamic economy (Feener, 2013, 69)? As many scholars have suggested in relation to religious reformism in Asia, would the expansion of commercial culture and the colonial bureaucracy, with its petit-bourgeoisie of shopkeepers and traders, students, teachers and low-level government administrators, begin to support a new Islamic associational culture independent of old patron–client relationships? By the end of the 1920s, much of the contemporaneous writings of both local Acehnese Muslims and Dutch colonisers alike seemed to suggest an expectation that Muhammadiyah would fill this gaping social void left behind in the aftermath of the Dutch-Aceh War. Indeed, from the moment that Muhammadiyah established a branch in the Acehnese capital city of Koetaradja (present-day Banda Aceh) in 1927, Dutch officials converged with Muhammadiyah’s central leadership in Yogyakarta and various local newspaper writers in Aceh in expressing great expectations for the organisation. In a 1931 report, for example, Dutch officials in Lhokseumawe, encapsulated the common wisdom of the colonial establishment when he emphasised the affinities between the Acehnese and Muhammadiyah, observing that the organisation appeared ‘destined to win over the Acehnese population’. This official attributed such likely gains to ‘its emphasis on religion’ (Gezaghebber, 1931). Reflecting the tendency among many scholars to detect natural affinities between the colonial order, religious reform organisations and economic modernity, other Dutch officials went even further to encourage Muhammadiyah’s ascent in Aceh. After observing that the ‘Muhammadijah union first established in Yogyakarta developed a rather large activity in this region [Aceh] after the inaugural foundation of divisions in Koetaradja, Sigli, and Lho’Seumawe’ in a 1929 report, for example, the colonial governor, O.M. Goedhart, went on to commend the organisation for its ‘position in the region taken against the spread of the false doctrine of Prang Sabi’ or holy war resistance (Goedhart, 1929). Such verbal endorsements translated into material support, including financial subsidies and the appearance of a top colonial official, Assistant Resident H.D. Veen, at the grand opening of Muhammadiyah’s secondary school in the regional capital of Koetaradja (current-day Banda Aceh). Indeed, in his remarks to an assembled crowd, the Dutchman proclaimed his support of Muhammadiyah by announcing ‘the progress of the world also hangs on religious education’ (Pemoekaan H.I.S., 1928). The colonial establishment thus appeared to endorse new configurations of urban middle-class education and economic organisation. Many Muslim writers also articulated an expectation that the organisation could thrive in the region. Articles in national publications such as Soeara Moehammadiyah (Voice of Muhammadiyah), as well as local Acehnese newspapers like Moeslimin, Pergaoelan and Oetoesan Goeroe, reported substantial curiosity in the organisation’s vast open meetings to propagate religious belief known as tabligh, which attracted hundreds or even thousands of people in

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major cities. Newspapers like Pergaoelan (Association) published the statutes of the organisation for public consumption. Meanwhile, Oetoesan Goeroe – the monthly ‘Organ of the Association of Teachers of Aceh’ – reported overwhelming demand for Muhammadiyah schools, explaining that the ‘H.I.S. Muhammadiyah will calm down the population of Koetaradja’ by meeting demand for students who were ‘pushed away by a lack of space’ at other institutions. (Pemoekaan H.I.S., 1928). The article also asserted that the school would contribute to ‘progress’ (kemajuan) and the fulfilment of ‘bread and butter’ issues (mata pencaharian) (ibid.). It thus seemed that a significant segment of the urban Muslim population looked expectantly to Muhammadiyah as a vehicle both for religious renewal and entry into the ‘modern’ Islamic economy.

4 Disillusionment and the failure of Muhammadiyah in Aceh However, the initial optimism surrounding Muhammadiyah soon gave way to disillusionment. While many Acehnese and Dutch alike predicted the meteoric rise of this Islamic organisation, other observers tempered such hope with a more realistic assessment. For instance, even writers from sympathetic organs such as the Oetoesan Goeroe confessed in February 1928 that ‘as a matter of fact this organisation had existed in Koetaradja for a while, but during this time it was lacking the attention of the people’ (Moehammadijah Koetaradja, 1928). Five years later, the editor of another favourably disposed Koetaradja newspaper, Muslimin, acknowledged that ‘among the masses in the past few years, we see very little attention by Muslim society in Aceh toward Moehammadijah’. The editorial, in turn, chided Acehnese Muslims for their inattention, warning that ‘whoever has separated themselves by just inches from the flock, it shall thus mean they have thrown the rope of Islam from their neck’ (Gerakan Kaoem Moeslimin, 1933). By failing to embrace the cause of solidarity spanning across all of the Netherlands East Indies, this paper warned, the Acehnese risked undermining Islam altogether. Such sentiments seem to confirm the assessment of historians such as Anthony Reid who have noted the struggles of the organisation to make significant inroads (Reid, 1979, 20–23). Indeed, Muhammadiyah would fade from the religious scene of Aceh by the 1940s. The disconnect between the great expectations surrounding Muhammadiyah and lacklustre reality raises the question: what accounts for such marked failure? Several explanations have been proffered, both by contemporaneous historical actors and later scholars. Of these possible reasons, two overarching theories dominate. First, many writers attributed the failure of Muhammadiyah to gain traction to the organisation’s non-Acehnese origins and a sense of ethnic differences. In a plaintive analysis of the struggles of the organisation, the editor of the Muslimin newspaper laments the fact that Muhammadiyah failed ‘because much of Acehnese Muslim society thought Moehammadijah belonged to the Javanese and Minangkabau’ (Gerakan Kaoem Moeslimin, 1933). The alien

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origins of Muhammadiyah, according to the editor and subsequent historians, disqualified the organisation in the eyes of the majority of the Acehnese. Indeed, while reformist strains of Islam did flourish in the region, these coalesced around a regional organisation, the All-Aceh Association of Ulama (PUSA), which reached its apex in the late 1930s and early 1940s. Of course, one should not take this argument too far: the Javanese and Minangkabau had a long history of travelling to Aceh. Likewise, many of the most prominent officials involved in PUSA did not manifest implacable opposition to trans-local institutional frameworks for their religious beliefs: many of PUSA’s prominent members cooperated with the Indonesian state in the post-independence period, playing a vital role in the establishment of state-supported Islamic universities (Feener, 2013, 80–91). Yet it seems plausible that even without harsh ethnic antagonism, an East Indies-wide framework dominated by the Javanese and Minangkabau perhaps held little resonance for the Acehnese before the establishment of an Indonesian state (Kloos, 2017, 47). The second and more compelling explanation for Muhammadiyah’s struggles stems from the issue of patron–client relations and the ultimate absence of an effective sponsor in Aceh. Across Java and Sumatra, Muhammadiyah arguably owed its success to the historically accumulated social and cultural capital of its regional leaders. The significant personal charisma and scholarly prowess exhibited by Ahmad Dahlan, for example, only resonated in the context of his familial and social lineages in Java. His father had served at the Yogyakarta royal court as an official khatib appointed by the Sultan to deliver Friday sermons, while his mother was the daughter of a royal religious official, or kraton penghulu (Alfian, 1989, 144). It was this illustrious lineage that endowed Dahlan with the standing both to challenge entrenched religious officials from his own class and to promote a new organisation. Likewise, the ascent of Muhammadiyah in West Sumatra emanated from the socially situated charisma of its main supporter, Haji Rasul. Son of a famous preacher and well respected for his own acumen in Islamic scholarship, Haji Rasul capitalised on the ties of blood, marriage, friendship and religious training to mobilise widespread support for Muhammadiyah, making it the foremost Muslim organisation in the region (ibid., 248–249). Muhammadiyah thus depended on the social and cultural capital of its patrons to thrive in its main strongholds. By contrast, this fusion of social stature and personal charisma eluded most of Muhammadiyah’s potential patrons in Aceh. As mentioned before, Aceh had suffered through a decades-long war of pacification and insurgency in Aceh that had not only caused the death of nearly 15% of the population (Schulte Nordholt, 2002, 36), but also tainted the traditional aristocratic class, the ulèëbalang, with the stain of colonial collaboration. Thus, historians such as Anthony Reid have attributed Muhammadiyah’s struggles to the fact that most of the organisation’s leadership emanated from this discredited ulèëbalang class. Indeed, most rural Acehnese regarded the organisation as little more than a vehicle for the self-aggrandisement of socially isolated customary officials like

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Teuku Moehammad Hasan and Teuku Cut Hasan (Reid, 1979, 26; Feener, 2013, 29). While this customary aristocracy perhaps lacked the social standing to advance the cause of Muhammadiyah, depriving them of an important possible lever for local patronage, the Dutch also undermined the possibility that Muhammadiyah might align with a more popular social class: ulama religious officials. In contrast to the ulèëbalang, the ulama emerged from the bitter Dutch-Aceh conflict with their reputations enhanced by their role in leading the Acehnese resistance (Reid, 1979, 25–31). If some of these preachers had patronised Muhammadiyah with zakat donations, the organisation could have perhaps thrived. Moreover, contrary to most scholarly accounts, some of Muhammadiyah’s earliest backers emanated from the ulama rather than the ulèëbalang class. For instance, a colonial official (controleur) based in Lhokseumawe, Gerard Tichelman, included a report among his files that extensively discussed a figure ‘who quickly turned out to be the most enthusiastic propagandist of Muhammadiyah […] a certain Tgk. Hasbi’, or Teungku Hasbi Ash Shiddieqy (Gezaghebber, 1931). Born in 1904 to a family that claimed descent from Prophet Muhammad’s close companion, the first Caliph, the young Hasbi studied Islamic sciences with prominent local shaykhs, travelled to Java to attend the reformist Arab al-Irsyad school, and communicated with the editors of the noted reformist newspaper al-Islam in Singapore – placing him firmly in reformist currents. Indeed, Dutch officials noted that Hasbi often antagonised scions of the customary aristocracy; the 1931 report indicated that he not only ‘became something of an enemy of T[euku] Lotan’ in the Sawang district, but also embraced ‘the modern position […] that the numerous institutions of adat [custom]’ embodied by the ulèëbalang ‘are unworthy of adherents of Muslim’. According to the report in Tichelman’s files, Hasbi’s campaign reaped dividends and produced a ‘noteworthy […] expansion and increased activities’ by Muhammadiyah in several rural areas, including a growing religious school in Krueng Mane. With more proponents like Teungku Hasbi, Muhammadiyah could have perhaps gained popular traction (Gezaghebber, 1931). However, in spite of supporting Muhammadiyah in urban areas, the Dutch colonial regime scuttled Teungku Hasbi’s campaign in more outlying rural areas. In particular, officials judged Hasbi’s efforts a threat to the existing social order, noting that just as Hasbi and ‘Muhammadiyah moved to take a propaganda tour to Sawang […] there also emerged all of a sudden opposition’ against Dutch-aligned ulèëbalang. Authorities fretted that as soon as ‘the entry of Muhammadiyah onto Acehnese territory is made, conflict will arise’, thereby undermining their efforts to cultivate dependable collaborators. The colonial official thus removed Hasbi from the district, citing the pretext that he ‘was not a native of Sawang’ and that it was best to leave ‘religious education in the hands of someone who came from territory’. The Dutch also empowered ulèëbalang to ‘forbid natives from outside their territories who are known

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propagandists of Muhammadiyah from […] entering upon their territories’ and encouraged them to ‘intervene strongly against the spread of Muhammadiyah’. Ultimately, Hasbi retreated to Aceh’s north coast cities (Gezaghebber, 1931; Feener, 2007, 60). While it is difficult to ascertain the precise impact of these efforts to restrain Hasbi and Muhammadiyah in rural areas of Aceh, it likely helped to discourage the ascent of any viable patron. Hasbi himself continued to work for Muhammadiyah and forged an illustrious career, becoming a prominent figure in the post-independence Indonesian system of State Islamic Studies Institutes (IAIN) (Feener, 2007, 59–69). However, he nonetheless spent most of his time in the capital city of Koetaraja (current-day Banda Aceh), rather than in outlying rural districts (Feener, 2007, 60). Meanwhile, few if any rural ulama followed Hasbi’s lead by embracing Muhammadiyah. Whether this reticence stemmed from aversion to non-Acehnese organisations or effective Dutch suppression, the result was clear: despite early signs of rural interest, the ulama steered clear of Muhammadiyah during the 1930s. Only a handful of socially isolated, urban-based ulèëbalang patronised Muhammadiyah in Aceh, depriving the organisation of a viable foundation.

5 The 1933 Muhammadiyah Lhokseumawe Tabligh and ‘generous membership’ This failure to attract a dependable patron for Muhammadiyah’s vision of ‘progress’ (kemajuan) in Aceh holds profound implications for our understanding of the Islamic economy, implications that become apparent through persistent – and persistently unsuccessful – attempts to raise money. Despite the absence of a charismatic patron, Muhammadiyah did not abandon its efforts in Aceh. Instead, as with many other religious reform groups, it organised mass meetings and appealed directly to individual Muslim believers to make their vision of a broad Indonesian umma real through the payment of membership fees, reflecting a belief that Muhammadiyah could circumvent customary leaders and galvanise atomised Muslim believers with calls for Islamic social solidarity. Yet the struggle to gain financial buy-in suggests that such a transition to novel configurations of Islamic economy and society would remain, paradoxically, unrealised without the support of socially connected patrons. One open-air meeting for the propagation of Islam (tabligh) held on 21 February 1933, in the Aceh coastal city of Lhokseumawe, offers valuable insight into the basic mechanics of this novel form of social and economic voluntarism pursued by Muhammadiyah. The presence of an indigenous mantri politie or ‘police orderly’ (Bloembergen, 2011, 169–170) conducting surveillance for the Dutch colonial government has ensured the survival of a rare Indonesian language transcript of the meeting. In addition to the attendance of Muhammadiyah Chairman, Kyai Hisyam, Muhammadiyah Acehnese Consul Teuku Muhammad Hasan, and three other members of the regional board, the

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police report stated that ‘at the site there were maybe 50 men’, as well as ‘many men and women present who listen to the discussion at this meeting’ outside. Among the topics that speakers addressed were theological perorations on the Qur’an, the ‘Key to Islam’ (roentji Islam) and ‘the need to fight for the unity of Islam’. One more worldly theme also arose: the question of membership (Mantri Politie, 1933). After about an hour of talks on the principles of Muhammadiyah and imploring his listeners to ‘in fact become soldiers for the Islamic faith’, the regional consul for Aceh, Teuku Hasan, launched his first plea for donations. Specifically, Hasan initiated his appeal with reference to the religious unity not just of the Acehnese, but the entire Indonesian people. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ began Hasan, ‘remember that Indonesia contains 60 million people, of whom 85% belong to the Islam people; with so many, can we not achieve our goals even though our souls are lost?’ Hasan then seamlessly transitioned into membership, saying ‘because of this, ladies and gentlemen who have not become members of Muhammadiyah, do not be reluctant to become a member or to give aid to this path to freedom with a donation to Muhammadiyah’. In this formulation, Hasan paired the act of becoming a lid, or ‘member’ with giving pertolangan, which can be translated as ‘aid’ (Mantri Politie, 1933). Hasan then turned to another colleague from the Muhammadiyah Board, Djaliloedin, and requested that ‘he explain regarding the articles of philanthropic membership’. More so than Hasan, Djaliloedin pinpointed the organisation’s struggles, explaining that ‘the life of the Muhammadijah branch in Lho’Seumawe, a life that is not simple, and little by little lessens its progress, inasmuch as help is not received every month; of which there is now only 21 florins’. To remedy these budgetary shortfalls, Djaliloedin hoped that ‘men and women alike will support it with membership charity each month’. Interestingly, Djaliloedin elided the distinction between ‘membership’ and ‘philanthropic’ with the phrase lid dermawan, which can be translated either as ‘generous member’ or ‘philanthropic member’. Djaliloedin concluded his speech by reminding listeners who had not yet joined Muhammadiyah, ‘you can also become a member at a time other than now’ (Mantri Politie, 1933). Finally, after Kyai Hisjam took the stage again to tell his listeners ‘Muhammadiyah had reached everywhere with branches in places like Sumatra, Borneo, and Papua’, Consul Hasan returned to the dais to extol the organisation’s capacity to bring ‘us in Islamic society […] together’. He finished by expressing his hope ‘that all those in attendance would give further consideration to giving support as generous members,’ thus concluding the Lhokseumawe tabligh (Mantri Politie, 1933). Beyond the confines of this one particular Muhammadiyah meeting, there are also other glimpses into this emphasis upon, and struggles to obtain, ‘generous membership’. Indeed, Indonesian language newspaper reports from Aceh corroborated much of the interest in membership dues highlighted by the colonial police officer in Lho Seumawe. A review of the Oetoesan

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Goeroe journal indicates multiple references to the imperative of fundraising and generous donations. One article on the inauguration ceremony of the H.I.S. Moehammadijah school in Koetaradja notes that ‘with the reading of Hadith and several verses of the Qur’an, the speaker hoped that those in attendance[…] will help Muhammadiyah well with money or some force of comparable value’ (Pemoekaan H.I.S., 1928). Likewise, the journal also published Muhammadiyah’s statutes, which expressed not only support for places of prayer and publications in the Islamic sciences, but also the provision that ‘regular members are required (wajib) to pay money contributions of approximately 10 florins per month’ (Statuten Moehammadiah, 1928). In sum, official statutes, publications, and speeches all converged on the principal theme of cash membership as a crucial determinant of participation in Muhammadiyah. The consistent stress placed on membership dues in Muhammadiyah expansion campaigns attests both to nascent transitions in Islamic economic organisation and to the challenges involved in obtaining widespread acceptance for such subtle shifts. On the one hand, the Muhammadiyah statutes locate the payment of dues in an intelligible framework of Islamic reciprocity and mutual obligation, drawing a clear connection between membership and support for prayer spaces and the Islamic sciences. The use of the term wajib, moreover, with its provenance in Islamic fiqh as an act of religious obligation, situated membership dues within the schema of obligatory zakat alms and implied that membership dues constituted just one more iteration in a longstanding tradition of requirements (Hamdani et al., 2002, 618; Singer, 2008, 18–20). On the other hand, however, the publication of such rules in journals like Oetoesan Goeroe and the appeals to people not in leadership positions placed membership dues in a radically different context. Muhammadiyah did not simply wish to rely on ulèëbalang, the ulama, and their web of social relationships to draw in funding for the organisation, but to directly solicit individual Acehnese Muslims – particularly those among the fledgling bourgeoisie of government workers and shopkeepers. This direct outreach thus reflected a move away from a socially embedded model of patronage towards a newer, more voluntarist paradigm. In the ensuing years after their 1928 arrival in Aceh, as these initial appeals to individual teachers and shopkeepers failed to resonate, Muhammadiyah officials leaned even more on the language of voluntarism and generosity. Indeed, they invoked words such as like ‘pertolongan’ and ‘dermawan’, redolent of newer conceptions of aid and philanthropy (Mantri Politie, 1933). Even as the tabligh speakers relied more on these modern terminologies, however, they also betrayed doubt as to whether or not these appeals would succeed in mobilising everyday Muslims. After all, one Lhokseumawe speaker specified with some care that ‘all who attend who have not replied at this time’ may become a ‘member […] at another time’ (Mantri Politie, 1933). Implicit in this is the recognition that appeals to the sense of philanthropy might not immediately move his listeners; indeed, in the final analysis, few Acehnese elected to ‘become a member […] at another time’.

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If the effort to galvanise membership, a philanthropic sense of generosity and a more voluntarist mode of belonging in the Islamic community stumbled, a 1933 article in the Muslimin newspaper can prove instructive in suggesting some possible explanations. As with many other observers, the editor of this Koetaradja newspaper lamented the failure of Muhammadiyah to gain traction in the region. However, the editor did not attribute this dearth of enthusiasm to any irreducible opposition to madrasah schooling, reformist Islamic currents, or the spirit of insyaf or realisation (Gerakan Kaoem Moeslimin, 1933). Rather, the editor contended that the Acehnese preferred to organise their religious communities separately, at the local village level within well-established local relationships of mutuality and interdependence. ‘Do the ulama together make a movement,’ asked the editor rhetorically, ‘like the one that has taken shape in Muhammadiyah? Look at the individual neighbourhoods they inhabit’. The article then itemised the profusion of local madrasah, declaiming ‘as in Moentasik, there is Djadamnya; in Blang Pase there is Djami’atoek Diniahnja; in Mt. Ol. Doea there is Al Moeslimnya […] these religious groups have been organised in the dozens’ through the Acehnese ulama. In turn, the editor recognises ‘these religious organisations recommended by ulama as the beginning of a new age of current of realisation [insyaf]’. What the editor condemns as a proponent of Muhammadiyah, however, ‘is the establishment of schools standing by themselves’. ‘They do not have a bond with each,’ worried the editor, ‘whether in the affairs of organisation or in the affairs of teaching’. Instead, these religious schools operated under the guidance of individual alim ‘according to their own arrangement’, raising the question of whether such ‘good deeds’ could realise the full potential that would result from ‘legal unity’ and solidarity across the vast Indonesian mass of Muslims (ibid.). The persistence of village and neighbourhood organisation illustrates that even in the view of Muhammadiyah proponents, the Acehnese were not ready to embrace abstract calls for the Indonesian umma over the more tangible relationships centred on local ulama. In individual villages, where believers and individuals partook in mutual bonds of reciprocity and obligation, religious leaders successfully mobilised economic resources to establish schools and support the needy. However, when the objects of ‘generous membership’ were more remote from daily realities, where the fruits of ‘aid’ spread to organisations and populations far from home, many Acehnese perhaps baulked. Why pay for such an abstraction as ‘generous membership’? They often, instead, opted to ‘stand by themselves’ (Gerakan Kaoem Moeslimin, 1933).

6 Epilogue: Muhammadiyah in contemporary Indonesia and Aceh Scholarship on Muhammadiyah in post-independence Indonesia reflects a considerable disjuncture between the fortunes of the organisation in Aceh and the rest of the nation. On the one hand, the colonial era generally marks the

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end of substantive scholarship on Muhammadiyah in Aceh, with few historians or political scientists taking up the case of the organisation in the aftermath of Indonesian independence. Instead, scholars tend to imply that Muhammadiyah faded into obscurity, turning their attention to other movements such as the All-Aceh Ulama Association, the Darul Islam rebellion, and the Aceh Freedom Movement (GAM), with a distinct focus on separatist tendencies in the region (e.g. Aspinall, 2010). The colonial-era orientation towards localised social networks would thus seem to have persisted in the spirit of post-colonial Aceh’s position as a ‘special region’, or daerah istimewa (ibid., 8, 21, 34–35). In stark contrast, Muhammadiyah flourished across the rest of post-independence Indonesia and emerged as an indispensable pillar of the nation’s vaunted Islamic ‘civil society’. Muhammadiyah’s early gains in the 1920s and 30s look modest by comparison to the contemporary scope of the organisation; Robin Bush shows that in 2015, Muhammadiyah claimed 25 million Indonesian members, 11,700 branch offices, 450 hospitals and clinics, 174 universities and over 10,000 schools (Bush, 2015, 37). During this time, Muhammadiyah entrenched its position as a vessel for collecting and redistributing zakat – the lifeblood of the Islamic economy – to Muslims in need across Indonesia. Moreover, in what would seem to mark the culmination of the neoliberal logic suggested by scholars like Filippo Osella, Muhammadiyah has recently embraced a ‘more modern approach’, in the words of its current leader Din Syamsuddin, to social services, prioritising money-making services for middle-class clients over charity for the poorer elements of society. Yet the analysis provided in this chapter should caution against drawing overly generalised binary conclusions from this seeming divergence in Muhammadiyah’s fortunes, and against suggesting that much of Indonesia achieved a transition into a ‘novel’, modern Islamic economy while Aceh remained mired in ‘traditional’ patron–client structures. For example, Muhammadiyah has recently renewed its activity in Aceh. In the aftermath of the devastating 2004 tsunami that killed over 200,000 Acehnese people, Muhammadiyah’s leader, Din Syamsuddin, travelled on one of the first helicopters to land in the region and immediately went to the Baiturrahman Grand Mosque to help with the physically demanding work of cleaning debris and human bodies. This dramatic gesture, in turn, marked the beginning of a vital role in the post-tsunami reconstruction era, as Muhammadiyah not only mobilised its national membership for donations, but also deployed activists, students and doctors on the ground while activating its relatively small Acehnese membership still in existence (Bush, 2015, 38–39). Thus, Muhammadiyah played a critical part in broader efforts that, as Michael Feener has demonstrated in his work, helped to align Islamic and Western ideas of transformative reconstruction (Feener, 2012, 285–286). While Muhammadiyah perhaps failed in Aceh during the 1930s, this initial venture left long-lasting precedents and resonances that will perhaps be re-activated in the present day.

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Even more significant than the dramatic return of Muhammadiyah to Aceh, however, this study also suggests that the outward forms of Weberian or neoliberal modernity nonetheless depended on local contingencies and patronage networks for their success. While Muhammadiyah struggled to gain traction in Aceh during the 1920s and 1930s, if war had not tainted the ulèëbalang class or more ulama had joined Teungku Hasbi, the organisation could have flourished just as it did elsewhere. Conversely, recent political scientists and sociologists have demonstrated that – despite the imposing, inexorable edifice of a nationally regimented organisation with 25 million members – the impetus for action in Muhammadiyah often emanates from the bottom up, rather than from the leadership of the organisation. Indeed, in a recent study of the organisation’s civil society potential, Muhammad Fuad quoted a member who said metaphorically that ‘in Muhammadiyah, rain from above barely falls. What you always find are springs bubbling from below’ (Fuad, 2002, 140). Such insights suggest that it might be best for scholars to stop trying to assess organisations like Muhammadiyah as an example of a linear progression from ‘traditional’ modes of patronage to modern forms of Islamic economy. Instead, the success of Muhammadiyah’s myriad ventures, in Aceh and Indonesia at large, will continue to depend on local contingencies and patronage.

Note 1 Special thanks to R. Michael Feener and Keping Wu for their invitation to participate in the 2014 ‘Ethics of Religious Giving in Asia: Historical and Ethnographic Explorations’ Conference at the Asia Research Institute, National University of Singapore, where an earlier version of this paper was presented.

References Alfian (1989). Muhammadiyah: The Political Behavior of a Muslim Modernist Organization under Dutch Colonialism. Yogyakarta: Gadjah Mada University Press. Anonymous (n.d.). Nota over de Raad Agama. K77: Archives of the Binnenlandsch Bestuur, File No. 1116. National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia, Jakarta, Indonesia. Aspinall, Edward (2009). Islam and Nation: Separatist Rebellion in Aceh, Indonesia. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Beck, Herman L. (2005). “The Rupture of the Muhammadiyah with the Ahmadiyya.” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 161(2–3): 1–33. Bloembergen, Marieke (2011). “The Perfect Policeman: Colonial Policing, Modernity, and Conscience on Sumatra’s West Coast in the Early 1930s.” Indonesia 91: 165–191. Bush, Robin (2015). “Muhammadiyah and Disaster Response: Innovation and Change in Humanitarian Assistance.” In Natural Disaster Management in the Asia-Pacific: Policy and Governance: Policy and Governance, eds. C. Brassard, D. W. Giles and A. M. Howitt, 33–48. Tokyo: Springer Japan. Fauzia, Amelia (2013). Faith and the State: A History of Islamic Philanthropy in Indonesia. Leiden: Brill.

M uhammadiyah in Colonial Aceh  73 Fauzia, Amelia (2017). “Penolong Kesengsaraan Umum: The Charitable Activism of Muhammadiyah during the Colonial Period.” South East Asia Research 25(4): 379–394. Federspiel, Howard (1970). “The Muhammadijah: A Study of an Orthodox Islamic Movement in Indonesia.” Indonesia 10: 57–79. Feener, R. Michael (2007). Muslim Legal Thought in Modern Indonesia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Feener, R. Michael (2012). “Social Engineering through Shari’a: Islamic Law and StateDirected Daʿ wa in Contemporary Aceh.” Islamic Law and Society 19: 275–311. Feener, R. Michael (2013). Shari’a and Social Engineering: The Implementation of Islamic Law in Contemporary Aceh, Indonesia. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fischer, Johan (2008). Proper Islamic Consumption: Shopping among the Malays in Modern Malaysia. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. Fuad, Muhammad (2002). “Civil Society in Indonesia: The Potential and Limits of Muhammadiyah.” Sojourn: Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia 17(2): 133–163. Gerakan Kaoem Moeslimin di Atjeh dengan Moehammadijah. 25 October 1933. Muslimin. Gezaghebber. 22 June 1931. Letter to the Assistant Resident of the North Coast of Aceh in Lho Seumawe. Box 31. Code Toegang: 2.21.097.01. Archief van G.L. Tichelman, 1916–1937. National Archives of the Netherlands, The Hague. Goedhart, O. M. 16 January 1929. Letter to the Governor General of the Netherlands-Indies. Verslag politieken toestand Atjeh en Onderhoorigheden over 1928, Mailrapport No. 130x/29. Politieke Verslagen Serie 4e. National Archives of the Republic of Indonesia, Jakarta. Green, Nile (2011). Bombay Islam: The Religious Economy of the West Indian Ocean, 1840– 1915. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hadi, Amirul (2011). “Exploring Acehnese Understandings of Jihad: A Study of Hikajat Prang Sabi.” In Mapping the Acehnese Past, eds. R. Michael Feener, Patrick Daly and Anthony Reed, 183–197. Leiden: KITLV Press. Haj, Samira (2008). Reconfiguring Islamic Tradition: Reform, Rationality, and Modernity. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Hamdani, Syed N. H. (2002). “Towards Divine Economics: Some Testable Propositions.” The Pakistan Development Review 41(4): 609–626. Hurgronje, C. Snouck (1906). The Acehnese, Vol. 1. Trans. A. W. S. O’Sullivan. Leiden: E.J. Brill. Kloos, David (2017). Becoming Better Muslims: Religious Authority and Ethical Improvement in Aceh, Indonesia. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Mantri Politie. 21 February 1933. Politie Rapport: Dalam hal Vergadering Moehamadijah Hindia Timoer Tjabang Lho’Seumawe. Box 31. Code Toegang: 2.21.097.01. Archief van G.L. Tichelman, 1916–1937. National Archives of the Netherlands, The Hague. Moehammadijah Koetaradja. 15 February 1928. Oetoesan Goeroe. Morris, Eric (1983). Islam and Politics in Aceh: A Study of Center-Periphery Relations in Indonesia. Ph.D. thesis, Cornell University. Njoto-Feillard, Gweneal (2014). “Financing Muhammadiyah: The Early Economic Endeavors of a Muslim Modernist Mass Organization in Indonesia (1920s–1960s).” Studia Islamika 21(1): 1–46. Osella, Filippo (2018). “Charity and Philanthropy in South Asia: An Introduction.” Modern Asian Studies 52(1): 4–34. Osella, Filippo and Rydnyckyj, Daromir (2017). “Introduction: Assembling Market and Religious Moralities.” In Religion and the Morality of the Market, eds. Filippo Osella and Daromir Rydnyckyj, 1–28. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

74  Joshua Gedacht Pemoekaan, H.I.S. Moehammadijah Koeta-Radja pada 9 Juli 1928. 15 July 1928. Oetoesan Goeroe. Reid, Anthony (1969). The Contest for North Sumatra: Atjeh, The Netherlands and Britain 1858–1898. Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press. Reid, Anthony (1979). Blood of the People: Revolution and the End of Traditional Rule in Northern Sumatra. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reid, Anthony (2015). A History of Southeast Asia: Critical Crossroads. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. Riddell, Peter (2006). “Aceh in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries: ‘Serambi Mekkah’ and Identity.” In Verandah of Violence: The Background to the Aceh Problem, ed. Anthony Reid, 38–51. Singapore: NUS Press. Schulte Nordholt, Henk (2002). “A Genealogy of Violence.” In Roots of Violence in Indonesia: Contemporary Violence in Historical Perspective, eds. Freek Colombijn and J. Thomas Lindblad, 33–61. Leiden: Brill. Siegel, James T. (1969). Rope of God. Berkeley: University of California Press. Singer, Amy (2008). Charity in Islamic Societies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sipakah Orang Besar dari Atjeh? Teungkoe Tjhi Di Tiro atau T. Oemar. 7 March 1940. Pandji Islam. ‘Statuten Moehammadiah.’ 15 October 1928. Oetoesan Goeroe.

Chapter 4

Brunei Halal certification A review and way forward 1 Nazlida Muhamad, Masairol Hj Masri, and Ahmed Masood Khalid

Introduction The global demand for halal products and services is increasing substantially, not only due to the growing Muslim population,2 but also because of changes in attitude towards Islamic lifestyle (e.g. dietary rulings, dress codes, etc.) among Muslims globally. Thomson Reuters (2017) reports that global food and lifestyle expenditure is expected to increase from USD 1.9 trillion in 2015 to USD 3 trillion by 2021.3 This reflects a projected growth of 8% per annum. A major portion of this increase is predicted to be on halal food, which is expected to increase from USD 1.173 billion in 2015 to USD 1.914 billion by 2021. Obviously, this rising demand for halal food and beverages will require more resources to facilitate halal certification, thus enhancing the business opportunities for halal certifiers. At the same time, there is a need to have better understanding of Islamic laws and Shari’a compliance policies. Halal certification is a religion-based food standard certification to certify that ingredients and processing of food are completely compliant with Shari’a laws. The growing number of Muslims in the world impacts consumer behaviour towards halal food and products, products which are duly certified as ‘halal’. This also has significant implications for halal certification as a business opportunity in some countries. This is especially true for Muslim communities in Southeast Asia. Southeast Asia represents a large Muslim community (about 240 million), with an average 40% of the population in the region being Muslim (Muslimin, 2017). The region is among the world’s largest markets for halal products and services, considering its total Muslim population and the growth in food expenditure. Given the openness (in trade) model enjoyed in many countries in the region, halal certification, especially of food products, is not only required to meet individual countries’ domestic demand, but can also be promoted as a service industry for the region and beyond. This is the objective of this chapter, to discuss and deliberate the opportunities for Brunei Halal as a service provider for certification of halal products. As with other product certifications, halal certification is subject to the issue of certification credibility and consumer confidence. Not all halal certification

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is perceived or made equal; in fact, consumers may think some countries’ logos are better than others (Muhamad et al., 2017). In some cases, halal certification is subject to dubious, uncertified and fake halal logos, casting consumer doubts on the logo in general. Indeed, the halal standard suffers from a lack of standardisation among certifiers, and to a certain degree, across national borders. Part of the issue of halal standards for products is linked to a difference in the interpretation of Islamic laws. These inconsistencies are due to differences as to which Islamic school of thought is adopted by the state. Although the general rule in Islam is that everything is halal except what is prohibited, the processes through which production takes place are sometimes not clear or do not fully comply with Islamic laws, according to certain scholars. Halal certification initiatives are more organised and structured in countries where Islam is declared a state religion. Brunei Darussalam is among those countries. Brunei Darussalam recognises ‘Malay Islamic Monarchy’ as the main governance philosophy and aspires to apply the unique values of the elements throughout government administration and social–cultural aspects of its community. Development of the halal industry in Brunei Darussalam as ‘Global Halal’ is based on two important factors. One is the philosophy that the country promotes, that is, to follow Islamic principles and laws in every aspect of life; hence, development of the halal industry is part of an obligation to provide halal, safe and high-quality food to all Muslims. Second, the development of the halal industry is consistent with the objective of economic diversification and to provide business opportunities to small and medium enterprises (SMEs).4 As part of the initiatives to develop the halal industry, the Government of Brunei Darussalam has allocated a 174-hectare industrial site, called Bio Innovation Corridor (BIC), for the sole purpose of developing halal-related industries, providing basic infrastructure and utilities as incentives to potential investors, both local and foreign (the Brunei Economic Development Board, 2018). Brunei Halal certification follows the strict principles of Islamic laws. As such, the ‘Brunei Halal’ logo is well accepted as a symbol of genuine halal certification in many Muslim countries, including the Gulf region.5 Marzuki (2012) asserts that ‘through the Brunei halal brand, Brunei will become one of the major players of the halal industry globally, both in terms of halal food production and certification.’ Figure 4.1 shows the diversity in halal logos across countries in Southeast Asia. Brunei’s focus on promoting halal as a brand led to specific policy initiatives on halal certification, starting in July 2009 with the launch of Brunei Halal. This was followed by the establishment of a number of regulatory institutions to ensure strict halal compliance for both consumers and manufacturers. These included Brunei Wafirah Holdings Sdn Bhd, as the owner of the Brunei Halal brand, and Ghanim International Food Corporation Sdn Bhd, a joint venture between Wafirah, Brunei Global Islamic Investment and Kerry FSDA Limited, a Hong Kong-based logistics firm whose main objective is to promote Brunei Halal in regional and international markets (Brunei Halal, 2012).

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Figure 4.1 Southeast Asia trademarks and halal certified logos.

These initiatives were also linked to Brunei’s move towards creating a more diversified economy. Although most of the Muslim communities in Southeast Asia follow the same school of thought, it does not directly translate into one identical standard of halal food certification. In the absence of a single halal standard, Brunei Halal as halal certification may have an opportunity to brand itself as the most acceptable standard among Muslim consumers, at least within the region. This chapter details the development of halal certification in Brunei Darussalam. Firstly, we will highlight the state of halal certification in selected countries within Southeast Asia. Then we will look at the specificities of the Bruneian halal industry within the context and agenda of an economic diversification of the Sultanate. Finally, after observing the halal certification standards as they are enforced in Brunei Darussalam, we discuss the opportunities and challenges of the halal certification process within Brunei as well as in a global context.

1 Selected certifications in Southeast Asia Situated in the middle of Southeast Asia, Brunei is surrounded by three Muslim majority countries in the region. Malaysia, Thailand and Indonesia have made significant advances in their primary processes in halal certifications. The three countries established a new bloc in 1993, called Indonesia–Malaysia–Thailand Golden Triangle (IMT-GT), with a vision to make it ‘an integrated, innovative, inclusive and sustainable sub region by 2036’. Halal products and services constitute one of the seven pillars of the bloc. One focus under this pillar is ‘achieving acceptance of halal standards amongst the IMT-GT member countries’ which aims to ‘narrow the gap in practices of halal certification’ as well as ‘to improve efficiency of halal certification process’ (IMT-GT, 2017a). Policy and regulatory reforms on halal certification are aimed at narrowing the gap, while the transfer of technology is planned

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to be the main instrument for improving efficacy in the certification process. The combined market of the three countries represents the majority of Muslim consumers in the region. Although this collaborative bloc has been in place since 1993 (for 25 years), not much progress can be seen in the standardisation of halal certification. This is due in part to lack of talent and capacity shortages among SMEs. The demand for halal products and services is also a constraint because of the quality and pricing structure. There is a need to provide incentives to SMEs to encourage investment in this sector. However, certification standards across countries obviously have to be agreed upon to promote the market. The IMT-GT Blueprint (IMT-GT, 2017b) again highlights a list of actions to be taken in five years (2017–2021) to accelerate the process of standardisation through information sharing and more active working groups. Halal authorities from the three countries are working closely to narrow the gaps in processes as well as exploring collaborative economic opportunities (Tempo. co, 2017). Authorities from the countries also offer assistance to new entrants in the halal certification business developing their own halal standards and certification while expanding their halal export market (Abdul Alim, 2017). Below is an overview of the initiatives and policy measures taken by Thailand and Malaysia in this context. 1.1 Thailand

Muslim consumers in Thailand represent about 5% of the country’s population. The majority of Muslims come from the southernmost provinces (Pattani, Yala, Narathiwat and part of Songkhala and Chumphon), which include both ethnic Thai and Malay (Wikipedia, 2018b). Although local consumers of halal products are relatively few, the halal industry is a significant economic driver for the country. Through its agencies and ministries, the Government of Thailand collaborates with Muslim communities in halal-related industries and certification. Thailand is currently ranked 13th among the world’s largest halal producers. The export of halal food was valued at USD 5.7 billion during 2016. Thailand is aiming to establish itself as a Centre of Excellence in science and testing through the establishment of centres such as the Halal Standard Institute of Thailand and Halal Science Centre. During the year 2016, the Government allocated USD 11.5 million towards research and development of halal products and certification (Thailand Board of Investment, 2016).6 In fact, the halal certification process technical committee includes at least six government bodies. These include the Ministry of the Interior (Department of Provincial Administration), Ministry of Culture (Department of Religious Affairs), Ministry of Agriculture and Cooperatives (Bureau of Livestock Standard and Certification), Ministry of Commerce (Department of Export Promotion), Ministry of Industry (National Food Institute) and the Central Islamic Committee of Thailand (CICOT), as well as three universities (Chulanlongkorn University, Mahidol University and Prince of Songkla University).

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Regulations on halal certification were first initiated in 1998 when the Ministry of Industry adopted the Codex Halal standard as Thailand’s halal standard. In 2001, the Central Islamic Committee of Thailand (CICOT) set up regulations for halal certification/accreditation as a common standard for the whole country. Later, in 2003, the Thai Government provided financial support to initiate the development of the halal-HACCP system.7 The certification is a comprehensive halal standard that, at the same time, complies with GMP, HACCP, and ISO standards. The agencies involved in the processes describe the certification as the convergence of technology, science and Islam. Accordingly, seminars and conferences on the three areas are often held with similar emphasis. Five types of halal certification are currently offered: 1) Consumer products; 2) Slaughter; (3) Food service, beverage and halal kitchen service; 4) Halal products, processed products, raw materials, mixture and/or imported halal meat; and 5) Export documents.8 The sole accreditation body in Thailand is the Central Islamic Committee of Thailand (CICOT). CICOT is headed by an Islamic spiritual leader called Sheikul Islam (Chularajmontri), chairman of the board. The administrative power of CICOT is shared by His Excellency, who delegates his authority to the rest of the chairmanships at local level known as the Provincial Islamic Committee. The Committee primarily governs Thai Muslim communities’ affairs and is also tasked with handling the country’s halal certification efforts. There are three main bodies directly involved in halal accreditation processes: 1) CICOT and its regional or provincial committee, 2) the Halal Standard Institute of Thailand and 3) the Halal Science Centre at Chulalongkorn University as the main halal laboratory (Halal Standard Institute of Thailand, n.d.). CICOT and its provincial committees are the main players that accept applications, perform audits, manage surveillance and issue halal manufacturing certificates. Nonetheless, CICOT is the final decision maker in granting the certification and halal logo. The Halal Institute of Thailand is involved in collecting data from various levels for publication and halal testing, and for managing seminars and training for the various parties involved in the halal certification process, including slaughterers, consultants and halal surveillance. The primary laboratory is the Halal Science Centre at Chulalongkorn University. There are also independent certified laboratories located across the country. Overall, Thailand’s halal certification initiative is well structured and orchestrated. Given Thailand’s strong position in world food exports, recognised halal certification provides a unique competitive edge to the country’s economy overall. This could also make the Thailand halal logo one of the most widely exported logos on products in the world. It should be noted that the demand for halal food in Thailand is due to two major factors. One is the large number of Muslims visiting Thailand (over 600,000 Muslim visitors in 2012). The other is the growing size of Thailand’s halal export market. The country’s total halal exports were valued at USD 2.8 billion in 2014, making Thailand the 11th largest exporter of halal food

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products globally (Cochrane, 2016). Most halal foods in Thailand are not intended for Muslim consumers alone, but for other people as well. Some estimates suggest that about 96% of Thailand’s halal food exports are sent to Africa, ASEAN and the Middle East, and the destinations of the remaining 4% are South Asia, Southern Europe and Central Asia. Africa imports 37.7% of Thai halal food, while the share of Southeast Asia and the Middle East is 33.6% and 24.8%, respectively (Halal Food Information Centre, 2013a, 2013b). 1.2 Malaysia

Malaysia has a Muslim population of around 61% (about 20 million of the total Malaysian population of 32 million people) and Islam is the country’s official religion. Although Malaysia has a large domestic market for halal food products, similar to Thailand, Malaysia also aspires to be the hub for halal goods and services. This obviously makes halal certification and halal standards an important tool for promoting this policy. The sole halal certifier is the Department of Islamic Development Malaysia (JAKIM), under the purview of the Prime Minister’s Office. JAKIM is the head of the technical committee and collaborates with other relevant agencies in managing matters related to halal certifications. The development of halal certification in Malaysia started with the halal food definition embedded in the Trade Description Act 1972 (Zakaria and Ismail, 2014). Halal certification and industry moved to become one of the country’s main economic development policies under the Malaysian Economics Plan, as the country set out to become a Global Halal park (Muhamed, 2016). The Malaysian Standard Development System, Department of Standardization Malaysia (DSM) under the Ministry of Science, Technology and Innovation is working closely with JAKIM in setting the halal standards. The Malaysian halal certification, as in the Malaysian Standard of Halal Food, had gone through the International Organization for Standarization (ISO), and is partly adopted by the Codex Alimentarius Commission, a United Nations agency responsible for coordinating and compiling food standards and codes of practice from member countries (Latif et al., 2014). Malaysian halal standards cover the regulation for halal certification for different types of products, services and processes based on products’ value chains. As with most other halal certification standards, Malaysian halal certification covers production, preparation, handling and storage of products (Malaysian Halal Certification Procedure Manual, 2014). Halal certification applicants can be manufacturers or producers, distributors or traders, sub-contract manufacturers, repacking businesses, food premises and abattoirs. In halal testing, independent labs are certified to run halal analysis, and the main national laboratory in this regard is the Malaysia Halal Analysis Centre (MyHAC). Lists of halal-certified products and premises and recognised international certifiers are hosted online and managed by JAKIM.

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The country has initiated a labyrinthine set of agencies to speed up the process of achieving its goal in halal industries. JAKIM, as the halal certifier, regularly organises the Halal Certification Bodies Convention with Malaysia International Halal Academy, while the Halal Industry Development Corporation (HDC) spearheads overall efforts in the halal industry, managing, among others, the promotion, collaboration, and training of resources within the scope of the halal industry, including that of halal certification (Halal Industry Development Corporation, 2013). HDC was established in 2006 as a Malaysian initiative with the sole vision of ‘Malaysia as the Global Halal Hub’. HDC aims to bring the Malaysian halal industry together to target this vision. The HDC website states that ‘It will provide manufacturers, distributors, retailers, entrepreneurs, researchers and investors all the necessary assistance to penetrate the global halal market through the adoption of the Malaysian experience and expertise in food and non-food sectors’ (Halal Industry Development Corporation, n.d.). HDC is headed by Y. Bhg. Datuk Seri Rizuan Bin Abd Hamid as Chairman. The focus areas of HDC include the development of halal standards, audit and certification and capacity building for halal products and services. Events such as the Malaysia International Halal Showcase (MIHAS) – organised by Malaysian International Trade and Industry (MITI) and Malaysia External Trade Development Corporation (MATRADE), an annual international event which involves a total trade value of around RM 1 billion (approx. USD 200 million) in 2016 alone (Malaysia International Halal Showcase [MIHAS], 2017) – and the World Halal Conference (WHC) hosted by HDC bring together various levels of global industry players. Malaysia and Thailand are experienced players in halal standards and certifications. Nonetheless, other countries in the region have successfully developed standards and granting of halal certification to businesses, particularly Indonesia and Singapore. The region’s halal certifiers come together periodically to discuss issues and challenges. Nonetheless, they maintain their unique views pertaining to halal standards and procedures. Apparently, certifiers in the region do not share a mutual list of recognised certifiers.

2 Brunei, halal industry and economics diversification 2.1 Brunei economy – an overview

Brunei Darussalam is a small, open economy with a population of under half a million, predominantly Muslims, who account for 67% of the total population. A per capita GDP of USD 76,743 (PPP based, 2017) makes Brunei Darussalam the fourth richest economy in the world (on a purchasing power parity basis). Brunei has maintained a generous social welfare system with no personal income tax; free health and education and subsidised housing for citizens as well as expatriate public servants. These measures follow the

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basic welfare model of an Islamic state. One national focus is termed ‘Global Halal’, which means promoting the availability of halal food from certification to production. Obviously, given the small population and market size, this is aimed at promoting Brunei halal as a major export market for halal products and services as part of the national agenda to diversify the economy. Historically, Brunei Darussalam has been heavily dependent on oil and gas (fifth-largest oil producer in Southeast Asia) with the sector contributing about 60% to the country’s GDP. The recent drop in oil prices impacted the economy significantly, moving the economy into an ongoing recession. These global and local changes in economic conditions and environment forced the Government to explore potential areas to revive the economy. Obviously, diversification is the only way to reduce dependency on oil and gas and to put the economy back on track. Diversification policy is part of the medium-to-long-term economic strategy called ‘Wawasan 2035’ (Brunei Vision 2035), initiated in 2007 as part of the 9th National Development Plan. Brunei Vision 2035 focuses on three priority areas, namely (i) to cultivate educated and skilled people; (ii) to have a quality of life that is among the ten top nations in the world; and (iii) to achieve a dynamic and sustainable economy. This strategy is closely followed by the Government and a number of initiatives are introduced to devise and implement medium-to-long-term policies to achieve the objectives of Brunei Vision 2035. The halal food industry is a major focus of the economic diversification plan under Brunei Vision 2035. Since 2007, efforts are being made to use the halal food industry as a source of generating revenues and to contribute to economic diversification. Although domestic demand is low in Brunei, the national focus on the halal industry is to promote Brunei Halal as a brand in the region and beyond. The aim is to turn halal certification into a service industry. It is perhaps imperative to provide a brief overview of the global halal market before we discuss Brunei’s case of halal certification. 2.2 Global halal market

The current Muslim population is about 25% of the global population. Further, 73 Muslim countries account for 15% of the global GDP (PPP based), with Muslim countries experiencing twice the population growth (1.75%) compared to non-Muslim countries (0.7%).9 Thomson Reuters (2017) predicts that the world Muslim population will increase to 2.2 billion by 2030. Obviously, this will increase the global demand for halal products and services significantly. Thomson Reuters (2017) reports that the global Muslim market spends about USD 1.173 billion on food (2015 estimates), which is 16.6% of the global expenditure on food. According to the same report, in 2015 alone, revenues generated from halal food and beverages are estimated at USD 415 billion. Numbers reported in Table 4.1 provide a good indication of the future demand for halal products and services. The numbers in this table are

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Table 4.1 Global halal market versus global demand (USD) Categories

Food and Lifestyle Sector Expenditure Islamic Finance Asset Market Muslim Spending on:    Halal food    Halal travel    Halal (modest) fashion    Halal media and recreation    Halal pharmaceuticals      Halal cosmetics

Halal

Total Global Spending

2015

2021 (Projected)

Categories

2015

1.9 trillion

3.0 trillion

 

 

2.0 trillion

3.5 trillion

162 trillion

  1,172 billion 151 billion 243 billion

  1,914 billion 243 billion 368 billion

189 billion

262 billion

78 billion

132 billion

Commercial banking assets   Food Outbound travel Apparel and footwear Recreation and culture Pharmaceuticals

56 billion

81 billion

Cosmetics

750 billion

  7,049 billion 1,347 billion 2,213 billion 3,690 billion 1.172 billion

Source: Thomson Reuters (2015).

self-explanatory and suggest a significant increase in the demand for all categories of halal products and services. Brunei could play an important part in meeting this increased demand for halal food and other products and services. 2.3 Brunei Halal

According to Thomson Reuters (2017), Brunei Darussalam is currently ranked 12th overall among 73 countries engaged in the halal industry. Brunei Halal became a focus of national planning with the announcement of Brunei Vision 2035 (along with the 9th National Development Plan [2007–2012] under Brunei Vision 2035). However, major administrative changes and policy initiatives were introduced in around 2014 to facilitate the implementation of strategies under Brunei Vision 2035. ‘Brunei Halal’ is one of the areas in focus with the objective of making Brunei a hub for halal certification (as a service industry) and a market for halal products and services, especially halal food products, accelerated in 2015. To achieve this objective envisaged under Brunei Vision 2035, the Government established four departments under the Prime Minister’s Office in 2015. Global Halal Industry Development is the focus of one such department, the Department of Energy and Industry. Since then, a number of initiatives and activities have taken place to promote halal food industry in Brunei. In October 2015, Brunei entered into a joint venture through a memorandum of understanding (MOU) between the Brunei

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Economic Development Board (BEDB), AZ Food (B) Sdn Bhd, and Catering & International Trading (CIT) (a Tunisian export-import company) to develop a 90 million Brunei dollars (BND) halal food production and export facility in Brunei Darussalam. The facility aims to prepare ready-made halal meals using locally sourced raw materials, manufacture packaging materials and assemble vending machines that will be used to distribute the packaged meals with a shelf life of 24 months. This food is planned to be exported within ASEAN and other regions. Besides halal products, Brunei also aims to turn itself into a halal certification and service provider. Gound (2015) reported in FinTech Futures: ‘An interesting trend is developing in the halal sector: regional hubs are developing in places that have some local demand but not the size that would be significant markets on their own.’ There is no doubt that a good understanding of Shari’a compliance and relevant regulatory structure is needed to have the halal certification recognised globally. Gound (2015) suggests that Brunei has the potential to achieve this. Given the imperative role of Islamic knowledge in producing and certifying halal products, Brunei aims to position itself as the main source of halal certification. As observed by Gound (2015), being a small market with only half a million population, Brunei’s growth opportunities are dependent on tapping the regional and global market for halal products. This is exactly what Ibrahim Badawi observed in an interview by Morlyn-Yron (2016) of CNN: The strength of Brunei’s halal industry basically comes from the government, because it’s actually governed by the government. It’s a single body – not like certain countries where they don’t have the government but individual companies doing halal … and the credibility is not there. The country can benefit from one of the fastest-growing halal food markets, which is estimated to be worth over one trillion US dollars. Obviously, this depends on how proactive Brunei is in attracting foreign direct investment in this industry, restructuring its rules and regulations to facilitate production, and developing logistics to reduce the cost for traders (import of raw materials and export of final products). Brunei’s halal industry consists of 35 local companies, mostly in the private sector, engaged in producing halal food products which generated 88 million Brunei dollars (BND) in revenue during 2016. Brunei Halal as a halal certification is well recognised in regional and European markets (Morlyn-Yron, 2016). Brunei Darussalam aims to become a major producer of halal food and pharmaceutical products and services. Micro, small and medium enterprises (MSMEs) can play an important role in achieving these objectives, which is consistent with Brunei Vision 2035. The success could involve a combination of timely and committed policies to attract foreign direct investment, encourage local businesses to expand beyond domestic demand, and facilitate logistics.

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As a first step, the Government of Brunei Darussalam plans to increase awareness among MSMEs and the public about opportunities to participate in the halal business and reap the benefits of government and international support and foreign direct investment, and the processes involved. Public awareness is increased through dialogue with businesses, including workshops, forums and engagement (Borneo Bulletin, 2017b). As mentioned above, Brunei Halal certification is internationally renowned for its credibility as it is issued by a single government body (Oxford Business Group, 2015; Shen, 201510). Figure 4.2 highlights the legal entities responsible for halal certification in Brunei. The halal certifying body in Brunei is the Brunei Islamic Religious Council (MUIB) and the Halal Food Control Division which is responsible for the enforcement of the Halal Meat Act 183 and its meat rules; the Halal Certificate; and Halal Label Order (2005). The obtaining of the Halal Certificate involves six steps (in order): submission of the application form, a halal supervisor test, audit/inspection, evaluation of report by the committee, approval by MUIB, and issuance of certificate (Borneo Bulletin, 2017). This is evident from recent interest from countries such as Russia and Mexico in using Brunei Halal as a selling brand for Muslim consumers in their respective domestic markets. Other regional countries include Thailand, China and the Philippines11. The Brunei Halal Brand was officially endorsed in August 2007 by His Majesty Sultan Hassanal Bolkiah. In 2009, Brunei launched ‘Brunei Halal’ Ministry of Religious Affairs Minister Deputy Minister Permanent Secretary Deputy Permanent Secretary

Department of Syariah Affairs Halal Food Control Division (Bahagian Kawalan Makanan Halal)

Islamic Religious Council of Brunei (Majlis Ugama Islam Brunei)

Figure 4.2 Bruneian authorities in charge of the Halal Food Control Division (2018).

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as a brand as part of its initiatives to capture halal food markets locally and abroad. This initiative was supported by creating a number of regulatory institutions to design an appropriate regulatory framework to ensure consumers and manufacturers follow strict halal compliance. The Brunei Halal Brand is a commercial brand owned by Brunei Wafirah Holdings Sdn Bhd, while its food-related products are marketed by Ghanim International Food Corporation Sdn Bhd Brunei Wafirah Holdings Sdn Bhd is government owned, while Ghanim International Food Corporation Sdn Bhd is a joint venture among Wafirah, Brunei Global Islamic Investment and Kerry FSDA Limited, a Hong Kong-based logistics firm. Any businesses or producers who need to acquire the Brunei Halal label (or the certification of compliance) should get it through the Department of Syariah Affairs’ Halal Food Control Section12. This can be done by submitting an application through Ghanim International. The year 2017 witnessed a number of new initiatives towards the goal of making Brunei a hub for halal products and services. To facilitate industry, the halal certification time was reduced to 45 days from a previous six months. The Government is also increasing public awareness (under Halal Certificate and Halal Label Order [Amended] 2017) through dialogue and workshops. The Government of Brunei established a Bio-Innovation Corridor (BIC) in 2014, a multi-focus research centre which aims to enhance research and development (R & D), product innovation and technology transfer and forms an integral part of Brunei’s wider economic diversification strategy. This was established under an agreement between China and Brunei, called Brunei– Guangxi Economic Corridor (BGEC), signed on 17 September 2014 (Borneo Bulletin Yearbook, 2018). The aim of this initiative is to invite investors from China and to attract international collaborators for R & D, co-investment and technology transfer. In June 2017, Simpor Pharma – Brunei’s first pharmaceutical manufacturer – launched a new range of halal health supplements as a joint venture worth 26 million Brunei dollars (BND) with Canada’s Viva Pharmaceutical and other local investors. This joint venture is not only to meet domestic demand but also aims to target exports. Also in June 2017, the Government announced a joint venture between Sydney-based NBI and the Brunei Government by the name Neptune Bio-Innovations (NBI) Brunei. The company plans to launch a line of halal traditional medicines (no further details available). In another development, Sathian Foods, a Dubai-based manufacturer of ready-toeat halal meals, plans to tap the Southeast Asian market for halal food products by developing production facilities in Brunei.13 It is important to note that Ghanim International Corporation Sdn Bhd, a government-linked company (GLC) for marketing and branding halal food products at home and overseas, is proactive in exploring overseas markets for Brunei halal. Ghanim is very active in marketing Brunei halal in over 100 ASDA and Tesco stores in U.K. The products Ghanim is targeting range

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from daily needs lines such as Provia, Cremvia, Nutrisal (sugar, creamer and salt alternatives respectively), Cordia (syrup-based low sugar drink) to valueadded products such as chicken and lamb (Bruneihalalfoods, 2017). In summary, the Government of Brunei has initiated policies and incentives for both local and international investors to develop Brunei as a major supplier of halal food and services and also to cater to the increasing global demand.

3 Brunei Halal certification standards In this section, we provide details of regulatory changes and responsible entities for the enforcement of regulations dealing with halal certification standards. We also describe the Brunei halal standards and related procedures, as well as the ministries and regulators involved in the process. This information helps to illustrate the blueprint of Brunei Halal certification. According to the Religious Council Brunei Darussalam (2007), the halal certification procedure is subjected to the submission of detailed information regarding the applicant: types of business, ingredients, packaging and product process flow. as well as a map of the place or the place of business. Completed application forms will be submitted to the Inspection Committee and the Committee will instruct the auditors to audit the place of business and ingredients being used by the applicant. The auditor may also take samples of any food therein for analysis by a food analyst. The application for Halal Permits/Labels follows the above procedures specified by the Religious Council Brunei Darussalam (2007). In 2017, the costs of certifying and licensing halal were as follows: a slaughtering certificate was BND 10 per product, a halal certificate BND 20 yearly, a supplying certificate BND 30 yearly, and a halal import permit BND 50 at every permit application (Mohammad Khairi Ihsannudin, 2017). Issuing a halal certificate is BND 90 for the entire three years. Regarding successful application from product manufacturers, Halal Permits are issued for a fee of BND 50 per product. A list of 1,419 restaurants, 152 local factories and 19 foreign factories legally applied for halal licencing in Brunei, thus inscribing the Brunei Halal logo on 5,646 local products and 329 foreign products in August 2016 (Mohammad Khairi Ihsannudin, 2017). In terms of abattoirs, 36 local active slaughterhouses were certified halal in 2017. The same year, the Brunei government has traced and certified 34 active abattoirs in countries such as Australia (17), Malaysia (13), the United Kingdom (9), India (4), China (2), Indonesia (1), Jordan (1) and the Philipines (1) (Mohammad Khairi Ihsannudin, 2017). Use of the Brunei Halal logo costs BND 0.02 per product. However, in the case of meat imports (from Australia), additional costs are involved. Every consignment requires two officers/inspectors to be present on-site to observe and certify Shari’a compliance in the slaughtering process. All travel-related expenses, including board and lodging, is paid by the importing company. The importer also has to ensure that shipment follows halal standards.

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In addition to monetary cost, there is a non-monetary cost involved in the halal supply of meat and meat products. Each consignment is subject to a quota and importers cannot import large volumes in one consignment. Obviously, this adds to the cost. Importers could also face a long waiting period to have inspectors available to travel (due to the shortage of inspectors). The renewal of a halal certificate is also not automatic and may take up to three months. This may cost importers sales revenue. The non-monetary cost is not measureable as it may be different for each consignment. Moreover, the Brunei Halal logo is considered the most expensive (due to its colour scheme and specification). Eventually, this cost is transferred to consumers, raising the domestic price of meat and meat products.14 3.1 Rules and regulations on halal certificates and standards

Halal certification in Brunei Darussalam is under the jurisdiction of the Halal Food Control Department (HFCD), Department of Syariah Affairs, Ministry of Religious Affairs. The followings Acts with accompanying standards and guidelines cover halal matters in Brunei Darussalam: Halal Meat Emergency Act 1998

The Halal Meat Act was implemented in 1999. The Act covers detailed rules and regulations on the matter related to local and imported meat. The slaughtering of imported meat (mainly from Brunei-owned farms in Australia) requires two inspectors at the time of slaughter to ensure that the process is Shari’a compliant. This adds to the cost (which is eventually transferred to consumers), but guarantees that the meat is halal. This Act stipulates the definition of halal meat and what constitutes halal meat according to Syariah law (‘Syariah’ is the local spelling of ‘Shari’a’ in Brunei), which is determined by the Brunei Islamic Council (MUIB). Halal Certification and Halal Label Act, 2005/Halal Certification and Halal Label Act (Amendments 26 May 2017)

The Halal Certification and Halal Label Act came into effect in 2005 and was recently amended in May 2017. According to the amended Act 2017, it is now mandatory for all businesses in the country that produce, supply and serve food and beverages to obtain halal certification. The plan is to extend the scope of the Act to pharmaceutical, consumables and logistics companies in the near future. In the Act, a business owner may apply for either a Halal Certificate or a Halal Permit. Halal Certificates are for those businesses that prepare and serve food, such as restaurants, cafés, food courts and central kitchens. Halal Permits are for those businesses involved in food processing, such as food processing factories. Retail businesses dealing

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in products for consumption – including pharmaceuticals, health supplements and traditional medicines – are also advised to apply for a Halal Permit for each product. According to the details provided by DARe (Darussalam Enterprise), the process of obtaining a Halal Certificate involves six steps (in order): submission of the application form, halal supervisor test, audit/inspection, evaluation of report by the committee, approval by MUIB and issuance of certificate.15 Brunei Darussalam Standard PBD 24: 2007 Halal Food

The Brunei Darussalam Standard PBD 24 on Halal Food was introduced in 2007. This standard provides guidelines on the production, preparation, handling, distribution and storage of halal food. Guideline for Halal Certification BCG HALAL 1: 2007

The document provides various lists of procedures for obtaining halal certification to ensure that it meets the Brunei Darussalam Standard PBD 24:2007 Halal Food. It is used as a reference on procedures such as Application for Halal Certificate, Application for Halal Label and Auditing. Brunei Darussalam Guidelines for Manufacturing and Handling of Halal Medicinal Products, Traditional Medicines and Health Supplements GD24:2010

This document provides guidelines that include the sourcing of raw material(s), manufacturing, packing, transportation and storage of halal medicinal products, traditional medicines and health supplements. 3.2 Operationalisation of halal certification and standards

The Halal Food Control Department (HFCD), under the Department of Syariah Affairs of the Ministry of Religious Affairs, is responsible for ensuring proper implementation and enforcement of the Emergency (Halal Meat) Order, 1998 (Brunei Darussalam Government Gazette, 1998). The following four committees within the HFCD have their own terms of reference (TOR) with the main purpose in enforcing the Act(s) pertaining to halal matters. Lembaga Mengeluar Permit Import Halal (LMPIH): Halal Import Permit Issuance Board

This committee was established on 26 September 1998, headed by the Controller of the Royal Customs and Excise Department (RCED). Its members include the Director of the Department of Syariah Affairs, Director of Agriculture, Director of Health Services, Secretary of the Islamic Council

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(MUIB) and the head of HFCD. The directors or their representatives contribute their expert opinions in assessing and endorsing halal import permit applications. Their terms of reference include: a. Ensuring the meat imported to the country comes from MUIB-approved abattoirs. b. Overseeing that the certified abattoirs follow Brunei Islamic rules. c. Enforcing the Halal Meat Act, Section 183.16 d. Acting as a working committee under the Halal Meat Emergency Act 1998. Jawatankuasa Pemeriksa Pusat Penyembelihan Binatang (JKP): Abattoir Inspection Committee

This committee’s main task is to inspect abattoirs. The committee is headed by the Director of the Department of Syariah Affairs. Its members include the Secretary of MUIB, Deputy Mufti, Director of Agriculture and the Working Committee of the LMPIH. Their terms of reference are to ensure that the process of slaughtering follow the Brunei Darussalam Standards PBD 24:2007 and MUIB resolution. Jawatankuasa Majlis Ugama Islam (JMUIB): Islamic Religious Council Committee

The committee was formed on 9 August 2008 as a result of the establishment of the Halal Certificate and Label Order 2005. The committee is headed by the President of MUIB with members including the Vice President of MUIB, two MUIB officers and the Secretary of MUIB. Any decision made by the committee is enforceable and the report is submitted to MUIB for information. Jawatankuasa Pemeriksaan Sijil Halal Dan Label Halal (AJKP): Halal Certificate and Halal Label Inspection Committee

Under the Halal Certificate and Halal Label, the working committee includes the Director of the Syariah Unit, Vice Mufti, relevant District officer, Director of Health, all Directors of Municipal Boards, Director of Agriculture, Secretary of MUIB and two other members appointed by the Minister. Their terms of reference are to evaluate the inspection and analysis report made by the inspectors. The result of the meeting is presented to MUIB for final approval. Any application will need to follow the Guideline for Halal Certification BCG HALAL 1: 2007 before application can be considered for certification and labelled as Halal. The issuance of certificates falls under the Halal Certificate and Halal Label Act 2005 (Amendments, 2017).

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The next section will outline the procedures to apply for Halal Certification or a Halal Permit and Halal Meat Certification/Halal Permit. 3.3 Procedure to apply for Halal Certificate or Halal Permit

In order to apply for the Halal Certificate or Halal Permit, an applicant must fill in a form and attach several documents to it, such as a copy of the owner’s and food supervisor’s passport/identity cards, photos of the owner and the food supervisor, food handler’s health certificate, miscellaneous licences, company form 16 and 17, premises plan, premises location, list of foods and beverages, list of ingredients used/served and copies of other documents (ISO, HACCP, GMP, GHP) as required by MUIB. The form can be downloaded at the Ministry of Religious Affairs website www.kheu.gov.bn or obtained in person from the Ministry. A brief description of the process is provided in Document 1 (Halal Certificate) and Document 2 (for Halal Permit/Label). There are also other requirements, such as the place of business operation, Supervisor of Halal Food, products and other general requirements – stated in Brunei Darussalam Standard PBD 24: 2007 Halal Food and Guideline for Halal Certification BCG HALAL 1 – that the business owner needs to fulfil. Accordingly, it is required by law that each business must hire two Muslim halal supervisors who possess basic knowledge of Shari’a laws and product handling ethics, and at least one halal supervisor must be present at the business premises at all times (Borneo Bulletin, 2017a). Halal supervisors must ensure that the food products sold at the applicant’s place of business comply with halal standards (ZICO, 2017). These supervisors are required to pass an Islamic knowledge oral test before they can be hired as halal food supervisors. According to the Halal Meat Act 1999, the HFCD provides four types of services for certificates and/or permits and/or licences for halal meat import/ supply/slaughter/abattoir and halal mark (Azney, 2017). The services can be categorised into two types: domestic slaughter and non-domestic slaughter, for the purpose of selling/supplying the meat to the domestic market. The Act places a heavy emphasis on the certification of abattoirs as prescribed by Shari’a law before any slaughtering can be performed by certified halal slaughterers, be it domestically or not. Domestic slaughter and abattoir certification

To be a certified halal slaughterer, a person or business owner is required to apply for the permit from LMPIH. First, the applicant is required to have their facilities certified by the Ministry of Health as fit to be an abattoir. The applicant will then have to undergo an oral test and a slaughtering test with LMPIH. Once certified, they will need to apply for a Licence to Supply Halal Meat and Halal Certificate if they want to supply meat from their own source to the public. The section below outlines the next process.

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Licence to supply halal meat and Halal Certificate locally

The licence and certificate are required if the certified halal slaughterer/abattoir intend to supply their meat to the domestic market. The form must be submitted to LMPIH for inspection at their premises and facilities. This will be performed by officers from LMPIH and the Ministry of Health. The recommended application will then be submitted to the Chair of LMPIH for issuance of a ‘licence to supply’ and certified by the MUIB secretary for the issuance of a ‘Halal Certificate’. The MUIB Halal Logo will need to be attached to the slaughtered meat before it can be sold to the public. An application must be made beforehand to use the logo. Each company will be given a code to be displayed with the MUIB Halal Logo. Non-domestic slaughter and abattoir certification

With regard to the importation of meat from overseas for supplying to the domestic market, the business owner will have to undergo various processes as required by the Halal Meat Emergency Act 1998. HFCD is the central monitoring body. The application is to be submitted to the LMPIH Secretariat. This will then go through the LMPIH Committee before a report is submitted to MUIB for consideration. Once considered and approved, the non-domestic abattoir will need to be inspected by the JKP with all costs to be borne by the applicant/ company. A report will be submitted to MUIB and a certificate will be issued or not, depending on the decision made. Permit to import halal meat

Meat will be considered halal and allowed to be imported to Brunei only if it meets the Brunei Darussalam Standards PBD 24:2007 and MUIB resolution on slaughtering process as witnessed by two JKP officers. The animals have to be slaughtered at the certified abattoir, fulfilling many other requirements stated in the standards. An Approved Permit (AP) from Royal Brunei Custom and Excise must be certified by LMPIH before the meat is imported. A final check will then be made by the LMPIH at the port of entry to ensure that the imported meat quantity is the same as stated in the approved permit. Permits for the importation of fresh halal meat are obtained from three different government agencies before it can be declared to the Royal Customs & Excise Department (RCED), Ministry of Finance, for clearance. This includes: 1. Animal Quarantine Services, Ministry of Primary Resources & Tourism. 2. Halal Food Control Division, Ministry of Religious Affairs. 3. Food Safety & Quality Control Division, Ministry of Health. (Ministry of Health, 2018)

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Brunei Halal certification and its processes are unique to the nation; a small nation with a strong determination to join the race in the global halal industry, with halal certification at the heart and soul of the effort. As the country independently developed its halal standards and processes, challenges help redefine the procedures and improve the efficiency of the processes.

4 Challenges and opportunities Negotiating between a religious standard and business practicality in issuing halal certificates is a difficult task. Given the recognition of Brunei Halal in different countries (as cited in this chapter by many researchers and practitioners), the country is confident in its stand on upholding stringent standards. However, local businesses believe that Brunei Halal standards are relatively strict compared to neighbouring countries’ certifiers, which forces them to pursue certification from abroad (Khalid et al., 2016). Evidence leads to the conclusion that halal standards and inspection procedures of the region’s certifiers can be significantly different in some areas (Khalid et al., 2016), depending on their interpretation of the Shari’a halal framework and their meticulousness in adhering to the framework. The way forward for regional certifiers, as well as for Brunei Halal, is to openly discuss the differences. The fact that differences are cherished in Islamic tradition to a certain degree means that more room for mutual recognition between halal certifiers is necessary and essential for the benefit of global Muslim communities. Of similar importance is negotiating a regional pack to ensure the survival and competitiveness of local certifiers. In this case, Brunei may want to consider regulating local businesses in order to adopt the local halal logo. Global halal industries are lucrative and are becoming more competitive (as some reports suggest). Networks of halal certifying bodies are now an industry with critical functions expanding beyond issuing certification to include training resources, marketing their certifications and strategically collaborating with other certifiers. In light of the country’s aspiration to become a significant player in halal industries, it is timely to consider a strategic pack with compatible partners anywhere in the world to carve out the country’s own territory in halal certification and halal industry in general. The synergy from collaborating and partnering could also help Brunei to reflect and enhance the country’s halal certification processes, standards and governance. The governance of halal certification and its processes in Brunei are largely managed by government ministries, as stated elsewhere in this chapter. Perhaps more consultation among regulators, academics and stakeholders is needed to develop a better understanding of designing the appropriate regulatory framework and to generate incentives for existing businesses and new entrants in this market. While this is important to ensure strict control over the processes, it does create a barrier to efficiency, given the limited resources in light of the agencies’ large portfolios. The expansion of halal certification requirements

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in the food and beverages industry, for example, will demand more resources such as human resources, scientific tests and time to certify and audit restaurants and home bakers’ premises throughout the country. There is no doubt that the amendments in the regulatory structure are not only necessary but also timely to achieve the country’s objective in making Brunei a regional market for halal food. Nonetheless, the continuous improvement in the governance structure of halal certification will help to create an efficient business environment for Brunei to cater to the global demand for halal food products. Brunei could consider several alternatives in setting up the halal certification governing bodies or system. It is useful to study models from other countries and to analyse the costs and benefits of each model, and finally to choose the model that best fits the country’s business environment and government policies. This would provide a strong grounding for any possible future changes in governing bodies or adapting to technology advancement in any stage of the processes, as well as accommodating any amendment to the halal standard and certification or audit processes. Brunei’s current strategy of venturing more upmarket with its Brunei Halal brand is basically twofold. One, Brunei’s halal products are promoted and marketed by Ghanim International in the United Kingdom. Two, Brunei Halal certification is mainly going abroad through the brand’s exports, benefiting both entities at the same time. While the company does market the products, Brunei Halal certification and logo deserve greater highlighting in the process. This helps to create more awareness of the certification and logo, which could contribute to greater confidence and perceived credibility of the logo amongst consumers and businesses alike (Muhamad and Leong, 2017).

Conclusion Global demand for halal food products and services has increased significantly and is predicted to increase further in the coming years (Thomson Reuters, 2017). This increased demand is not only being generated in the majority of Muslim populated countries, but also in countries where Muslims are a minority. However, given the size of the population in China, India and parts of Latin America, the numbers are quite large. This has increased the global demand for halal food products. Obviously, the authenticity of halal is important for Muslim consumers, which makes the discussion on halal certification and the process involved in it extremely important. In this perspective, the main objective of this chapter is to discuss the role of Brunei Darussalam in turning itself into one of the main suppliers of halal food and services provider for halal certification. We have made an effort to provide a detailed discussion on the state of global demand as well as initiatives to encourage and facilitate local businesses and foreign investors in halal food and certification. Although Brunei Darussalam has a small population base and relatively small size of the halal domestic market, it has the potential to meet a sizeable portion

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of the global demand (Oxford Business Group, 2015). Brunei launched policies to promote the halal industry back in 2007–2009, but operational measures accelerated after 2010 as part of the Government’s focus on economic diversification. One important part of these initiatives is in the area of halal certification. The Government has been continuously amending and improving procedures and processes for halal certification and the halal permit (label). The purpose of these amendments is twofold. One, to ensure that the laws are strictly Shari’a (Islamic laws) compliant, and two, to facilitate local business as well as foreign investors to move into the halal business. These efforts have been able to change the business environment in general. Brunei’s ranking in ‘Ease of Doing Business’ has changed significantly from 105 in 2014 to 56 in 2017 out of a total of 190 countries (Trading Economics, 2018). Obviously, this also impacts the halal business. One important policy initiative was the establishment of Ghanim International to promote Brunei Halal as a brand as well as Brunei halal products in overseas markets, especially in the UK These efforts have resulted in a number of agreements and a memorandum of understanding from overseas investors and research institutes to co-invest in the halal area of research and development, processing and packaging of halal products and exploring markets in China, Russia and Brazil as well as in East Asia and the Gulf region. The above discussion does not mean that there are no issues in halal certification and marketing of halal products. Brunei still faces a number of challenges. These include the lack of consultation between stakeholders and regulators, educating local business with initiatives and incentives facilitating halal business, and exploring export markets and logistics to market halal products in the region. Challenges should be addressed on a priority basis to reap the benefits of policy initiatives and to achieve the goal of making Brunei Darussalam a hub for halal products and services. Halal certification is an important area in this direction and provides Brunei with an advantage over its competitors. In summary, Brunei is moving in the right direction in acquiring a significant presence in the halal industry, equipped with its highly valued halal certification standards. Brunei’s economic conditions and political stability are stronger than in many other countries in the region. This gives Brunei an obvious competitive advantage in advancing this industry as part of its goal to diversify the economy. With more refined strategies, hard work and blessing, Brunei Halal certification will be able to gain global recognition and earn a respectable place in global halal industries.

Notes 1 The discussion in this chapter follows the details presented in a project the authors were awarded by Economic Research Institute in ASEAN and East Asia (ERIA) on ‘Halal Meat and Meat Processing Products’. However, this chapter covers the topic of halal certification in a broader context.

96  Nazlida Muhamad et al. 2 The Muslim population is expected to increase from 1.8 billion in 2015 to around 3 billion by 2060. Currently, the Muslim population is around 24% of the world population, which is expected to increase to over 31% by 2060 (Lipka and Hackett, 2017). 3 According to Thomson Reuters (2017), Islamic finance asset market size is projected to increase from USD 2 trillion in 2015 to USD 3.5 trillion by 2021. 4 Ministry of Industry and Primary Resources (2010). 5 Marzuki (2012) reports that vendors at the Fifth International Halal Products Expo (IHPE) 2010 expressed their desire to see Southeast Asia deciding on one halal commercial brand, with the Brunei Halal brand logo as their preferred seal. 6 It is interesting to note that halal initiatives in Thailand are not Malay–Muslim-based policies but a Thai government initiative with a view to making Thailand a hub for halal products. 7 See more on this in Halal Standard Institute of Thailand (n.d.). 8 See Halal Standard Institute of Thailand (n.d.). 9 Most of the information reported in this section is taken from a comprehensive report published by Thomson Reuters (2015). 10 After a successful Thai halal products fair, the ambassador of Thailand shared that Brunei has a much-coveted halal standard with strict regulations that can help to make sure that goods produced in Thailand will be accepted as halal globally (Shen, 2015). Ma Kaixian, deputy chairman of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC), Yunnan Provincial Committee said, ‘We think that Brunei’s standards for halal certification are quite strict and aligned with Islamic teachings’ (Shen, 2015). 11 In June, Philippine Ambassador to Brunei, Meynardo Montealegre said that officials from the National Commission on Muslim Filipinos recently met with Brunei authorities to discuss areas of cooperation (Shen, 2015). 12 Syariah is the local spelling of ‘Shari’a’ (Islamic law) in Brunei.   13 These details are available in Oxford Business Group (2015). 14 At the time of publication of this volume, most of the concerns raised above are addressed by the government thus reducing the cost. For more details see Khalid et al. (2018). 15 These details are taken from the Borneo Bulletin (2017). For more details, please refer to the source as indicated here. 16 Chapter 183 detailed the rules for halal meat in the main document called The Laws of Brunei, revised edition, published in 2014. For details, see Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2014b).

Bibliography Abdul Alim, E. (2017). Thailand, Malaysia wooing Cambodia’s nascent halal food industry. Retrieved from http://www.salaamgateway.com/en/story/SALAAM26072017115807/ on 2 October 2017. Azney, Azil (2017). How to get your products or business Halal certified, published in Biz-Brunei, posted on March 17, 2017. Retrieved from https://www.bizbrunei.com/ get-product-business-halal-certified-brunei/ on 11 May 2018. Borneo Bulletin (2017a). Halal certification compulsory for all in F&B business, 14 July 2017. Retrieved from https://borneobulletin.com.bn/halal-certification-compulsory-fbbusiness/ on 26 April 2018. Borneo Bulletin (2017b). Halal sector rakes in big bucks. Retrieved from http://borneobulletin. com.bn/halal-sector-rakes-in-big-bucks/ on 20 September 2017.

B runei Halal certification  97 Borneo Bulletin Yearbook (2018). The Brunei-Guangxi Economic Corridor (BGEC) established in 2014 is one of the largest bilateral projects between Brunei Darussalam and China, 1 April 2018. Retrieved from http://borneobulletinyearbook.com.bn/bioinnovation-investment-opportunities/ on 26 April 2018. Brunei Darussalam Government Gazette (1998). Emergency Halal Meat Order, 1998. Retrieved from http://www.kheu.gov.bn/SiteCollectionDocuments/Pautan%20 Pilihan/BKMH/Halal%20Meat%20Rules,%201999.pdf on 27 April 2018. Brunei Economic Development Board (BEDB) website. (2018). Retrieved from http:// www.bedb.com.bn/invest-halal on 14 April 2018. Brunei Halal (2012). Brunei Halal Foods, Ghanim International Corporation Sdn Bhd. Retrieved from http://www.brunei-Halal.com/ on 30 January 2016. Bruneihalalfoods (2017). Ghanim unveils new products. Retrieved from http://bruneihalal.com/ghanim-unveils-new-products/ on 27 April 2018. Central Lab Thai (n.d.). Thai Halal Act. Retrieved from http://www.centrallabthai.com/ web/en/main/content.php?page=content&category=38&id=278 on 3 October 2017. Cochrane, Paul (2016). Overview _ Thailand’s $6 bln halal food market, report published in ‘Salam’. Retrieved from https://www.salaamgateway.com/ar/story/overviewthailands_6_ bln_halal_food_market-salaam17022016053825/ on 19 April 2018. Gound, Blake (2015). The rise of ‘halal hubs’ represents an Islamic finance opportunity, Report published in BankingTech, 22 September 2015. Retrieved from https://www. bankingtech.com/2015/09/the-rise-of-halal-hubs-represents-an-islamic-financeopportunity/ on 26 April 2018. Halal Food Information Center (2013a). About Thai Halal. Retrieved from http://www. thaihalalfoods.com/EN/about.php on 2 October 2017. Halal Food Information Centre (2013b). Exportation of Thailand’s Halal Food, Thailand Halal Food Industry. Retrieved from http://www.thehalalfood.info/EN/industry-thai. php?id=13 on 19 April 2018. Halal Industry Development Corporation (2013). Why HDC? Retrieved from http:// www.halalpark.com.my/publisher/halal_park_why_hdc on 2 October 2017. Halal Industry Development Corporation (HDC). (2018). Retrieved from http://www. hdcglobal.com/publisher/about on 21 April 2018. Halal Research Council (n.d.). Thailand Halal Process. Retrieved from http://www.halalrc. org/reports.php on 3 October 2017. Halal Standard Institute of Thailand (2017). Halal products standard certification process. Retrieved from http://www.halalrc.org/images/Research%20Material/Report/Halal% 20Product%20Standards%20Products.pdf on 19 April 2018. http://www.kheu.gov.bn/SiteCollectionDocuments/Pautan%20Pilihan/BKMH/ Brunei%20Darussalam%20Standard%20PBD%2024%202007%20for%20Halal%20Food. pdf on 4 September 2017. IMT-GT (2017a). IMT-GT Vision 2036. Retrieved from https://www.adb.org/sites/ default/files/related/72271/imt-gt-vision-2036.pdf on 15 April 2018. IMT-GT (2017b). IMT-GT Implementation Blueprint 2017–2021. Retrieved from https://www.adb.org/sites/default/files/related/41543/imt-gt-implementationblueprint-2017-2021.pdf on 15 April 2018. Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia (2014). Malaysian Halal Certification Procedure Manual. Retrieved from http://www.halal.gov.my/v4/index.php?data=bW9kdWxlcy9uZXdz Ozs7Ow==&utama=panduan&ids=gp4 on 2 October 2017.

98  Nazlida Muhamad et al. Khalid, A. M., Masairol M. and Nazlida M. (2018). “Brunei Darussalam: Halal meat and meat products processing,” in Reducing Unnecessary Regulatory Burdens in ASEAN: Country Studies edited by Jeremy Gross and Ponciano Intal, Jr, Economic Research Institute for ASEAN and East Asia, 89–117. Khalid, A. M., Muhamad, N., Masri, M. and Pang, W. L. (2016). Reducing Unnecessary Regulatory Burdens on Business: Brunei Halal Meat and Meat Processing Industry (Country Report). Research Institute for ASEAN and East Asia (ERIA). Latif, I. A., Mohamed, Z., Sharifuddin, J., Abdullah, A. M. and Ismail, M. M. (2014). A Comparative Analysis of Global Halal Certification Requirements. Journal of Food Products Marketing, 20(sup1), 85–101. Lipka, M and Hackett, C. (2017). Why Muslims Are the World’s Fastest-Growing Religious Group, Fact Tank, Pew Research Centre. Retrieved from http://www.pewresearch. org/fact-tank/2017/04/06/why-muslims-are-the-worlds-fastest-growing-religiousgroup/ on 6 April 2017. Malaysia International Halal Showcase (MIHAS) (2017). MIHAS Overview. Retrieved from http://mihas.com.my/about/the-malaysia-international-halal-showcase-mihas/ on 2 October 2017. Marzuki, S. Z. S. (2012). Understanding Restaurant Managers’ Expectations of Halal Certification in Malaysia, PhD thesis in Management submitted at University of Canterbury, U.K. Retrieved from https://ir.canterbury.ac.nz/bitstream/handle/10092/ 6867/thesis_fulltext.pdf;sequence=2 on 14 April 2018. Ministry of Health, Brunei Darussalam (2018). Importation of Fresh Halal Meat. Retrieved from http://www.moh.gov.bn/SitePages/Fresh%20Meat%20Import.aspx on 27 April 2018. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2005). Halal Certificate and Halal Label Order 2005. Retrieved from http://www.agc.gov.bn/AGC%20Images/LOB/Order/ DEF/Halal%20Certificate%20and%20Halal%20Label%20Order%202005%20(S39).pdf on 8 September 2017. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2007a). Brunei Darussalam Standard PBD 24: 2007 Halal Food. Retrieved from http://www.memi.gov.bn/Shared%20 Documents/Piawaian%20Brunei%20Darussalam%20%28PBD%29/PBD%2024%20%20 -%202007%20Halal%20Food.pdf on 1 August 2019. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2007b). Guideline for Halal Certification BCG HALAL 1: 2007. Retrieved from http://www.kheu.gov.bn/ SiteCollectionDocuments/Pautan%20Pilihan/BKMH/Guideline%20for%20Halal%20 Certification%20BCG%20HALAL%201.pdf on 4 September 2017. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2014a). Brunei Halal Meat Act 1998 Chapter 183 (S30/98). Retrieved from www.agc.gov.bn/AGC%20Images/LOB/ PDF%20(EN)/cap183.pdf on 8 September 2017. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2014b). Laws of Brunei Chapter 183: Halal Meat, S30/1998, 2000 Edition, Chapter 183, Amended by GN 274/2002, S 58/2010, Revised Edition 2014. Retrieved from http://www.agc.gov.bn/AGC%20 Images/LOB/PDF%20(EN)/cap183.pdf on 27 April 2018. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (2017). Halal Certificate and Halal Label Amendment Order 2017. Retrieved from https://www.brudirect.com/news. php?id=27874 on 4 September 2017. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (n.d.). 6 List of Guidelines. Retrieved from http://behalal.gov.bn/12GarisPanduan/Garispanduan on 4 September 2017.

B runei Halal certification  99 Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (n.d.). Application of Halal Certificate and Halal Permit. Retrieved from http://www.kheu.gov.bn/SitePages/Permohonan%20 Sijil%20Halal%20dan%20Permit%20Halal.aspx on 4 September 2017. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (n.d.). Procedure to Apply for Halal Certificate or Halal Permit. Retrieved from http://behalal.gov.bn/12GarisPanduan/ ProsedurMemohonSijilHalalDanPermitHalal# on 5 September 2017. Ministry of Religious Affairs Brunei Darussalam (n.d.). Procedure to Apply for Halal Meat Certification and Halal Permit. Retrieved from http://behalal.gov.bn/12GarisPanduan/ ProsedurMemohonSijilPenyembelihan on 5 September 2017. Mohammad Khairi Ihsannudin Isnon Bin Ismail (2017). Halal Certification in Brunei Darussalam. Halal Food Control Division, Department of Syariah Affairs, Ministry of Religious Affairs, Brunei Darussalam (powerpoint presentation). Morlyn-Yron, Sophie (2016). Halal Industry Takes Off in Brunei, CNN Interview of Ibrahim Badawi, Executive Chairman, Brahim’s Holdings Berhad, Malaysia. Retrieved from https://edition.cnn.com/2016/08/29/world/halal-industry/index.html on 26 April 2018. Muhamad, N., Leong, V. S. and Md-Isa, N. (2017). Does the Country of Origin of a Halal Logo Matter? The Case of Packaged Food Purchases. Review of International Business and Strategy, 27(4), 484–500. Muhamed, M. (2016). Opening Ceremony World Halal Week 2016. Kuala Lumpur. Retrieved from http://www.miti.gov.my/index.php/dl/563068584d6a41784e6c3950513139546 2476c6b5a584d756348423065413d3d on 11 May 2018. Muslimin, A. (2017). Young Southeast Asian Muslim Women Are More Religious yet More Progressive, Study Finds. Forbes. Retrieved from https://www.forbes.com/sites/ anismuslimin/2017/11/27/study-finds-young-southeast-asian-muslim-women-morereligious-yet-more-progressive/#2a0c862d1eb3 on 11 May 2018. Oxford Business Group (2015). Brunei Darussalam’s Halal Industry Generating Investor Appetite, 15 September 2015. Retrieved from https://oxfordbusinessgroup.com/news/ brunei-darussalam%E2%80%99s-halal-industry-generating-investor-appetite on 27 April 2018. Religious Council Brunei Darussalam (2007). Guideline for Halal Certification BCG Halal 1. Retrieved from http://www.kheu.gov.bn/SiteCollectionDocuments/Pautan%20 Pilihan/BKMH/Guideline%20for%20Halal%20Certification%20BCG%20 HALAL%201.pdf on 27 April 2018. Religious Council Brunei Darussalam (2010). Brunei Darussalam Guidelines for Manufacturing and Handling of Halal Medicinal Products, Traditional Medicines and Health Supplements GD24:2010. First Edition. Retrieved from http://apps.who.int/ medicinedocs/documents/s18036en/s18036en.pdf on 5 September 2017. Royal Thai Embassy, Riyadh Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (n.d.). Muslim in Thailand. Retrieved from http://www.thaiembassy.org/riyadh/th/organize/29025-Muslim-inThailand.html on 2 October 2017. Shen, Koo Jin (2015). Brunei’s Halal Brand gets a Boost, Halal Focus, 23 December 2015. Retrieved from http://halalfocus.net/22386-2/ on 26 April 2018. Tempo.co (2017). Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand Discuss about Halal Products. Retrieved from http://en.tempo.co/read/news/2017/08/15/056899969/Indonesia-MalaysiaThailand-Discuss-About-Halal-Products. Jawatankuasa (Committees’) in October 2017. Thailand Board of Investment (2016). Thailand Gears Up to Become the World’s Food Innovation Hub, Report published in Thailand Investment Review. Retrieved from http://www.boi.go.th/upload/content/TIR_JULY_82855.pdf on 15 April 2018.

100  Nazlida Muhamad et al. Thomson Reuters (2015). State of the Global Islamic Economy Report 2015/16. Report developed and Produced by Thomson Reuters. Thomson Reuters (2017). State of the Global Islamic Economy Report 2016/17. Report developed and Produced by Thomson Reuters. Trading Economics (2018). Ease of Doing Business in Brunei 2008–2018. Retrieved from https://tradingeconomics.com/brunei/ease-of-doing-business on 28 April 2018. Wikipedia (2018a). Islam in Southeast Asia. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Islam_in_Southeast_Asia on 14 April 2018. Wikipedia (2018b). Religion in Thailand. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Religion_in_Thailand on 15 April 2018. Zakaria, Z. and Ismail, S. Z. (2014). The Trade Description Act 2011: Regulating Halal in Malaysia. Presented at the International Conference on Law, Management and Humanities, Bangkok. Retrieved from https://doi.org/10.15242/ICEHM.ED0614020 on 11 May 2018. ZICO (2017). Legal Alert- Brunei: New Requirements on Halal Certification and Permits. Retrieved from http://zico.group/blog/new-requirements-halal-certification-permit/ on 27 April 2018 on 26 October 2017.

Chapter 5

Consumer goods and the role of science in the halal industry in Southeast Asia Nura Fazira Noor Azam, Syazana Abdullah Lim, Nur Diyanah Matassan and Minhaz Uddin Ahmed 1

Introduction Food is essential for human beings. For Muslims, it is of prime importance that the food they consume is ‘halal’. Halal products are expected to be free from prohibited ingredients or components as mentioned and/or recorded in the Qur’an (the scriptures for Muslims) and the Hadith (the collection of way of life and teachings of Prophet Muhammad). Although the term ‘halal’ is typically associated with food products and beverages, it also applies to other products such as pharmaceutical products, cosmetics and banking methods (Annabi and Ibidapo-Obe, 2017; Borzooei and Asgari, 2014; Dollah et al., 2012). The global halal or Islamic market has been expanding rapidly over the years and it is estimated that the total value of the market could reach USD 3tn by 2021 (Thomson Reuters, 2016). The largest contributor to this halal industry is the food and beverages sector, constituting about 17% of the market. By 2021, it is predicted to increase by 9%. This increase is predominantly due to the growth of the Muslim population, which presently numbers around 2.18bn. As the number of Muslims continues to escalate, the demand for halal products and/or Muslim-friendly services is also growing. Because halal products are regarded as cleaner, healthier and safer – as highlighted by Islamic law – than their non-halal counterparts, halal products have equally piqued the interest of non-Muslim consumers (Ambali and Bakar, 2014; Lubis et al., 2016). Unfortunately, there are genuine concerns with respect to the originality of halal labels on food and cosmetics, particularly with issues regarding the substitution of ingredients with non-permissible components such as pork and its derivatives. For instance, in pharmaceutical industries, capsules for medicine are typically made of porcine skin. The manufacturers of these products used porcine skin as a replacement since it is economical and can be obtained easily (Aida et al., 2005). This has become a worldwide concern, especially in countries where Muslims are a minority. Hence, researchers around the globe are working towards delivering the requirements for Muslims and actively developing methods to ensure the authenticity of halal products.

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In Southeast Asia, some countries are densely populated with Muslims, especially Brunei Darussalam, Indonesia and Malaysia. Thus, there is a colossal market for halal products in order to fulfil the needs of the Muslim community in accordance with Islamic law. Based on fieldwork in Islamic science universities in Malaysia, Johan Fischer explored how Islamic science conditions and is conditioned by halal in Malaysia and some broader tendencies that this reflects. Important aspects examined were the roles of technology and techniques in halal research and funding for this research within the framework of Islamic science in Malaysia. This study formed part of a larger research project with the title Islam, Standards and Technoscience: In Global Halal Zones (2015). ‘Zones’ explained how the global market for halal comprises divergent zones with a particular focus on Southeast Asia, in which halal is subjected to new and scientific governing practices. With the revival of interest in Islam from the 1970s onwards, Southeast Asian Islamisation efforts included Islamic religious education and research. The unprecedented boosting of Islamic education and research led to increased numbers of government-funded primary and secondary religious schools, and tertiary Islamic education also expanded. Islamic faculties in local public universities were enlarged and new Islamic university colleges were established to cater to the student population specialising in Islamic education. It is in this context that we look at Islamic science and halal in the following sections. The more halal proliferates as a globalised religious market, the more scientific modes and methods of production and traceability become important for producers, traders, the state, researchers and consumers. The increased focus on such methods to verify commodities as halal based on Islamic science, technology, and techniques constantly expands the requirements to cover new types of commodities and practices. At the same time, the fusion of religion, science and technology is inseparable from state support and funding. Modern forms of halal research challenge and reconfigure what are often considered separate secular realms of the state and politics, on the one hand, and the intimacy of religious life and expression, on the other. This chapter is written to highlight recent scientific advances by researchers in Southeast Asia that contribute to the halal industry.

1 Halal regulations according to Shari’a (Islamic law) ‘Halal’ means lawful or permitted and it is derived from an Arabic word ‘halla’ (Annabi and Ibidapo-Obe, 2017). Products, especially food and beverages, containing haram constituents even in trace amounts are not considered halal. The regulation of halal and haram is not specifically only applicable to consumable products, but also to other aspects of living for Muslims such as dress code and socialising (Riaz and Chaudry, 2003). Nevertheless, this chapter is focused only on consumable products such as food and pharmaceuticals, as well as cosmetics.

C onsumer goods and the role of science   103

Haram or unlawful components of food are mainly those that consist of carrion, pork and all of its derivatives; slaughtered animals not compliant with Islamic law, such as those slaughtered without pronouncing the name of Allah (God) and/or slaughtered invoking names other than that of Allah; intoxicants (i.e. alcohol and drugs); blood (coagulated or flowing); some land animals (e.g. snakes); and predator birds and other carnivorous animals (Khattak et al., 2011; Lubis et al., 2016). Seafood (including fish) is generally considered halal, but some sea animals such as molluscs and crustaceans are said to be makrooh2 (disliked, discouraged or reprehensible) by some Islamic scholars (Regenstein et al., 2014; Riaz and Chaudry, 2003). Meanwhile, blood plasma is one of the common additives for meat products, as it has splendid emulsification and gelation features (Nakyinsige et al., 2012). However, there are two kinds of blood permitted for consumption as mentioned in a Hadith3 and they are the blood from the spleen and the liver (Fanous, 2010). There are certain guidelines for slaughtering animals according to Islamic law: the animal must be halal and alive¸ the person who slaughters them must be a Muslim and sane, the person must invoke Allah’s name (‘Bismillah’, which means ‘in the name of God’, is sufficient) during the process of slaughtering and the person must quickly cut the carotids, jugular, trachea, and oesophagus using a sharp knife (Khattak et al., 2011; Soon et al., 2017; see Figure 5.1).  Halal products must be labelled properly in order to convince the consumer of the products’ halal-ness and to guarantee their safety and hygiene. There are agencies established with the purpose of handling the labelling and verifying of halal-labelled products such as Halal Food Control Division, Ministry of Religious Affairs (MORA, Brunei), The Indonesian Council of Ulama (MUI, Indonesia) and Department of Islamic Development Malaysia (JAKIM, Malaysia). It is essential for the halal industry, especially food and other consumable products, to procure the halal permit and halal labels from the relevant agency.

Figure 5.1 Simplified procedures for the production and packaging of halal foods.

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2 Scientific advancement in the halal industry Consumers often agonise over food products as to whether they contain haram ingredients or not, especially Muslims who live in the countries where they are the minority. The most common adulterant/contaminant found in food is pork and/or its derivatives. Even if the raw meat is from a halal species, depending on the location of the abattoir, it could be molecularly contaminated by trace amounts of forbidden meat. In 2016, Shahdan, a Malaysian microbiologist, and her colleagues suggested six focal points which should be supervised critically for slaughtering poultry in a halal manner, from selecting the halal animal species to the post-slaughter treatment of handling the meat (Shahdan et al., 2016). They referred to the Qur’an and Hadith and they have assessed the prevalent halal slaughtering methods as their benchmark for these guidelines. These points include breeding and wellbeing of the poultry, movement restriction in order to facilitate the slaughter, method of slaughter, bleeding out period, and cleaning and packaging of the meat products. Due to the great emphasis that has been placed on religious dietary law for Muslims, researchers around the globe are actively working to develop novel product innovations with the aim of providing alternatives to non-halal ingredients and improved packaging. This is to ensure that products remain halal and wholesome by the time they reach consumers. Furthermore, these studies will assist in the determination and detection of constituents used in products that are labelled ‘halal’ to corroborate the authenticity of the labels. This is a huge issue for Muslims and Jews. Hence the publication of methods for detecting meat species in food which has flourished over the past decades, which will be further discussed in section 3.4. It is important to acknowledge that, although much research on halal has been published, this chapter is dedicated solely to work undertaken in Southeast Asia. 2.1 Alternative ingredients 2.1.1 Gelatine

Gelatine is made up of cellulose and is normally obtained from animal skins and bones (usually bovine and porcine). In the food industry, gelatine is typically used as stabiliser, foaming and gelling agents, according to a team of food biopolymer researchers from Malaysia (Karim and Bhat, 2008). Despite its beneficial functions in food processing, there are concerns regarding the origin of the gelatine such as unlawful slaughtering method of the cattle and the presence of forbidden animals (i.e. pigs). In addition, a group of Indonesian researchers have affirmed that there is an issue of mad cow disease in cattle (Ki et al., 2014). Hence, researchers have been working on different alternatives as the source of gelatine.

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Previously, according to a Malaysian published report, there was a limited choice of products used as a substitute for pork-based gelatine, such as gelatine from cold/warm-water fish, polysaccharides, and mixed polysaccharidessourced thermo-reversible gel (Karim and Bhat, 2008). Nevertheless, reports from different regions of Southeast Asia on alternatives for conventionally sourced gelatine from plant, sea animals and other halal animals are widely published in English and some are available in Malay. Rachycentron canadum (Cobia), a type of saltwater fish, was used in a Malaysian study based on cobia skin gelatine (CG) to determine its characteristics to replace bovine gelatine (BG) (Amiza et al., 2015). The group found that CG acquired lower water holding capacity but higher fat binding capacity when compared to BG. At 1% concentration, their foaming and emulsifying properties were the same as BG. However, it did require at least 2% of CG for gelation, whereas BG only required 1%. Despite this small shortfall of CG in contrast with BG, cobia skin gelatine still has a potential as a halal substitute for conventional gelatine. Another interesting marine animal-based gelatine is from shrimp shell. Since shrimps are widely consumed with the shell removed, leaving large amounts of shell available, this can provide a low-cost alternative for gelatine replacement. Recently, Indonesian researchers optimised the extraction of gelatine from shrimp shell by using 9% HCl for 3 hours at 70°C, producing a high-yield output (Ki et al., 2014). In similar efforts, fish body parts such as snappers’ scales, spotted oceanic triggerfish’s skin and bones, the skins of different kinds of catfish, snakeheads, Nila fish, stingray and white cheek shark were used as raw materials for gelatine and for the study of potential bovine/porcine gelatine substitutes (Arpi and Edward, 2016; Faradiella et al., 2017; Ratnasari et al., 2013; Ratnasari, 2016; Suryanti et al., 2016). Jellyfish were also investigated to unveil their potential use as a gelatine substitute (Rodsuwan et al., 2016). Abdullah and his colleagues in Malaysia studied shanks and toes of chickens (CST) to be employed as raw materials for gelatine production (Abdullah et al., 2016). In a comparison of their product with commercially available bovine gelatine, they established that gelatine from CST exhibited better gelation properties than commercial gelatines. Moreover, they showed that CST also has pharmaceutical uses – as an ingredient for medicine capsules, for instance. In another study carried out by a group of Indonesian researchers, gelatine from goat skin was shown to possess similar properties and gel strength to porcine gelatine (Said et al., 2012). Apart from animal skins and bones, plants can also be a source of gelatine. According to a report collaboratively published by a group of researchers from Malaysia, Indonesia and Saudi Arabia, waste from six different tropical fruits was selected to determine the highest pectin yield (Jaswir et al., 2016), which turned out to be from mango peel. The pectin extracted from mango peel was observed to have an excellent gelling property. This can provide an alternative budget-friendly substitute for gelatine in jam.

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2.1.2 Enzymes

Enzymes are catalysts which facilitate biological reactions and have been widely used in food production as well as scientific research. In the food-processing industry, enzymes are commonly employed, especially in cheese production and baking. Their functions include enhancement of flavours and stabilisation of food for storage. Confirming the halal status of enzymes used as food ingredients is challenging due to the complexity involved in determining their origin. It is vital to ascertain the source of enzymes, since conventionally enzymes originate from either plants or animals, because an issue arises if the enzymes were extracted from pork and/or its derivatives. Consequently, substitutes for those enzymes from animals have been and are currently studied. Amylomaltase, an enzyme extracted from Corynebacterium glutamicum, was studied as a freeze-thaw stabiliser in cassava starch with the aim of using it as a replacement for gelatine, as proposed by researchers in Thailand (Suriyakul Na Ayudhaya et al., 2016). As claimed by a group of scientists from China and Malaysia, α-amylase (AmyA1) was shown to improve the quality of bread, as it enhances the hardness and springiness of the bread (He et al., 2017). AmyA1 was extracted from Antarctic psychrotolerant fungus and used to yield fermented sugar, which was later used by the yeast. In addition, a group of Indonesian researchers specialising in animal science claimed that animal feed quality can be refined using mannanase obtained from thermophilic bacteria isolated from a hot spring (Marlida et al., 2013). Mannanase is an enzyme with extensive application in diverse industries. This is due to its ability to hydrolyse hemicelluloses as confirmed by a group of Indian researchers (Chauhan et al., 2012). A team of Indonesian scientists have proclaimed that rennin enzyme extracted from Mucor miehei originating from rice bran molasses was corroborated to have a potential to replace the rennin extracted from cows (Rusdan and Kusnadi, 2017). Rennin is used in the production of mozzarella cheese. Pectinase is an enzyme often added during fruit and vegetable extraction, coffee bean fermentation, etc. Orange and banana peels were chosen and the pectinase from the selected peels was acquired and studied by another group of researchers from Indonesia for its pectinolytic activities (Amilia et al., 2017). The highest activity occurred from pectinase produced by Penicillium segregated from orange peels and is, therefore, of benefit to the food industry. 2.1.3 Cosmetics and pharmaceuticals

Cosmetics, supplement tablets and health products sometimes contain animal derivatives. Muslim consumers are often concerned about the halal status of food constituents, so alternative ingredients derived from plants are being studied intensively. For instance, in Thailand, researchers are looking at various plants and their properties in order to be used in cosmetics and personal

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hygiene products. Fruit-based plant products such as mango seed kernel were demonstrated to have antioxidant properties comparable with conventional ingredients (Namngam and Pinsirodom, 2017). Passion fruit seed extract was determined to be able to protect the skin from harmful ultraviolet A (UVA) and ultraviolet B (UVB) rays, which can cause premature skin ageing and development of skin cancer. Meanwhile, tea seed oil proved more effective in removing make-up than conventional removers (Lourith et al., 2017; Parnsamut et al., 2017). Other plants such as marigold flowers, jasmine rice and Cassia fistula flowers are some of the potential alternative ingredients in anti-ageing cream (Kanlayavattanakul et al., 2016; Leelapornpisid et al., 2014; Limtrakul et al., 2016). Rubber seed oil was reported by a team of Malaysian researchers to be a potential substitute for natural oil in formulating lipstick due to its moisturising properties (Nian-Yiana et al., 2014). Dimocarpus longan, commonly known as longan, a type of tropical fruit peel, was determined to possess natural antioxidant properties and can be used as a component in cosmetics (Muthukumarasamy et al., 2016). A group of Indonesian researchers investigated green tea to examine its ability for hair growth enhancement activity and they successfully confirmed their hypothesis when green tea encouraged hair growth activity in rats (Amin et al., 2014). Langsat (Lansium parasiticum), another tropical fruit, was studied by a separate team of researchers in Indonesia for its medicinal and cosmetics applications. It was reported that its bark in powdered form can be used as poultices for scorpion stings, its seeds (mashed) can be used as a fever remedy, and its styptic bark can be applied to patients with malaria (Tilaar et al., 2008). In Brunei Darussalam, researchers investigated medicinal properties of plants that typically grow in the country. Antimicrobial, antioxidant and antiinflammatory and anticancer properties were studied. Lesser galangal (Alpinia officinarum) was found to possess strong medicinal properties, whereas essential oils extracted from Etlingera fimbriobracteata were determined to be rich in antimicrobial properties (Basri et al., 2017; Ud-Daula et al., 2016). Khaing, a researcher from Myanmar, has evidently determined the antifungal and antioxidant attributes of the leaves of Aloe vera (Khaing, 2011). However, further scientific investigation is still needed in order to confirm the potential of such plants before they can be used as replacements in the pharmaceutical industry. 2.1.4 Packaging

The term ‘halal’ can be explained through the context of cleanliness and it includes every aspect of hygiene, such as personal hygiene, use of equipment and utensils as well as premises. Generally, halal food requires being prepared in the utmost hygienic manner in which food must be free from any sort of contamination (which includes food pathogens, e.g. Salmonella, and haram contaminants such as alcohol and pork) that could be detrimental to people’s

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health. There are many cases of infection outbreaks and foodborne illnesses occurring due to the mishandling of food products. These can be prevented by segregating raw food products by means of food packaging. Once food is processed, screened and assured for its halal-ness, products should be appropriately packed to secure the wholesomeness of the product and to avert any unlawful (haram) contaminants. In this technological era, producing smart and biodegradable food packaging are two important attributes used in food packaging employing modified biopolymer4 as a composite film. However, there is an issue in cases of biopolymers developed from prohibited resources such as porcine parts and/or the parts from animals not slaughtered according to Islamic law. The next section highlights research studies on constituents derived from halal (lawful) animals, plants and synthetic materials and employed in the production of composite film, used as a component in food packaging. Carrageenan, other plant-based polymers and chitosan are some of the biological compounds that are being analysed by researchers with a view to their use as substitutes in food packaging. Several modifications such as incorporation with nanomaterials and plant-derived essential oils on biopolymers as reinforcement materials have also been reported. Numerous materials can be added to polymers using various methods to reinforce or improve these polymers. For instance, in Indonesia the effect of amalgamating green tea extract into an edible film made from jack bean flour was studied. It was reported from Indonesia that, with the incorporation of green tea (extracted at 100 °C), the antioxidant property of the edible film has significantly improved (Lindriati et al., 2015). Additionally, the film as also proved to be able to extend the shelf life of foods rich in fats, since it helps to delay the process of discolouration and rancidity. Low or reduced moisture content of the packaging film was considered desirable by these researchers, as this helps to prolong the shelf life of food products. When kappa-carrageenan was integrated with different essential oils, it was determined that corn oil exhibited the best rigidity and smoothness for the film, as recently stated by a group of Malaysian researchers (Nur Fatin Nazurah and Nur Hanani, 2017). Incorporation of carrageenan with essential oils was shown to improve the water barrier property. In Malaysia, wheat-based film was investigated for its antimicrobial property after being intermixed with lysozymes (Khairuddin et al., 2017). It was deduced that after the incorporation with lysosomes, there was an improvement in strength and flexibility. This team of researchers also explored the possibility of edible composite films to develop environmentally friendly packaging. Meanwhile, in Indonesia, fibres from pineapple leaves were examined for their potential as a filler in food packaging film (Nikmatin et al., 2015). It has been determined that the resulting film had high tensile strength and low light absorption ability, with excellent oxygen barrier properties, and that these contributed to longer shelf lives of the products they protect.

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Another potential component introduced in food packaging film was predried and pulverised green banana (Orsuwan et al., 2016). The resulting powder was subsequently mixed with agar powder. Fortification of the mixture with silver nanoparticles (AgNPs) had led to a marked enhancement of UV screening and water resistance ability. Furthermore, the addition of AgNPs to the mixture refined the antibacterial properties of the resulting film. Orsuwan and Sothornvit (2017) further investigated the composite film made of banana powder (Orsuwan and Sothornvit, 2017). However, this time, they incorporated montmorillonite (MMT-Na+) and banana starch nanoparticles (BSNs) into the powder. By integrating MMT-Na+ and BSNs into the film, water vapour permeability and thermo-stability of the formed film were significantly improved. Chitosan is also a biopolymer with interesting properties such as non-toxicity and is eminently usable for producing film. Its properties are advantageous in food packaging research especially, including, importantly, that it reduces fungal and microbial contamination that otherwise would increase the rancidity of food products. Extracts from grapefruit seeds were mixed into the chitosan-based composite in order to further improve the antifungal and antimicrobial traits of the formed film, as determined by Singaporean researchers (Tan et al., 2015). Incorporating grapefruit seeds extract with chitosan resulted in film with outstanding storage ability and this subsequently increased the shelf life of food products. 2.2 Detection

A biosensor is an analytical instrument that uses biological components for detecting targets. In comparison with conventional methods of detection, biosensors have the advantages of being quick, easy to use, durable and portable. For the last ten years, many reports have published state-of-the-art techniques and strategies for the determination and detection of pork and/or its derivatives. One example is the development of screen-printed electrodes by BioDevice Technology Ltd., a company in Japan, in an effort to minimise the space and reduce the sample volumes required for the sensor (Razzak et al., 2015; Safavieh et al., 2016). Regardless of the detection strategy employed, high sensitivity and specificity are important criteria for the design and development of sensors. Despite the numerous developed detection methods, a review showed that only protein and DNA-based methods are used in the identification of meat species (Lubis et al., 2016). 2.2.1 DNA-based analysis 2.2.1.1 AMPLIFICATION OF DNA

DNA-based detection methods are normally coupled with DNA amplification techniques prior to the detection of target analytes. The purpose of target

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DNA amplification is to enhance the specificity of the detection, subsequently improving its sensitivity. Polymerase chain reaction (PCR), loop-mediated isothermal amplification (LAMP) and recombinase polymerase amplification (RPA) are a handful of approaches used for DNA or RNA amplification. PCR is probably one of the most conventional methods for amplifying target DNA; it normally takes about an hour to complete. Two distinct primers, polymerase, buffer, dNTPs and MgCl2 are required to perform a PCR reaction. A primer is a short oligonucleotide acting as a template for DNA synthesis. Technological advances, particularly in the United States, China and Japan, have meant that PCR has been further developed, enabling it to simultaneously detect multiple analytes, amplify RNA (reverse-transcriptase PCR [RT-PCR]) and analyse in real-time (qPCR). PCR-RFLP (polymerase chain reaction–restriction fragment length polymorphism) incorporates restriction digests, allowing cleaving of the resulting amplicons at a particular base pair. PCR-RFLP was employed by Indonesian workers to investigate porcine contamination in local meatballs (Erwanto et al., 2014). This qualitative method successfully detected porcine DNA in meatballs. In a recent publication from Malaysia, PCR-RFLP was used to target double genes instead of just a single gene (Hossain et al., 2016). The two genes were based on genes that can be found in mitochondrial DNA, namely cytochrome b and ND5. Further analysis in a cross-reactivity study, using multiple species including cow, buffalo and pig, showed that their primers were specific to the target genes, with virtually no cross-reactivity. In this work, their method detected down to 0.1% contamination by the target species. Simultaneous detection of different targets is indispensable to save time and labour, especially in field settings. Thus, Ali and colleagues from NanoCat (Nanotechnology and Catalysis Research Centre) in Malaysia undertook multiplex-based research, applying PCR as a platform for simultaneous determination of five haram meat species (Ali et al., 2015). The outcomes showed the efficiency of this method to distinguish all the species with a limit of detection of 0.01 ng for dog (Canis lupus familiaris), monkey (Macaca fascicularis) and rat (Rattus rattus); as for pig (Sus scrofa) and cat (Felis catus), the limit of detection was 0.02 ng. In addition, raw and cooked beef meatballs artificially spiked with 1% of all five species were effectively identified. A direct multiplex amplification performed by Kitpipit, Sittichan and Thanakiatkrai from Thailand utilised PCR as the amplification method (Kitpipit et al., 2014). Although they omitted the DNA extraction step from the study in order to simplify the process and shorten detection time, this strategy detected their five target species at levels as low as 12,500 mitochondrial DNA (mtDNA) copies. For qPCR technique, a fluorescent probe or a DNA binding dye is necessary as this method relies on the difference in fluorescence signal intensity, which is measured from the beginning of amplification until its completion. Commercially available probes such as a molecular beacon, TaqMan® (hydrolysis) probes, and dual hybridisation probes are available for the use with qPCR

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with SYBR® Green I being the most commonly used DNA binding dye. For example, in Malaysia, a molecular beacon was used as the probe in qPCR to determine the presence of porcine DNA in raw meats (Yusop et al., 2012). The sensitivity of their method is 0.0001 ng, and for binary mixtures, 0.1% (w/w) of porcine DNA can be detected. The TaqMan probe was selected by another team of Malaysian researchers to identify porcine DNA in food via qPCR and they have designed a primer set based on cytochrome b of the targeted DNA sequences (Ali et al., 2012). It was verified that the method is able to identify the target down to 0.01% of porcine in the binary mixture of beef meatballs. As mentioned, one of the merits of biosensors is the ability to produce prompt results, thus requiring less analysis time. As exemplified by Lubis and colleagues in Brunei Darussalam, detection time for 10 ng of porcine DNA was only about 10.70 min, including the DNA amplifying time. Here, an original qPCR probe named ZEN™ probe was implemented for analysing porcine DNA in food samples using qPCR (Lubis et al., 2017). A proportion of 0.001% (w/w) of pork was observable in pork–chicken binary mixture and the limit of detection of this study was 1 pg/μL porcine DNA. Besides the sensitivity, this method was also specific to pork and wild boar (same genus as pork). Coupling PCR with other techniques assists in the improvement of the overall performance of a DNA-based sensor, especially when dealing with short fragments of DNA such as DNA found in gelatine capsules, animal feeds and highly processed foods. A PCR-based approach was used by a research group in Malaysia and they combined it with a southern hybridisation system for the identification of porcine DNA in capsules made of gelatine (Mutalib et al., 2015). By combining the two procedures, the sensitivity was productively boosted. Initially, the porcine DNA extracted from the capsules could not be detected by gel electrophoresis after the amplification step. When using southern hybridisation, the DNA was distinctly identified as low as 1 pg when amplified using commercially available Olipro™ PORCINE Gene Chip primer. Besides the PCR amplification technique, loop-mediated isothermal amplification (LAMP) is another frequently chosen amplification method, as it only requires a single temperature for the duration of the whole process. This reduces the amount of energy required to complete the amplification process and is thus an economical detection procedure. An additional merit of this technique is that it can produce up to 109 copies of DNA in the presence of the required reagents. The resulting LAMP amplicons can later be detected via various mechanisms such as electrochemical and colorimetric analyses (Azam et al., 2018; Roy et al., 2015, 2017). The electrochemical method, making use of the principle of electrochemistry, is gaining in popularity in recent years due to its simplicity, ease of use and its potential for miniaturisation. By integrating linear sweep voltammetry

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(LSV) with LAMP, porcine, chicken and bovine ingredients were concurrently analysed and evaluated by Ahmed and colleagues in a collaborative research project between a university and a company in Japan (Ahmed et al., 2010). Anodic peak current was measured for the analysis that used a DNA binder called Hoechst 33258 (H33258) as a redox (reduction-oxidation) probe for detecting the presence or absence of the target species. H33258 interacted with the amplified DNA, consequently causing the reduction in the peak current. The corresponding limits of detection for porcine, chicken and bovine DNA were determined to be ~20.33 ng/μL, ~78.68 pg/μL and ~23.63 pg/μL. This strategy was faster than conventional multiplex-PCR, producing results in ~65 min, in contrast to ~90 min for the multiplex-PCR. Recent work by a Bruneian research group used ruthenium hexamine complex (Ru-Hex) as a mediator for the detection of porcine DNA on a graphene-modified carbon screen-printed electrode (SPE) (Roy et al., 2016b). In this study, square wave voltammetry (SWV) was designated as the voltammetric procedure targeting porcine and chicken species. Their designed primers were highly specific in the amplification of targets, with the resulting amplicons being identified. The sensitivity for porcine and chicken DNA was determined to be 0.1 ng/μL and 1 pg/μL, respectively. The Bruneian group stressed that the presence of porcine DNA was perceivable after 20 minutes into the amplification, implying that the designed method was fast compared to standard methods. The same group also designed an electrochemiluminescence (ECL)-based sensor where [Ru(bpy)3]2- or Tris(2,2ʹ-bipyridyl)di-chlororuthenium(II) hexahydrate ([Ru(bpy)3]Cl2) with the help of its co-reactant, TPrA (tripropylamine), was used as a luminophore (Roy et al., 2016c). Porcine DNA was first amplified using the LAMP method and then mixed with Tris-EDTA (TE) buffer and the luminophore for analysis. Porcine DNA was efficiently identified within 13.5 min, providing both qualitative and quantitative results. The sensitivity was as low as 1 pg/μL. Furthermore, Azam et al. (2018), from Brunei, devised a comparable ECL-based biosensor by making use of luminol’s capacity to emit light. Despite the absence of any oxidising agents or catalysts, luminol can emit an intense light and exhibit distinguishable signals in the presence or absence of target DNA with high specificity and sensitivity (down to 100 fg/µL) (see Figure 5.2).  In an attempt to provide a straightforward method for the detection of porcine DNA, Roy and her colleagues developed a strategy allowing the visualisation of LAMP amplicons by the naked eye. By manipulating the magnetic field, these researchers determined low porcine concentrations in food samples by performing LAMP reactions and examining the resulting amplicons on a paper using magnetic beads (MBs) (Roy et al., 2016a). In the presence of a magnetic field, aggregation between MBs and DNA molecules were formed and could be visualised. These MBs-DNA aggregations were stable even after the magnetic field was withdrawn. On the other hand, no aggregation was produced

Figure 5.2 DNA-based methods: (I) The schematic figure showing the chemistry of ZEN™ probe (Lubis et al., 2017). (II) Detection of DNA in solution via electrochemical method. A) Carbon (a, b) and graphene (c, d) electrodes were studied in the absence of salmon DNA (a, c) and the presence of salmon DNA (b, d). B) The cathodic peak current was distinguishably higher in the presence of porcine-specific LAMP amplicons as observed in (d). In contrast, the peak current in the absence of the target in lower (c). SWV technique was opted for all electrochemical-based studies. (Roy et al., 2016b). (III) Illustrative representation of the DNA-H33258 interaction on the DEP chip. The top inset represents illustration of the electrochemical signal. a) Electrons diffuse towards the electrode’s surface at a higher rate in the absence of DNA. (b) Due to the interaction of H33258 with DNA molecules, lower oxidation peak was observed. (c) Image of gel electrophoresis result of negative sample, N and positive sample, P are shown (Ahmed et al., 2010). (IV) Simplified diagram of the mechanism behind the ECL-based detection using [Ru(bpy)3]2+and TPrA for detecting target DNA. In the absence of the target analyte, the signal was high as the luminophore can diffuse freely and closely towards the surface of the carbon electrode. On the other hand, when DNA molecules are present in the solution, the signal is lower due to the interactions between the DNA molecules and [Ru(bpy)3]2+ which, therefore, obstruct the movement of the luminophore towards the electrode’s surface (Roy et al., 2016c).

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when the DNA strands were short. Roy et al. (2017) have further developed a paper-based colourimetric biosensor by employing a DNA-binding dye called leuco crystal violet (LCV). Only 2 µL of sample is required for the detection, and purple colour is displayed on the paper chip if the targeted DNA is present in the sample solution. This simple and portable biosensor has been proven capable of detecting the target DNA efficiently and selectively as levels as low as 1 pg/µL. 2.2.1.2 DNA HYBRIDISATION

Apart from DNA amplification, researchers additionally use the concept of DNA hybridisation in designing and developing novel mechanisms to enhance the sensitivity of biosensors. For example, a biosensor was developed using zinc (II) oxide (ZnO) thin films modified with gold nanoparticles (AuNPs) (Foo et al., 2016). To improve the sensitivity of their sensor, thiol-modified DNA probes were used. The complementary target DNA hybridised with the DNA probes and this hybridisation was observed using a dielectric analyser. A team of Malaysian engineers fabricated a biosensor involving an interdigitated electrode (IDE) (Nordin et al., 2016). Thin films of titanium oxide (TiO) were deposited on the surface of an IDE in order to improve the sensitivity of the sensor A limit of detection of 1 μM porcine DNA was achieved. A chemiluminescence optical genosensor was fabricated from UV-Vis silica fibre with overnight incubation of DNA capture probes (Torelli et al., 2017). The modified optical fibre was then dipped into the analytes-containing solution and measured for its chemiluminescence intensity to confirm the presence of target analyte. They were able to detect 8.6 pg of porcine DNA and 1% (w/w) of porcine DNA in a beef binary mixture using this genosensor. 2.2.2 Protein-based detection 2.2.2.1 IMMUNOSENSORS

Immunosensors are a type of biosensors that work by exploiting the ability of targeted proteins to act either as an antibody or an antigen. The three main types of immunosensors are optical, electrochemical and piezoelectric immunosensors, as presented by a Polish researcher in her paper (Kłos-Witkowska, 2016). Electrochemical immunosensors are a particularly preferable technique as they can be easily integrated into a suitable portable device with microfabrication technology, as mentioned in a Bruneian research paper (Lim and Ahmed, 2016b). Furthermore, electrochemical immunosensors are known to be highly sensitive and selective due to the favourable affinity of antibodies towards the target antigens (Lim and Ahmed, 2016a). A carbon nanofiber-modified SPE attached with an organic 4-carboxyphenyl layer was studied for quantitative determination of porcine serum albumin

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(PSA) (Lim and Ahmed, 2016b). Antibodies were covalently bound to the organic layer in a specific orientation to increase the possibility of target recognition and hence target binding. Furthermore, the nanofibre, used as the detection platform, increased the surface magnitude for the immobilisation of antibodies, and henceforth improved the detection potential of the sensor (Figure 5.3).  Enzyme-linked immunosorbent assay, or ELISA, as its name suggests, relies on the activity of enzymes and is often used to investigate the presence of an antibody or an antigen on a 96-well plate (Voller, 1978). It is a gold standard diagnostic tool in medical applications. In ELISA, monoclonal (MAbs) and polyclonal antibodies (PAbs) are usually used, since these contribute to the specificity and sensitivity of the method, whereas indirect ELISA is one of commonest ELISA formats. PAbs were chosen as antibodies in indirect ELISA for evaluating porcine gelatine adulteration in edible bird nests by Malaysian researchers (Tukiran et al., 2015). Collagen (I) α1 and α2 were selected as the targets of the synthesised antibodies. Three different porcine-specific sequences of PAbs were studied and all of them exhibited satisfactory limits of detection, with the lowest being 0.10 g/μg, while for the artificially made binary mixture, 0.05% of the

Figure 5.3 Modification and immobilisation procedures of the reported immunosensor (Lim and Ahmed, 2016b).

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spiked porcine gelatine was successfully detected. Nonetheless, there was slight cross-reactivity in one of the PAbs used with orange, house, and cave nests. Foodborne contaminants such as Salmonella or Campylobacter can be easily spread and exposed when raw meats are mishandled. However, these microbes are difficult to detect as they are not always present during distribution. In the USA, Chen et al. (2016) developed an immunoassay for the detection of raw meat and poultry residues on the surfaces of food handling, preparation and potential leakage areas. The assay was developed based on targeting soluble muscle troponin I (TnI) from the meat’s juice that can be determined by an ELISA technique. Besides, this assay could be applied to other meat products such as pork and beef and is suitable for monitoring raw meat contamination in food processing facilities. Lateral flow assay (LFA) is a type of immunoassay but it is paired with a chromatographic technique. Since LPA provides a change in colour, results can be observed with the naked eye. This is due to gold nanoparticles, preconjugated to an antibody or an antigen, that reacts with its complementary target. Detection is fast and simple, and therefore this is widely used as a pointof-care (POC) method to detect toxins, for measuring blood glucose and for pregnancy tests. Researchers from Indonesia and Malaysia collaborated in a research study whereby a lateral flow stick was fabricated by immobilising antiporcine IgG PAbs for the detection of trace levels of porcine contamination in cooked meatballs (Kuswandi et al., 2017). They perceived sensitivity as low as 0.1% porcine contamination in beef meatballs. Similarly, in the US Masiri et al. (2016) utilised the lateral flow technique that employed PAbs against pig serum albumin (PSA) and porcine thermostable meat protein (P-TSMP) to detect gelatine and pork meat in confectioneries, pet food that contained unspecified meat products, and products that potentially contain pork residues. Aside from the simplified, miniaturised platform, detection was quite fast and sensitivity was comparable to using conventional instruments. 2.2.2.2 FOURIER TRANSFORM INFRARED SPECTROSCOPY AND CHEMOMETRICS

Fourier transform infrared (FTIR) is one of the spectroscopy techniques that functions to determine the composition of a sample. Infrared rays radiate onto a sample, making the molecules of the sample vibrate at different frequencies. These frequencies are measured as absorbance and the overall spectrum is analysed to identify individual compounds. Each compound has its own unique spectrum, which eases the identification process for unknown samples. Generally, to study and distinguish components in food samples, FTIR is paired with chemometrics. In a joint effort between Indonesian and Malaysian scientists, a linear discrimination analysis (LDA) modelling technique was devised using FTIR

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and chemometrics (Kuswandi et al., 2015). It has been able to differentiate accurately between pure beef jerky and pork-contaminated beef jerky. The FTIR-chemometrics method can also be employed to quantitatively analyse constituents in food samples. A group of Indonesian researchers quantitatively evaluated the characteristics of lard and beef fats in meatballs by analysing the respective spectrum of components in meatballs (Kurniawati et al., 2014). Lard contains more unsaturated fats compared to beef fats, as its spectrum shows, because lard shows a higher intensity peak in contrast to beef fats. Lard contents in Indonesian Rambak (made from cattle skins) crackers were also determined via the FTIR-with-chemometrics technique (Erwanto et al., 2016). 2.2.2.3 CHROMATOGRAPHIC METHODS

Gas chromatography (GC) and liquid chromatography (LC) benefit from the differences in physical properties displayed by samples. Based on these differences, individual components are separated as they interact with the gas or liquid phase inside the column. The components are then eluted and identified as the diffusion in the column is retarded by the solid phase. In Malaysia, 6-aminoquinolyl-N-hydroxysuccinimidyl carbamate was used in RP-HPLC (reverse phase high performance liquid chromatography) combined with principal component analysis (PCA) in order to discriminate the sources of gelatine (Azilawati et al., 2015). Meanwhile, in Indonesia, lard adulteration in meatballs was also investigated by coupling HPLC and PCA (Ahda et al., 2016). Unfortunately, the method needs to be further developed as the researchers encountered a problem with the analysis due to the inevitable hydrolysis of triglycerides was. Both gas and liquid chromatography are frequently combined with mass spectrometry, especially in dealing with unknown complex components. LC was integrated by a group of researchers in Malaysia with quadruple time-offlight/mass spectrometry for the investigation of candidate markers for porcine-specific peptides in heat-treated porcine meats (Sarah et al., 2016). Four candidates were constantly confirmed throughout the study. The confirmed candidates are regarded as thermostable markers, which can be used for further evaluation of porcine contamination in heat-processed food samples. In competing to offer minimum price to customers, food manufacturers usually blend their food products with undeclared meats such as horse and pork meats. Due to such fraudulent practices, von Bargen et al. (2014), a team from Germany, developed an optimised technique based on multiple reaction monitoring (MRM) and MRM3 for the detection of meat-species peptides which are able to resist heat in food processing. In addition to that, the fast detection technique was able to distinguish as low as 0.24% pork and horse in beef mixtures without having complex analytical steps such as laborious protein separation and multifaceted sample preparation.

118  Nura Fazira Noor Azam et al. 2.2.2.4 OTHER METHODS

Gas stunning or ‘Controlled Atmosphere Stunning’ is a stunning method used to substitute conventional water bath stunning. It has gained favour in the last two decades as it produces unconsciousness systematically. The most commonly used gas is carbon dioxide (CO2), occasionally paired with an inert gas such as argon (Ar) or nitrogen (N2), according to a team of researchers from the United Kingdom and Sweden (Berg and Raj, 2015). A research group in Malaysia performed an analysis to determine the difference between halal-slaughtered chickens and gas-stunned-and-slaughtered chickens (Salwani et al., 2016). It was found that the chickens stunned with gas before slaughter acquired lower muscle pH, with reduced redness and shear force. Since gas stunned-and-slaughtered chickens led to more drip and cooking loss compared to halal-slaughtered chickens, the application of gas stunning could jeopardise the meat quality of the chicken. In another Malaysian study, Nahar and her colleagues investigated the protein solubility of halal and non-halal slaughtered broiler chicken meat by varying the pH, the salt and salt concentrations (Nahar et al., 2017). Overall, their research confirmed that the protein of non-slaughtered meat had higher solubility compared to the slaughtered meat, regardless of pH and the type of salt used. This approach can distinguish slaughtered meats from non-slaughtered meats. A mobile application has been designed and developed for portable species identification of raw meats in Indonesia (Muhammadiy and Fahmi, 2016). Neural network (NN) was paired with image-processing software acting as the foundation of the application. Among the samples tested, 89% were accurately determined using this application. In spite of the ease of use, they have not performed any trial with a binary mixture of beef and pork meat as well as processed food samples.

2.2.3 Detection of alcohol

Due to the versatile uses of alcohol, it features extensively in various industrial areas encompassing the food, pharmaceutical and cosmetics industries. In processed food products, ethanol or ethyl alcohol is the most typically used type of alcohol. As mentioned by a research group from Switzerland, it is essential to detect and minimise the content of alcohol, that is, the overall alcohol content in food should be less than 1% to be deemed a preservative (Alzeer and Hadeed, 2016). If the overall alcohol percentage is greater than 1%, the product is regarded as haram. A 1% concentration of alcohol in the overall contents of food products is allowed in Indonesia, Malaysia and Thailand, whereas in Singapore, only 0.5% of alcohol is permitted, according to a team of Malaysian researchers (Jamaludin et al., 2016). Detection of alcohol often involves intricate sample pre-treatment and costly instruments, as studied by a group from Brunei Darussalam (Lubis et al., 2016). The enzymes alcohol

C onsumer goods and the role of science   119

dehydrogenase (ADH) and alcohol oxidase are incorporated in the design of alcohol biosensors. A facile ethanol biosensor was assembled by adsorbing AOX onto PANI (polyaniline) film which was jointly designed as a dipstick by Indonesian and Malaysian researchers (Kuswandi et al., 2014). Colour change from green to blue denoted the presence of alcohol in the sample tested. They accurately distinguished the presence of alcohol down to 0.001%. A research team from Austria, Thailand, Serbia, Slovakia and Slovania had collaboratively constructed an alcohol biosensor by immobilising ADH onto iron (III) oxide-decorated gold nanoparticles with subsequent attachment onto a carbon paste electrode (Samphao et al., 2015). Their fabricated sensor acquired a sensitivity of 0.07 M and was highly specific to ethanol.

Conclusion Miniaturisation and ease of operation are invaluable features of biosensors which, therefore, are highly desirable by researchers and consumers, both in the field and in practical settings. In particular, for analyses that require instantaneous results with limited numbers of samples, it is crucial to develop portable and user-friendly sensors. These factors are particularly important for applications in remote areas where resources and skilled workers tend to be scarce. An electric nose was fabricated by researchers from Malaysia for rapid detection of porcine substances, possessing the features of portability and ease of use (Nurjuliana et al., 2011). Accordingly, by upgrading screen-printed electrode technology and adapting this technology to construct biosensors, inexpensive mass production of functional and variable portable sensors can be synergistically achieved, as claimed by a group of researchers from Brunei Darussalam, Bangladesh, the UK, the USA and Japan (Ahmed et al., 2016). Large, costly conventional instruments can be economically substituted by developing paper-based biosensors. A review written collaboratively between Bruneian and Japanese researchers mentions that, by connecting a smartphone to a circuit board, it can be used as a data transmitter, especially when combined with paper-based electrochemical detection strategies (Lee et al., 2018). This is one of the biosensor miniaturisation efforts. As stated in the review by Rizwan et al. (2018), by incorporating nanomaterials into the fabrication of ECL-based biosensors the signal can be improved and, subsequently, the overall sensitivity of the detection method can be enhanced. As adulteration with porcine and other haram animal species in commercial food, pharmaceutical and personal care products is not permissible for Muslims, a simple biosensor such as a lateral flow dipstick is prudent and highly appealing for non-skilled users. In response to these needs in Muslim society, a number of companies have been manufacturing smart devices and kits for identifying the presence of porcine DNA in products. Further improvements to such kits are constantly being developed, as it is preferable if the commercialised kits

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are able to detect minuscule amounts of pork and other haram species, so they need to be highly specific to their target with accurate results. This chapter briefly encapsulates the contribution of science to the halal industry in Southeast Asian countries. Undoubtedly, advances in science bring benefits, for example, for medical and clinical applications and building infrastructures. Correspondingly, due to the flourishing Muslim population worldwide, the halal market is expected to expand as well, as this implies that there are escalating needs in providing products that are halalan toyyiban (allowed and permissible for consumption). Science has assisted the industry by enabling researchers to study and devise alternatives for non-permissible components in food and other products. Additionally, by exploiting science, diverse kinds of augmenting biosensors have been introduced for detecting haram elements (e.g. pork and alcohol) in commercial products. Researchers in Southeast Asia have been working and studying in different disciplines to assist in fulfilling the requirements and demands of the halal industry. Despite the potential replacements for haram constituents already published and the detection techniques which have been developed, there is still plenty of scope for additional studies and refinements.

Notes 1 The authors – from the Biosensors and Biotechnology Laboratory, Chemical Science Programme, Faculty of Science, Universiti Brunei Darussalam – would like to acknowledge the partial financial support for the project given by Brunei Research Council of Negara Brunei Darussalam through Grant# BRC-10. 2 Makrooh is translated as ‘discouraged’. When a Muslim does not do the acts, that person will be rewarded; however, if a Muslim does the acts, that person will not be punished. Another example of a deed that is considered makrooh is smoking cigarettes. 3 Ibn’ Umar has related that Allah’s Messenger said, ‘Made lawful for you are the flesh of two dead animals and two types of blood. As for the two dead animals, they are the locust and the fish. And as for the two types of blood, they are the blood of the spleen and the liver’ (Sunan Abu Dawud, Musnad Ahmad, 2/97 and Sunan Ibn Majah, no. 3314). 4 Biopolymers are the biodegradable type of polymers, which are produced by living things (e.g. animals and plants). Carbohydrates and proteins are two examples of biopolymers.

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126  Nura Fazira Noor Azam et al. Regenstein, Joe M., Riaz, Mian Nadeem, Chaudry, Muhammad and Regenstein, Carrie E. (2014). “The Halal Food Industry.” In Handbook on Islam and Economic Life, 175–194. Riaz, Mian N. and Chaudry, Muhammad M. (2003). Halal Food Production. Boca Raton, London, New York and Washington, D.C.: CRC Press. Rizwan, Mohd, Mohd-Naim, Noor Faizah and Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin (2018). “Trends and Advances in Electrochemiluminescence Nanobiosensors.” Sensors (Switzerland) 18(166): 1–28. Rodsuwan, U., Thumthanaruk, B., Kerdchoechuen, O. and Laohakunjit, N. (2016). “Functional Properties of Type A Gelatin from Jellyfish (Lobonema smithii).” International Food Research Journal 23(2): 507–514. Roy, Sharmili, Mohd-Naim, Noor Faizah, Safavieh, Mohammadali and Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin (2017). “Colorimetric Nucleic Acid Detection on Paper Microchip Using Loop Mediated Isothermal Amplification and Crystal Violet Dye.” ACS Sensors 2(11): 1713–1720. Roy, Sharmili, Rahman, Ibrahim Abdul and Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin (2015). “Novel Electrochemical DNA Biosensor Using Graphene Biochip for Species Identification.” US Patent App. 14/968,774. Roy, Sharmili, Rahman, Ibrahim Abd and Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin (2016a). “Paper-Based Rapid Detection of Pork and Chicken Using LAMP-Magnetic Bead Aggregates.” Analytical Methods, 8(11): 2391–2399. Roy, Sharmili, Rahman, Ibrahim Abd, Santos, Jose Hernandez and Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin (2016b). “Meat Species Identification Using DNA-Redox Electrostatic Interactions and Non-specific Adsorption on Graphene Biochips.” Food Control 61: 70–78. Roy, Sharmili, Wei, Sim Xiao, Ying, Jean Liew Zhi, Safavieh, Mohammadali and Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin (2016c). “A Novel, Sensitive and Label-Free Loop-Mediated Isothermal Amplification Detection Method for Nucleic Acids Using Luminophore Dyes.” Biosensors and Bioelectronics 86: 346–352. Rusdan, Ilzamha Hadijah and Kusnadi, Joni (2017). “Production of Mozzarella Cheese Using Rennin Enzyme from Mucor miehei Grown at Rice Bran Molasses Medium.” IOP Conference Series: Materials Science and Engineering 193: 012011. Safavieh, Mohammadali, Kanakasabapathy, Manoj Kumar, Tarlan, Farhang, Ahmed, Minhaz Uddin, Zourob, Mohammed, Asghar, Waseem and Shafiee, Hadi (2016). “Emerging Loop-Mediated Isothermal Amplification-Based Microchip and Microdevice Technologies for Nucleic Acid Detection.” ACS Biomaterials Science & Engineering 2(3): 278–294. Said, Muhammad Irfan, Triatmojo, S., Erwanto, Yuni and Fudholi, Ahmad (2012). “Gelatin Properties of Goat Skin Produced by Calcium Hydroxide as Curing Material.” Media Peternakan 34(3): 184. Salwani, M. S., Adeyemi, K. D., Sarah, S. A., Vejayan, J., Zulkifli, Idrus and Sazili, A. Q. (2016). “Skeletal Muscle Proteome and Meat Quality of Broiler Chickens Subjected to Gas Stunning Prior Slaughter or Slaughtered Without Stunning.” CyTA-Journal of Food 14(3): 375–381. Samphao, Anchalee, Kunpatee, Kanjana, Prayoonpokarach, Sanchai, Wittayakun, Jatuporn, Švorc, Ľubomír, Stankovic, Dalibor M, Zagar, Kristina, Ceh, Miran and Kalcher, Kurt (2015). “An Ethanol Biosensor Based on Simple Immobilization of Alcohol Dehydrogenase on Fe3O4@ Au Nanoparticles.” Electroanalysis 27(12): 2829–2837. Sarah, S. A., Faradalila, W. N., Salwani, M. S., Amin, I., Karsani, S. A. and Sazili, A. Q. (2016). “LC–QTOF-MS Identification of Porcine-Specific Peptide in Heat Treated

C onsumer goods and the role of science   127 Pork Identifies Candidate Markers for Meat Species Determination.” Food Chemistry 199: 157–164. Shahdan, Intan Azura, Regenstein, J. M., Shahabuddin, A. S. M. and Rahman, Mohammad Tariqur (2016). “Developing Control Points for Halal Slaughtering of Poultry.” Poultry Science 95(7): 1680–1692. Soon, Jan Mei, Soon, Jan Mei, Chandia, Mahmood, Chandia, Mahmood, Regenstein, Joe Mac, and Regenstein, Joe Mac (2017). “Halal Integrity in the Food Supply Chain.” British Food Journal 119(1): 39–51. Suriyakul Na Ayudhaya, Pitcha, Pongsawasdi, Piamsook, Laohasongkram, Kalaya, and Chaiwanichsiri, Saiwarun (2016). “Properties of Cassava Starch Modified by Amylomaltase from Corynebacterium glutamicum.” Journal of Food Science 81(6): C1363–C1369. Suryanti, S. Indrati, Retno, Irianto, Hari E. and Marseno, Djagal W. (2016). “Comparison Study on the Extraction of Gelatin from Nila Fish (Oreochromis nilotichus) Skin Using Acetic Acid and Citric Acid.” Pakistan Journal of Nutrition 15(8): 777–783. Tan, Y. M., Lim, S. H., Tay, B. Y., Lee, M. W. and Thian, E. S. (2015). “Functional Chitosan-Based Grapefruit Seed Extract Composite Films for Applications in Food Packaging Technology.” Materials Research Bulletin 69: 142–146. Thomson Reuters (2016). State of the Global Islamic Economy Report 2016/17. Report developed and Produced by Thomson Reuters. Tilaar, Martha, Wih, Wong Lip, Ranti, Anna Setiadi, Wasitaatmadja, Sjarif M., Suryaningsih, Lilis and Junardy, F. D. (2008). “Review of Lansium domesticum Corrêa and Its Use in Cosmetics.” Boletín Latinoamericano y del Caribe de Plantas Medicinales y Aromáticas 7(4): 183–189. Torelli, Emanuela, Manzano, Marisa and Marks, Robert S. (2017). “Chemiluminescent Optical Fibre Genosensor for Porcine Meat Detection.” Sensors and Actuators B: Chemical 247: 868–874. Tukiran, Nur Azira, Ismail, Amin, Mustafa, Shuhaimi and Hamid, Muhajir (2015). “Enzyme Immunoassay for the Detection of Porcine Gelatine in Edible Bird’s Nests.” Food Additives & Contaminants: Part A 32(7): 1023–1028. Ud-Daula, A. F. M. Shahid, Demirci, Fatih, Abu Salim, Kamariah, Demirci, Betul, Lim, Linda B. L., Baser, Kemal Hüsnü C. and Ahmad, Norhayati (2016). “Chemical Composition, Antioxidant and Antimicrobial Activities of Essential Oils from Leaves, Aerial Stems, Basal Stems, and Rhizomes of Etlingera fimbriobracteata (K.Schum.) R.M.Sm.” Industrial Crops and Products 84: 189–198. Voller, Allster (1978). “The Enzyme-Linked Immunosorbent Assay (ELISA) (Theory, Technique and Applications).” La Ricerca in Clinica e in Laboratorio 8(4): 289–298. von Bargen, Christoph, Brockmeyer, Jens and Humpf, Hans-Ulrich (2014). “Meat Authentication: A New HPLC-MS/MS Based Method for the Fast and Sensitive Detection of Horse and Pork in Highly Processed Food.” Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry 62(39): 9428–9435. Yusop, Mohd Hazim Mohd, Mustafa, Shuhaimi, Man, Yaakob B. Che, Omar, Abdul Rahman and Mokhtar, Nur Fadhilah Khairil (2012). “Detection of Raw Pork Targeting Porcine-Specific Mitochondrial Cytochrome B Gene by Molecular Beacon Probe RealTime Polymerase Chain Reaction.” Food Analytical Methods 5(3): 422–429.

Chapter 6

Contamination of halal food products Insights on theological rulings Ahmad Labeeb Tajudeen and Ibrahim Abdul-Rahman

Introduction The halal food industry is, without doubt, one of the most lucrative and ­fastest growing industries globally at the present time; it was estimated to be worth USD 1.37 trillion with increasing growth potential (International Trade Centre, 2015, p. 6). Research on Muslims’ consumerism gained its impetus from the Islamic eschatological teachings on solicitude for the Hereafter which manifests in some Muslims’ strict adherence to Islamic law on food consumption. An exclusive halal consumption is well enshrined in Islamic teachings and can be summarised thus: hellfire is more deserving of every flesh that grows from unlawful consumption, and consumption of non-halal goods and services (including foods) breaks human communication with God (see Omar et al., 2012). With its emphasis on farm-to-fork compliance with Islamic law, the halal food consumption paradigm has persistently posed challenges for producers (Mohamed Elias et al., 2017), who must be aware of the Islam permissibility red line which, if violated, may put producers and other concerned stakeholders at risk of a global boycott by the 1.6 billion Muslim population, a withdrawal of their halal certification and, consequently, huge economic loss.1 Despite the significance of Muslim consumerism in general and in tourism studies in particular (Bon and Hussain, 2010), there is a dearth of comprehensive literature on its modus operandi within the Islamic framework (Abdul-Talib and Abd-Razak, 2013) and some of its concepts are hitherto unclear to some researchers interested in its discourse (see, e.g., the arguments and counterarguments between El-Bassiouny, 2014 and Jafari and Sandıkcı, 2015). This has created a vacuum of regulation and control that has encouraged the ongoing process of halalisation (Fischer, 2011). Recent studies have investigated different aspects of halal food contamination. For instance, Malboobi and Malboobi (2012) studied the conditions under which genetic modification could turn a halal food into haram (unlawful); they also addressed halal issues in genetic engineering. As for the Noor and Noordin (2016) study, it emphasises the need for a better halal governance structure where Islamic law and principles of purity would be clearly spelt out

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for the purpose of halal certification. In addition, Saidin and Rahman (2016) lamented that 40% of animal feed manufacturers in Malaysia were producing animal feeds which, in the researchers’ view, contaminate halal animals. The study further concluded that, although there is specific legislation governing animal feed-related matters in Malaysia, none of the legislation addresses the issue of halal animal feed as a contaminant in terms of ingredients, processing and production. Recently, the Sultanate of Brunei Darussalam passed a law on halal food production which began to be enforced on 26 May 2017. The law requires that all businesses in the country that produce, supply or serve food and beverages obtain halal certification, or risk being fined up to 8,000 Brunei dollars (approximately USD 6,000) (Azaraimy, 2017). Non-Muslims who produce foods specifically for non-Muslims are to apply for an exemption certificate. This calls for a better understanding of the rules that govern halal food to prevent it from being contaminated. It is pertinent to note that halal certification bodies differ in their requirements, and some are more flexible than others (Latif et al., 2014). Thus, a proper understanding of the rules governing halal food production in a particular country requires a glocalisation approach where general Islamic dietary law is contextualised and understood from local Islamic experts’ perspectives. However, there is insufficient information on the legal verdicts passed by Islamic jurists from Muslim countries that stipulate, in specific terms, the causes of contamination which may make an originally halal product unlawful for consumption. More specifically, research papers on such legal verdicts passed in Brunei Darussalam are nearly non-existent. Whereas contamination has been viewed by some anthropologists (e.g. Douglas, 2003; Kristeva, 1996) as a defilement and transgression of normal bounds which is socially dependent, the thrust of this paper is to define halal food contamination from an Islamic theological perspective. This paper explores the legal opinions and verdicts (otherwise known as ‘fatwa’) on halal food contamination as passed by the Mufti (Islamic jurist) of Brunei Darussalam between the year 1962 and 2006. This study seeks to answer a major research question: What are the theological legal rulings on halal food contamination as passed by theologians in Brunei Darussalam?

1 Food contamination and the concept of halalan tayyiban The Qur’an emphatically enjoins and commands mankind, including Muslims, to consume that which is halal (Islamically permissible) as well as tayyib (good and acceptable, hygienically and spiritually wholesome)2. These two components are sacrosanct in conceptualising halal food consumption. As will become clear later, the word tayyib is far more connected with being clean and uncontaminated.

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In Arabic etymology, the word tayyib is derived from the root word taaba which means ‘to be good’, ‘to be delicious’, ‘to be sweet’, ‘to be pure’, ‘to be clean’, ‘to be acceptable’, and ‘to be clean and uncontaminated’. In the Qur’an linguistics,3 tayyib refers to the state of being clean and uncontaminated or unadulterated as the opposite of khabeeth (impure, adulterated and contaminated) which applies to both humans and non-human entities. Tayyib shares the same meaning with the word ‘Tahir’ – being pure and free from contaminants – but tayyib goes further in the sense that it refers to a purity that enhances a substance’s or a human being’s ability to fulfil the demanded quality and end result (Mustafawy, n.d. vol. 7, p. 182). Therefore, in dietary parlance, a tayyib food is the one that provides the body with the required nutrients, suits the taste and is safe for both mundane and spiritual health. Having said this, it is pertinent here to compare tayyib and halal to delineate their boundaries as applied to food consumption. From a Qur’an linguistics perspective, halal is about permissibility prescriptions and endorsement laws governing food consumption, while tayyib is the quality that qualifies food to be halal. In other words, food must be tayyib for it to be halal. Further, while the halal component stands for theological permissibility as espoused by Islamic doctrinal sanctions, strictures and prescriptions, tayyib is broader in meaning than halal in this respect as it encompasses all other standards of acceptability, which may be based on hygiene, ‘Urf (custom and tradition) or nutritious safety. For instance, the meat of a goat would be halal if slaughtered according to Islamic prescriptions, but may not be tayyib if biologically infected with pathogens or chemically compromised. The same thing applies to sugar, which is primarily halal but whose excessive consumption is not tayyib. What follows from this is that halal consumerism extends beyond the stated do’s and don’t’s in Islam, and shares some areas of commonalities with other dietary standards. It brings the Islamic prescriptions, halal, as an integral component and the limiting principle of permissibility. 1.1 The concept of contamination in the books of Islamic law

In the fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) literature, the common Arabic word for contamination is Tanajjus (i.e. the mixing and contamination of a pure substance with impurity known as ‘Najasah’4). More often than not, the term Tanajjus (contamination) usually appears in the chapters or sections on ritual purification (Taharah). This chapter usually includes sub-chapters on the quality of acceptable water for ritual purification, its container (Aaniyah) and impurities (Najasah). A detailed study of convergences and divergences among scholars of Islamic jurisprudence with respect to contamination goes beyond the scope of this paper. However, it should be noted here that there is no total consensus among scholars of the four Sunni schools of Islamic jurisprudence (Hanafi, Maliki, Shafi’i and Hanbali) on all the forms of contaminants and ways of contamination

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(for detail discussion, see Gauvain, 2002). For instance, the Maliki school agrees with other schools that consumption of pork is prohibited and is impure, but disagrees with those who regard pork as a strong contaminant that necessitates washing seven times when it sullies a container. In addition, there is consensus among scholars that consumption of alcohol is prohibited and would contaminate food substances. However, some scholars adjudicate that alcohol is not a Najasah (impurity) on its own; so, it does not contaminate perfumes, cosmetics and medicines when used externally (e.g. methylated spirit); and that prohibition of its consumption does not necessarily make it impure for external use. From the above brief elucidation, it may be inferred that the concept of contamination does not have one-size-fits-all rules that may be applied across all the four Sunni schools of jurisprudence. Therefore, an in-depth understanding of halal food contamination would only be possible from the perspective of local scholars whose juristic opinions guide relevant bodies responsible for issuing halal certificates. In the following paragraphs, we shall look briefly into the school of jurisprudence adopted in Brunei Darussalam. 1.2 Brunei Darussalam and the adopted school of Islamic jurisprudence

Brunei Darussalam is a country with a population around 422,400 inhabitants in Southeast Asia (Ministry of Finance and Economy, 2019). It is a Muslim majority country that has been consistently defined by its leaders as a pure Islamic state and has rejected all forms of secularism (Müller, 2015). The constitution of Brunei Darussalam defines the state as a Sunni Muslim State which adopts the Shafi’i Madhab (Muhammad, 2010). In halal food studies, Brunei Darussalam is a unique case study in many ways. First, Brunei represents a typical Muslim country where the government and citizenry strongly incline, arguably, to Islamic teachings and injunctions in all mundane affairs, including food consumption. Brunei has a socio-cultural national ideology called Melayu Islam Beraja-MIB (i.e. Malay Islamic Monarchy) where Islamic teaching has remained the guiding and officially superior philosophy within the ideology’s triangle (Müller, 2015, 317). This philosophy is well known and celebrated by the citizens of Brunei Darussalam. The year 1990 is a remarkable starting point for the history of halal food consumption: public sale and consumption of alcohol was banned in 1991, production and sale of pork was prohibited in 1992 and public entertainment became tightly restricted (ibid.). In 2013, the Sultan of Brunei Darussalam announced the total adoption of the Syariah law (‘Syariah’ is the local spelling of ‘Shari’a’ in Brunei), including the Islamic penal code. These developments have made fertile ground for the growth of the halal food industry in the country. Second, although Brunei Darussalam follows the Shafi’i Madhab (one of the four schools of thought), the state sometimes borrows verdicts from other schools as well, as in the case of using cash instead of foodstuffs to pay for

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Zakatul-Fitr (i.e. end of Ramadan alms-giving). In the book of verdicts on halal food consumption, the state Mufti (1962–1993) referred, in some instances, to the opinions of scholars who were disciples of other madhabs, either to strengthen his opinion or as a source of verdict. He referred to Ibnu Qudamah and Ibn Taimiyyah who were both Hanbalis (vol. 1, pp. 50–51), and to Ibn Hazm a Zahiri disciple (vol. 1, pp. 50–51 and p. 52). Although this is not enough to regard verdicts from the Brunei Mufti as an amalgam of all the Madhabs, it indicates a sense of awareness of, and openness to, the views of other non-Shafi’i Madhab disciples which add to the quality of the fatwa (legal opinion) being issued in Brunei. Third, Brunei is geographically and strategically located in Southeast Asia; a neighbour to Indonesia, which houses the highest population of Muslims per country in the world, and Malaysia, which represents the hub of halal consumerism. Brunei enjoys economic and political stability, which has been attracting foreign investors in the halal food industry in recent times. Brunei has now become one of the top countries in the halal industry. In the 2017 Global Islamic Economy Indicator (GIEI) ranking prepared by Thomson Reuters, Brunei Darussalam ranked 12th overall, 10th in halal pharmaceuticals and cosmetics, 12th in modest fashion, 22nd in the halal travel sector and 27th in Islamic finance (Othman, 2017). Finally, Brunei Darussalam, as one of its efforts to diversify its economy in recent times, is opening its doors more than ever to foreign investors and expanding its halal food industry. This calls for a better understanding of Brunei’s theological stances and red lines with respect to halal food production. 1.3 Methodology

This is a qualitative case study that seeks to understand halal food contamination according to Islamic law as applied in Brunei Darussalam. The study draws on document analysis as an instrument for data collection (Bowen, 2009). The documents analysed were the manuscripts of legal verdicts passed by the most senior jurist in Brunei Darussalam between 1962 and 2006.5 The legal manuscripts analysed are the ones that have been compiled and published by the state Mufti’s office in the Prime Minister’s office, Brunei Darussalam. Two volumes of such manuscripts were used in this study, both of which were published in the English language. The first volume, entitled Animal Slaughter and Handling of Meat (2012, 311 pages), includes five sections compiling verdicts passed from 1962 to 1999. The verdicts were the legal opinions of two Muftis: the first is the late mufti Pehin Datu Seri Maharaja Dato Seri Utama Dr Haji Ismail bin Umar Abdul Aziz, who passed the verdicts during his tenure from 1962 to 1993. The other jurist is the incumbent Mufti, Pehin Datu Seri Maharaja Dato Paduka Seri Setia Ustaz Haji Awang Abdul Aziz bin Juned, who passed the verdicts in the period between 1994 and 1999.

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The second volume is entitled Issues on Halal Products (2009 [2007], 284 pages). The authors have quoted from the reprinted version dated 2009. This volume contains ten sections on matters related to halal products and halal trade; it is a compilation of verdicts passed by the incumbent Mufti, Pehin Datu Seri Maharaja Dato Paduka Seri Setia Ustaz Haji Awang Abdul Aziz bin Juned from 1994 to 2006. As for the analysis of the content of the manuscript, this study adopts the grounded theory technique for data analysis (Charmaz, 2011; Holton, 2007, 2008). The content of the manuscripts was coded manually for analysis in three different stages. The first stage involved open coding, whereby general codes that are relevant to the topic of halal food contamination were gathered. Subsequently, axial coding was performed, in which likely codes were categorised together under a common theme. Lastly, selective coding was performed to eliminate the themes which do not fall under the purview of the research question of this study. As a tradition in qualitative studies, quotes from the verdicts were used for analysis and discussion.

2 Contamination in motion In general, relevant codes that were discovered in the legal opinion manuscripts were categorised into six major themes. The six themes explain the legal rulings on halal food contamination from a theological perspective with respect to the causes of such a contamination. 2.1 Cross-contamination by non-halal substances

Cross-contamination of halal food is a form of contamination that results when najis (an impurity) is mixed with a halal product which is to be consumed. The religious concept of najis covers an array of substances defined as ritually unclean or impure by the Islamic law: these include meats and secretions (urine, milk, saliva, semen, fats, etc.) from haram (unlawful) animals such as pigs, dogs and predators, or substances taken from an originally permissible (halal) animal that has died without a ritual Islamic form of slaughter, such as carcass and carrion, or chemical substances whose consumption is prohibited in Islam, such as alcohol, or the gushing blood during the slaughter of a halal animal, etc. (for more on haram substances, see Al-Qaradawi, 2013, 37–75). When such substances are mixed with an originally halal food, they render the food unlawful for Muslims, regardless of their amount and proportion. The verdicts, as contained in different places in the Brunei fatwa manuscripts (e.g. [8/1983] vol. 1, p. 46–48), ruled that the mixing of haram substances with halal food contaminates halal food. The verdict was based on an Islamic law maxim that states that when a haram substance is combined with a halal substance, precedence is given to the haram component and the combination takes the haram ruling (verdict [86/1983] vol. 1, pp. 63). In line with this maxim, foods

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that contain pork in the form of an emulsifier such as E471 and E472 that is usually used in bread-making, or in other forms such as gelatine, enzymes, glycerine and lecithin (Van der Spiegel et al., 2012), are regarded as non-halal due to contamination. One of the verdicts reads thus: Although the ingredients in sardines, milk, coffee and sugar are halal, Allahumma [in an exception] should they be mixed with ingredients which are not halal, should haram ingredients be mixed with halal ingredients, the foodstuff should not be purchased nor should it be consumed. (verdict [86/1983], vol. 1, p. 63) Cross-contamination, which is the physical transfer of a haram substance to a halal product, when caused by dog product is much more severe than contamination by other forms of najis substances. According to the verdict, ‘liquid food, sullied by a pig or a dog, cannot be purified through washing but solid food may be purified in this manner when it is washed seven times’ (verdict [36/1987], vol. 1, p. 71). The verdict reads further: Therefore, the glue which has ‘refined lard’ on its label is from lard extracted from pigs and pigs and all its parts are Najis and the Najis of a pig is called najasah almughallazhah (major Najis) and it is wajib [compulsory] to wash it seven times, once with muddy water from earth. (verdict [36/1987], vol. 1, p. 72) 2.2 Self-contamination of a halal food by producing non-halal substances

Self-contamination of halal food occurs when a halal food produces a non-halal substance by itself. An example of such self-contamination is when a starchy or sugary food ferments and produces alcohol, which then becomes part of it at the time of consumption. In this case, the verdict ruled that such a food has been contaminated and is prohibited. This verdict was applied to a food that is common in Brunei Darussalam called tapai. Tapai is made from rice and produces alcohol as a byproduct of the fermentation process. However, the verdict ruled that if the fermentation process could be controlled to stop the production of alcohol, or if the alcohol produced evaporates or turns naturally into acetic acid, such a food or drink is still halal (permissible). In that case, the food would be regarded as halal for consumption. Excerpt from the verdict: Should the alcohol in the tapai reach a level at which it intoxicates then the tapai is clearly haram for consumption […] However, when intoxicant in the tapai disappears, the tapai is halal for consumption. This is based on the qiyas (analogical deduction) on the agreed-upon on juices from fruits or grains, i.e. when kept for a certain period, these juices will start to

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bubble up (contain intoxicant). Later however, when this subsides and the juices turn into vinegar, it is halal for consumption and deemed clean and pure, as long as the transformation to vinegar was natural (no additives) because it has ceased to intoxicate. It would be haram to drink the fruit or grain juice while it was bubbling up and capable of intoxicating and it is also deemed a Najis (impurity; unclean according to shari’ah [Shari’a]). Once it ceases to be intoxicant, it is no longer ruled as Najis and the juice becomes clean and pure and halal for consumption. The same applies to tapai, if it intoxicates, it is haram but if it does not, then it is halal for consumption. (verdict [07/2003] vol. 2, p. 21) In other places in the fatwa (verdicts) manuscript, this verdict was substantiated with a practice of the Prophet of Islam, who used to drink fermented fruit juices before they produced alcohol, and discard the drink when alcohol production was assumed or suspected (see verdict [07/2003] vol. 2, pp. 15–19). This verdict applies to all food production processes that may generate contaminating substances. Such food or drink would be halal prior to the production of contaminants or after the contaminant has turned into a non-intoxicating substance or evaporated naturally. The verdict also differentiates between cross-contamination and self-contamination by alcohol. In cross-contamination where alcohol (produced externally) is added to a food or drink product, such a food product would be regarded as being contaminated and unlawful regardless of how infinitesimal the amount of the alcohol might be. In the case of self-contamination, where alcohol is produced by the food itself, it is ruled that the amount of the alcohol content must be less than 2%. With a lesser content, such a food product is still considered halal and permissible. The verdict reads thus: If alcohol has been mixed or introduced or added etc into food or drink, regardless of whether the alcohol was produced through a process of fermentation or through a chemical process, then the substance (food or drink) that contains alcohol becomes najis. In other words, food and drinks that are mixed with alcohol are haram for usage or for consumption. This haram ruling is clear, based on the above verse and Hadith upon which the scholars have concurred. (verdict [8/1999], vol. 2, p. 55) The verdict reads further to state the permissible limit for self-generated alcohol as a content of a halal food: If the alcohol has occurred naturally in the drinks through the process of fermentation, its percentage seems to have reached the level of khamr (strong drink/intoxicant) except in the case of orange crush (0.1%).

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According to the information from researchers, the percentage of alcohol considered to have reached the level of khamr is 2–8% (as found in beer). (verdict [8/1999], vol. 2, p. 55) 2.3 Contamination by the slaughterer on a spiritual basis

According to the verdicts contained in both volumes of the fatwa manuscripts, apart from the unlawful animals which are clearly pronounced to be non-halal, such as pigs, dogs, predators, etc., a halal animal may be contaminated by the slaughterer, either due to his non-Islamic faith or as a result of uncertainty of his Islamic faith. These would make a halal animal unlawful. The verdicts, reiterated in various places in the manuscripts, that the slaughterer must be a Muslim who understands the Islamic rulings governing the slaughter (for detail, refer to the following verdicts: [30/1974], vol. 1, p. 43; [8/1983], vol. 1, p. 49; [27/1983], vol. 1, p. 57; [10/1984] p. 67). According to the verdicts: [L]ivestock, for example cows, buffaloes and sheep, become halal [lawful] for consumption after they have been slaughtered and there are several conditions pertaining to slaughter. One of the conditions is that the slaughterer must be a Muslim. (verdict [30/1974], vol. 1, p.43) The verdict stated further that the slaughter must be witnessed and it must be ascertained that the slaughterer is a Muslim. Should the slaughterer not be ascertained to be a Muslim, such an animal would be considered a carcass which is non-halal for Muslims to consume (verdict [67/1978], vol. 1, pp. 100–101; [3/1979], vol. 1, pp. 109–111). Part of the verdict reads thus: These animals must be slaughtered and the slaughter must be visibly clear to a Muslim. It may for example, be personally witnessed by a Muslim who may then determine if the slaughterer is a Muslim or an Iban or a Chinese and who may observe the method of slaughter performed by the Muslim… (verdict [86/1983], vol. 1, p. 63) In another verdict, it was clearly stated that a halal animal may be rendered unlawful due to uncertainty as to whether the slaughterer is a Muslim. The verdict reads: If the slaughterer of the animals and birds is not known, if one does not witness the slaughter personally or one does not hear from a Muslim that he has witnessed that the slaughter of the animals or the birds was done according to the Islamic mode of slaughter, then no Muslim is allowed to consume the meat of the said animals or birds. (verdict [35/1977], vol. 1, p. 97)

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Similarly, it was adjudicated that meats produced from an abattoir which comprises Muslim and non-Muslim slaughterers are non-halal, due to the high chance of mixture of Muslim slaughters with non-Muslim slaughters. Further, it was mentioned that if there is mixture of slaughtered meat with carcass, the combined meat products become haram (unlawful) and it is not permissible to exercise personal judgment to choose between them (verdict [30/1982], vol. 1, p. 190). The Mufti advised Muslims: to be careful and cautious in buying and eating meat if it is not known for certain whether the slaughterer is a Muslim or a kafir [disbeliever]; so that they do not consume what is haram, najis [ritually unclean according to Shari’a] and carrion because to consume all of these is a major sin. (verdict [35/1977], vol. 1, p. 98) In several places in the manuscript, the verdict document called for effective supervision of abattoirs by Muslims and stated that the halal certificate and logo are not sufficient evidence to prove adherence of the abattoir workers to the Islamic mode of slaughtering. Particularly in the case of the imported meat from a non-Islamic country, the verdict ruled that such a certificate is not acceptable proof, because it is not a claim made by a Muslim (verdict [35/1977], vol. 1, p. 97). In the verdict book, evidence was presented to justify this position. The fatwa referred to an Islamic law principle which ruled that written certification alone is not reliable; it is rather secondary to an oral witness which requires a physical presence of two trustworthy witnesses to confirm that the slaughtering was done by a Muslim. The implication is that, in halal food processing industries, there should be two Muslim workers who would not only witness the slaughter, but also ensure compliance with Islamic rules in processing food meant for Muslims. 2.4 Contamination by the slaughterer on the basis of collaboration

As clearly stated earlier, for an animal to be halal, the slaughterer must be a Muslim. Should there be collaboration between a Muslim and a non-Muslim in executing the slaughter, care must be taken to prevent contamination. The verdicts emphasised that the taking of the life of the animal must be done solely by a Muslim, while a non-Muslim may help in the process afterwards. It is therefore very important for animal-processing companies to allow a Muslim to do the slaughtering alone. The verdict reads: The slaughter of the kafir (non-Muslim) or the game animal he captures is a carcass, but the slaughter of a Muslim and the game animal he captures is halal for consumption. However, when both of them collaborate in slaughtering or in releasing an arrow in a hunt, then the slaughter from

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this collaboration is haram because the haram ruling (on the slaughter of the kafir) is dominant [ghalib] over the halal slaughter of the Muslim. (verdict [30/1982], vol. 1, p. 192) The sentence ‘the haram ruling (on the slaughter of the kafir) is dominant [ghalib] over the halal slaughter of the Muslim’ means that when a halal product is combined with a haram product, the combination is ruled as haram. In an earlier verdict, it was clearly stated that contamination due to collaboration would be considered only if it occurs before or during the cutting of the windpipe of the animal or its oesophagus. ‘But to collaborate in the holding of the animal i.e. the kafir holds the animal while the Muslim slaughters it, it renders the slaughter halal’ (verdict [7/1962], vol. 1, p. 166). 2.5 Contamination of animal products by feeding on non-halal feed

It has been popularised that non-halal feed contaminates halal animals (e.g. Saidin and Rahman, 2016), but the verdicts passed in Brunei ruled that this kind of contamination is not a strong one, and prescribe the conditions for such contamination. When a halal animal feeds on najis such as blood, carcass and carrion, or human faeces and urine, such an animal is called jallalah in the Islamic dietary law. In this case, the verdict ruled that it is makruh (reprehensible and not recommended) to consume the product of a jallalah such as meat, egg, milk or fat. Technically, when an animal is judged makruh, it implies that it is best to avoid the products of such an animal, but it is not outright haram. Further, such a najis feed would not be regarded as a contaminant until its traces are felt or noticed in the meat, egg or milk of such an animal by changing its taste, smell or colour to that of the najis feed. This may occur when the animal feeds mostly on a najis feed (verdict [39/2000], vol. 2, p. 112). In another verdict, the condition for this form of contamination was explained further: Similarly, if the smelly al-jallalah animal is quarantined and fed clean food until the smell or the effect of the Najis disappears from it and it is then slaughtered, it is not makruh to consume its meat. The amount of food that should be given to the jallalah animal and the duration for which it is to be quarantined to alleviate the makruh hukum (ruling) is unspecified. It depends on how long it normally takes before the smell or the effect of the Najis will disappear. (Al-Majmu’:9/27). (verdict [35/2006], vol. 2, p. 40–41) According to this verdict, the concern over najis feed should be based on its effect on the halal animal’s meat, or milk, or any of its products. Consequently, there would be no concern if such a najis feed is not strong enough to have an effect on the meat or other products of the animal. In addition, contamination of its meat would be considered if such an animal is fed with najis substances

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until the time of slaughter. If otherwise, and the animal is thereafter fed with pure feed which removes the traces of the previous najis feed, such an animal is no longer considered to be contaminated. More importantly, it should be noted that najis feed as a contaminant does not make a halal animal haram (unlawful), according to this verdict. This is clearly stated in the manuscript thus: However, if the jallalah animal is sold alive, and there is a chance for it to be quarantined and fed clean food so that the effect (of) najis on it can be removed, the sale is permissible. Therefore, basically, it is not haram to consume fish that have been fed with najis foodstuff. However, if the flesh of the fish changes in taste, smell or colour, and it is like najis, then eating it is makruh. If its taste, smell or colour does not change and it is not like najis, then it is permissible to consume it. (verdict [35/2006], vol. 2, p. 42) 2.6 Contamination of halal food by place of production

One of the ways by which halal food may be regarded as being contaminated is when the place of production and packaging is also used for other, non-halal production. According to the verdict manuscripts, foods from such a place would automatically be ruled non-halal and contaminated by that place. As stated earlier, when an abattoir comprises Muslim and non-Muslim slaughterers, such a place is regarded as an automatic contaminant of any animal product produced therein, except the products of which it is ascertained that the slaughter was solely handled by Muslim. Generally, according to the legal verdicts passed in Brunei Darussalam, contamination of halal food by place of production is assumed to occur based on three elements: ownership, management/administration and workforce. Based on ownership, the verdicts refer to three possible types of ownership that may render halal food not permissible: i) Both owners (the Muslim and the non-Muslim) are managers, administrators and in charge of running the daily business. ii) Or the Muslim owner is only the financier, or his name is merely used in order to obtain a business licence, or as the tenant of the shop, while the daily running of the business is done by the non-Muslim owner. iii) Or the non-Muslim owner is the financier or the tenant of the shop, while the daily running of the business is done by the Muslim owner. In all three cases, food produced from such a restaurant is regarded as non-halal, due to the high chance of influence by a non-Muslim in the decision-making process. The verdict was substantiated with an Islamic legal maxim that ruled that when there is a combination of halal and haram, the haram ruling precedes.

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The verdict was also based on the principle of uncertainty (shubhah), which is regarded as akin to haram (unlawful consumption) in Islamic dietary law. This is because Islam stipulates precautionary measures against haram consumption by avoiding shubhah (doubtful) products, stating that consumption of doubtful products would lead to consumption of a clearly haram product. One of the verdicts reads: In the 3 situations above, a non-Muslim is involved in the running of the restaurant or eatery, either as the financier or the manager, and the influence from the financier or the manager may lead to the restaurant selling meat that are shubhah [doubtful] or haram [unlawful] or carcass. Or it may also lead to the use of fat from carcasses or lard; or the mixing of haram fat with halal fat in the processing of food in the restaurant or eatery […] therefore, the food in the restaurant cannot be guaranteed to be halal and free from what is haram and Najis and the eatery is never save from what is haram and shubhah because a kafir has an influence there, either on account of the capital he invests or the management work that he does in the restaurant. ([verdict 7/1983], vol. 1, pp. 253–254) In reality, there were complaints lodged at the office of the Mufti (the most senior Islamic jurist) which may support such a Muslim-only fatwa (verdict) that stipulates that the owner, the manager and the cook must all be Muslims. For instance, it was reported in a letter (in 1983) that there was a supermarket in the country where non-Muslim supervisors forced Muslim employees to handle pork and to deceive Muslims. It was also mentioned in the letter that the said supermarket used the butcher block used for mincing pork to mince beef and lamb sold to Muslims. In addition, frozen chickens sold to Muslims were imported from Denmark, but the employees were instructed to tell customers that they were local chickens and that they were halal (for detail, refer to the letter as contained in verdict no. [35/1983], vol. 1, pp. 255–259). One of the verdicts passed on this issue reads as follow: If the bakery does not belong to a Muslim, then Muslim customers or consumers should realize that non-Muslims do not understand what is halal, what is haram and what is Najis. [The state of] hygiene [alone] is not sufficient in determining if something can be consumed by Muslims. In the case of animals and animal fat additives, certitude and conviction are required in determining if an animal has been slaughtered according to shari’ah [Shari’a] or otherwise. (verdict [15/1997], vol. 1, p. 75) However, it was further clarified that joint ownership between Muslim and non-Muslim does not alone render the produced food haram or shubhah (doubtful). In a jointly owned food production company, restaurant or eatery, what is

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more important is the role played by the non-Muslim partner in the running of the food production company. Part of the verdict that clarifies this reads thus: One factor to be taken into account is that an export or a food production company, jointly owned by Muslims and non-Muslims, may differ from another company that shares the same function but may have different rights due to size of the company. An export or a food production company that has special Muslim officers with specific task of controlling or ensuring the lawfulness of the company’s products differ from an expert of food production company that does not have such officers. Therefore, the nature of a company, how it is run, its methods of management and the rights that it has, will also determine if the label ‘Eating Place Not for Muslims’ should be displayed. It is the same with restaurants and eateries. As to whether they should be labeled as such will also depend on what they are like, and what the conditions of partnership are among Muslims and non-Muslims. (verdict [23/1997], vol. 1, pp. 280–281) In the case of an abattoir, the verdict also ruled that it can be jointly owned by both Muslim and non-Muslim, and that the product of such an abattoir would be judged based on the way and manner the abattoir is managed. The verdict reads thus: Basically, it is all right for non-Muslims to be in partnership with Muslims in a business that supplies meat from an abattoir-an issue on which fatwa has been sought. This is so for as long as the management of the abattoir meets the condition for halal meats, for example, the slaughterers are Muslims, the stunning method has been validated by Muslim experts and the authority of determining the lawfulness of the meat is in hands of the Muslim partners regardless of the number of shares they hold. (verdict [28/2001], vol. 2, p. 194) Should the restaurant or eatery be owned by a Muslim, contamination may also occur based on the management and the workforce. If the producer of the food (the manager that supplies the ingredients) is a non-Muslim or the workforce that actually do the processing consists of non-Muslims, or a mixture of both Muslims and non-Muslims, the food substances in such a place are ruled to be shubhah (doubtful) and regarded as non-halal for Muslims (verdict [54/1982], vol. 1, p. 245; verdict [20/2004], vol. 2, p. 89). This is because it is feared that non-Muslims may not be aware of Islamic permissibility rules with regards to food items (verdict [15/1997], vol. 1, p. 76). Part of the verdict says that ‘they only know that pork is prohibited to Muslims and [they are ignorant about] other issues, e.g. the cooking place, the crockery, the cutlery and the

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mixing of pork with beef or chicken. To them, as long as it is not pure pork meat, Muslims can eat it, such as beef or chicken that has been mixed with pork’ (verdict [52/2004], vol. 2, p. 93). However, in a Muslim-owned but non-Muslim workforce restaurant, effective supervision by the Muslim owner or manager may help eradicate the doubt and control the ingredient supplies and processing. This could be inferred from the following excerpt from the verdict: In fact, if the cook in a Muslim-owned or managed restaurant is a nonMuslim, the food they serve is also considered as non-Muslim food because non-Muslims do not know anything about halal and haram, or about pure and najis (unclean according to the shari’ah [Shari’a]). Therefore, the food cooked by them (the non-Muslim) is shubhah (doubtful). Although the owner and the manager of the restaurant or the eatery may be Muslims, and the administration is in the hands of a Muslim, the actual carrying out of the work and cooking, which are done by non-Muslims, remain doubtful since non-Muslims do not know anything about the intricacies of the hukum (ruling); what is halal and what is haram, what is pure and clean and what is najis, what is mutanjjis (contaminated by najis in the ingredients to be cooked, etc. (verdict [20/2004], vol. 2, p. 88) In summary, in order to avoid contamination by place of production, places of production and packaging of halal food must be separated and kept away from non-halal products by a considerable distance to prevent cross-contamination. Further, when a food processing industry is also involved in non-halal production, there should be evidence of effective supervision by Muslims who would guarantee strict adherence to Islamic law on halal food production.

3 Generating a theory of contamination from the verdicts From the six themes discussed above, a theory can be generated from the Islamic legal verdicts ( fatwa) as passed by the Mufti of the Sultanate of Brunei Darussalam, as discussed in this paper. Here, we compare the themes to derive a definition of a theological theory of contamination as espoused by the Sultanate. It is noteworthy that at the heart of all the themes on forms of contamination as discussed above are two major interconnected core themes: the concept of an alien element, and the concept of uncertainty. As for alien elements, there are some substances which are regarded as being foreign to food from an Islamic point of view. Food is therefore ruled as being theologically contaminated when in contact with such elements. For instance, cross-contamination by non-halal substances, self-contamination by non-halal substances,

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and contamination by non-halal feeds are all based on the concept of a foreign element. A non-Muslim is also regarded as being foreign in slaughtering. Therefore, participation of a non-Muslim in the taking of the life of an animal has been ruled a contamination, and consequently any animals slaughtered by non-Muslims is ruled contaminated because non-Muslims are alien to slaughtering in Islamic dietary law. The second important core theme is the concept of uncertainty. Uncertainty is considered a cause of contamination when the presence of a theological alien element is doubted to be in contact or mixed with a food product. Uncertainty is a major factor that may render a halal food unlawful for Muslims. Such uncertainty includes uncertainty regarding whether the slaughterer is a Muslim, uncertainty about the ingredients used being free from non-halal substances, uncertainty about whether the process of production is devoid of non-halal mixing, etc. Based on this concept, a place of production may be regarded as a contaminant if there is any doubt as to adherence to Islamic dietary law. Such contamination may be due to ownership, management or workforce that includes non-Muslims. In summary, therefore, we offer a theoretical definition of halal food contamination as espoused by the Islamic legal opinions in Brunei Darussalam. Thus, halal food is contaminated when food is ascertained to be or might be in contact with an Islamically alien element at a given stage of its processing or consumption. The core of food contamination in Islam, according to this definition, is about defilement or ‘a matter out of place’ (Douglas, 2003) which is stipulated by Islamic jurisprudential strictures. This notion agrees partially with Douglas’s theory of contamination and impurity, in which she asserts that defilement is something which is perceived as an anomaly and a break from orderly social boundaries (for an elucidation of Douglas’s theory of contamination, see Duschinsky, 2013). Whereas Douglas ascribes such orderliness to social or cultural system stipulations, food contamination in Islam derives its rules from two dimensions: the sacred sources (the Qur’an and Hadith) and human interpretations of evidence from such sources. The former is evolutionary in nature and cuts across cultures and geographical boundaries under the unifying umbrella of Islamic belief. As for the latter dimension, it is largely based on human exercise of the thinking faculty otherwise called ijtihad, which is to be carried out by a body of Islamically acceptable personnel who are qualified to interpret and apply sacred sources. These two dimensions qualify the concept of halal food contamination as both globally and locally based. It goes without saying that there is a need for a proper understanding of what Islam regards as being alien to food. This is in line with Mary Douglas’s (2003) conclusion that pollution (or contamination in this context) is a type of cultural danger which must be clearly defined by those who regard it as a danger. Further, another point that is noteworthy from this definition is the stage when defilement (or contact with Islamically alien material) would be

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regarded as a cause of contamination. For instance, the theological verdicts, as passed in Brunei Darussalam, ruled that a non-Muslim contaminates a halal animal if slaughtered by him. However, the remaining processes after the animal’s life has been taken can indeed be carried out by him. In another instance, if alcohol is produced by a halal food, it would be regarded as a contaminant at a certain concentration and only if it is present in the food at the time of consumption. Therefore, if it has evaporated or turned naturally (without the aid of enzymes or catalyst) to acetic acid at the time of consumption, it is no longer regarded as a contaminant. It could be further deduced that there are permanent and temporary contaminants from a theological point of view.

Conclusion This paper sheds light on theological contamination from an Islamic perspective. It is a discussion on the spiritual dimension of contamination that extends beyond biological, chemical and physical forms of contamination. While conventional non-Islamic discourse on contamination focuses on its effect on human health, Islamic theological contamination is concerned with both human physical and spiritual domains. The Islamic perspective emphasises the eschatological adverse effects of consuming non-halal food. It is pertinent to note that halal certification bodies differ in their requirements, and some are more flexible than others (Latif et al., 2014). Thus, a proper understanding of the rules governing halal food production in a particular country requires a glocalisation approach where general Islamic dietary law is contextualised and understood from local Islamic experts’ perspective. Further, there is a need for a more comprehensive study that would juxtapose the views of the four Sunni schools with respect to food and halal product contamination.6

Notes 1 For instance, the Muslim boycott of Danish products in 2006 resulted in a huge loss and forced Arla, one of the world’s largest dairy producers whose annual sales in the Middle East amount to USD 550 million, to shut down its factory in Saudi Arabia as a result of a huge loss in sales. (See for further review on boycotts: Halevi, 2012; Heilmann, 2015, 2016; Jevtic, 2009; Maamoun and Aggarwal, 2011). 2 Halal consumerism became a celebrated paradigm as an extension of Muslims’ quest for their transnational identities which began in the late seventies. However, exclusive halal food consumption is as old as Islam itself and has been an obligatory injunction which is clearly enshrined in Islamic teachings. It is not an invented paradigm as opined by Eric Hobsbawm, Florence Bergeaud-Blacker, John Fischer and a host of others who view halal consumerism as an instrument of Muslim hegemony in the post-modern era. 3 In this chapter, ‘Qur’an linguistics’ refers to the science that studies the language of the Qur’an for the purpose of indepth understanding the Qur’an content.

146  Ahmad Labeeb Tajudeen and Ibrahim Abdul-Rahman 4 It should be noted that when a pure substance is in contact or mixed with an impure substance, it is called ‘Makhluut’ (‫مخلوط‬, ‘mixture’) and regarded as uncontaminated until such contact is regarded as impurifying; it would then be called mutanajjis (‫متنجس‬, i.e. an item or a substance which has come into contact with an essential impurity). 5 We obtained a copy each of the two volumes from the library of the Mosque of the Universiti Brunei Darussalam. Each fatwa manuscript was numbered and coded in the published version by both its serial number and the year it was passed, separated by a slash. When referring to these verdicts in this study, we used their serial number, date, volume and the page in which the verdict appears in the volume. 6 With regard to Brunei Darussalam, this study was based on available verdicts passed up until the year 2006.

References Abdul-Talib, Asmat-Nizam and Abd-Razak, Ili-Salabila (2013). “Cultivating Export Market Oriented Behavior in Halal Marketing: Addressing the Issues and Challenges in Going Global”. Journal of Islamic Marketing 4(2): 187–197. Al-Qaradawi, Yusuf (2013). The Lawful and the Prohibited in Islam: ‫مالسإلا يف مارحلاو لالحلا‬. The Other Press. Azaraimy, H. H. (2017, July 14). “Halal certification compulsory for all in FandB business.” BorneoBulletin. Retrieved from http://borneobulletin.com.bn/halal-certificationcompulsory-fb-business/ on 29 October 2017. Bon, Maedeh and Hussain, Mazhar (2010). “Chapter 4 Halal.” In Tourism in the Muslim World, eds. Noel Scott and Jafar Jafari, 47–59. London: Emerald Group Publishing Limited. Bowen, Glenn A. (2009). “Document Analysis as a Qualitative Research Method”. Qualitative Research Journal 9(2): 27–40. Charmaz, Kathy (2011). “Grounded Theory Methods in Social Justice Research”. In The Sage Handbook of Qualitative Research 4, eds. Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, 359–380. London: SAGE Publishing. Douglas, Mary (2003 [1966]). Purity and Danger: An Analysis of Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. New York: Routledge. Duschinsky, Robbie (2013). “The Politics of Purity: When, Actually, Is Dirt Matter Out of Place?” Thesis Eleven 119(1): 63–77. El-Bassiouny, Noha (2014). “The One-Billion-Plus Marginalization: Toward a Scholarly Understanding of Islamic Consumers.” Journal of Business Research 67(2), 42–49. Fischer, Johan (2011). The Halal Frontier. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Gauvain, Richard (2002). An Analysis of the Sunni Islamic Concept of Ritual Pollution in Light of Previous Research into Pollution Ideas. Doctoral dissertation, University of Glasgow. Halevi, Leor (2012). “The Consumer Jihad: Boycott Fatwas and Nonviolent Resistance on the World Wide Web.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 44(1): 45–70. Heilmann, Kilian (2015). “The Effectiveness of International Trade Boycotts.” Available at https://econweb.ucsd.edu/~kheilman/pdfs/boycott062014.pdf Heilmann, Kilian (2016). “Does Political Conflict Hurt Trade? Evidence from Consumer Boycotts.” Journal of International Economics 99: 179–191. Holton, Judith A. (2007). “The Coding Process and Its Challenges.” In The SAGE Handbook of Grounded Theory, eds. Anthony Bryant and K. Charmaz, 265–290. London: SAGE Publishing.

C ontamination of halal food products  147 Holton, Judith A. (2008). “Grounded Theory as a General Research Methodology.” The Grounded Theory Review 7(2): 67–93. International Trade Centre (2015). From Niche to Mainstream – Halal Goes Global, XIV. Geneva: International Trade Centre (ITC). Jafari, Aliakbar and Sandıkcı, Özlem (2015). “Islamic’consumers, markets, and marketing: A critique of El-Bassiouny’s (2014) ‘The one-billion-plus marginalization’.” Journal of Business Research 68(12), 2676–2682. Jevtic, Jana (2009). Global Muslim Boycott of MNCs as a Method of Economic Weakening of Israel. Dissertation submitted in partial fulfilment of the degree Master of Arts in International Relations and European Studies, Central European University, Budapest, Hungary. Available at www.etd.ceu.hu/2009/jevtic_jana.pdf. Kristeva, Julia (1996). The Sense and Non-Sense of Revolt, translated by Jeanine Herman. New York: Columbia University Press. Latif, Ismail Abd, Mohamed, Zainalabidin, Sharifuddin, Juwaidah, Abdullah, Amin. Mahir and Ismail, Mohd Mansor (2014). “A Comparative Analysis of Global Halal Certification Requirements.” Journal of Food Products Marketing 20(sup1): 85–101. Maamoun, A. and Aggarwal, P. (2011). “Guilty by Association: The Boycotting of Danish Products in the Middle East.” Journal of Business Case Studies (JBCS) 4(10): 35–42. Malboobi, Mohammad Taghi and Malboobi, Mohammad Ali (2012). “Halal Concept and Products Derived from Modern Biotechnology”. In International Workshop for Islamic Scholars on Agribiotechnology: Shariah Compliance. Georgetown, Penang, Malaysia (1–2 December 2010). Malaysia Biotechnology Information Center: Selangor, Malaysia; International Service for the Acquisition of Agri-biotech Applications: Los Baños, Laguna, Philippines, ed. Shaikh Mohd Saifuddeen Shaikh Mohd Salleh, 21–28. Malaysia: Malaysia Biotechnology Information Center (MABIC) and The International Service for the Acquisition of Agri-biotech Applications (ISAAA). Ministry of Finance and Economy. (2019). National Statistics Reports, Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei Darussalam. Retrieved from http://www.depd.gov.bn/SitePages/National%20 Statistics.aspx on 1 August 2019. Mohamed Elias, Ezanee, Othman, Siti Norezam and Yaacob, Noorulsadiqin Azbiya (2017). “Relationship of Spirituality Leadership Style and SMEs Performance in Halal Supply Chain.” International Journal of Supply Chain Management (IJSCM) 6(2): 166–176. Muhammad, Dk Norhazlin Pg. Haji (2010). A Critical Study of the Educational System in Brunei Darussalam in the Light of Al-Attas’ Philosophy of Education. Doctoral dissertation, University of Birmingham. Müller, Dominik M. (2015). “Sharia Law and the Politics of ‘Faith Control’ in Brunei Darussalam. Dynamics of Socio-Legal Change in a Southeast Asian Sultanate.” Internationales Asienforum 46(3–4): 313–345. Mustafawy (n.d.). ‫[ ميركلا نآرقلا تاملك يف قيقحتلا‬Investigation to ascertain the truth about the words of the Glorious Qur’an]. 12 volumes. ‫يوفطصملاراثآ رشن زكرم‬ “Markaz Nashr Aathar Al-Mustafawy” (Centre for publishing the works of Al-Mustafawy). Noor, Nor Laila Md and Noordin, Nurulhuda (2016). “A Halal Governance Structure: Towards a Halal Certification Market.” In Contemporary Issues and Development in the Global Halal Industry: Selected Papers from the International Halal Conference 2014, eds. Siti Khadijah Ab. Manan, Fadilah Abd Rahman and Mardhiyyah Sahri, 153–164. Singapore: Springer. Omar, Muhammad Naim, Mahamad, Arifin, Mohd Napiah, Mohammad Deen and Abdullah, Mohamad Asmadi (2012). “When Halal and Haram Meet the Haram Prevails?

148  Ahmad Labeeb Tajudeen and Ibrahim Abdul-Rahman An Analysis of the Maxim and Its Application in Contemporary Issues.” Australian Journal of Basic and Applied Sciences 6(11): 199–205. Othman, Azlan (2017, 10 June). “Brunei ranked 12th in Global Islamic Economy Indicator.” Brunei Times. Accessed on 8 June 2018 from https://borneobulletin.com. bn/brunei-ranked-12th-global-islamic-economy-indicator/. Saidin, Nurulaina and Rahman, Fadilah Abd (2016). “Halal Feed for Halal Food: An Exploratory Study of the Malaysian Legal and Regulatory Framework on Animal Feed.” In Contemporary Issues and Development in the Global Halal Industry: Selected Papers from the International Halal Conference 2014, eds Siti Khadijah Ab. Manan, Fadilah Abd Rahman and Mardhiyyah Sahri, 141–151, Singapore: Springer. State Mufti’s Office (2009). Issues on Halal Products. Brunei Darussalam: Office of the State Mufti, Prime Minister’s Office. State Mufti’s Office (2012). Animal Slaughter and Handling of Meat. Brunei Darussalam: State Mufti’s Office, Prime Minister’s Office. Van der Spiegel, Marjolein, Van der Fels-Klerx, H. J. (Ine), Sterrenburg, Piet, Van Ruth, Saskia, Scholtens-Toma, Ingrid and Kok, Esther (2012). “Halal Assurance in Food Supply Chains: Verification of Halal Certificates Using Audits and Laboratory Analysis.” Trends in Food Science and Technology 27(2): 109–119.

Chapter 7

Middle-class projects in modern Malaysia and beyond 1 Johan Fischer

Introduction During my fieldwork in Kuala Lumpur in 1996, the Astro Company launched a direct broadcast satellite that introduced a wide range of TV and radio programmes. These developments were of major interest to the Malay middleclass informants of this study. In the national media, censored and in large part owned by the state, the launch was hyped as propelling Malaysia into the media-driven globalisation of the next millennium. In this new world, modern individuals are equipped with enhanced powers of empathy stretching far beyond the local context. What is more, the number of Internet users in urban Malaysia has exploded. A large majority of subscribers live in and around Kuala Lumpur and Selangor, the state surrounding the Federal Territory of Kuala Lumpur (International Telecommunication Union 2002). Of the Malaysian population of around 28 million in 2010, about 67% are indigenous Malays (virtually all Muslims) and tribal groups, also labelled ‘bumiputera’ (literally, sons of the soil); 25% are Chinese; and 7% are Indians (http://www.statistics.gov. my). At the same time, Malaysia’s outspoken Prime Minister from 1981 to 2003, Dr Mahathir Mohamad, leader of the United Malays National Organisation (UMNO), the dominant political party in Malaysia since independence from Britain in 1957, was concerned about the influx of Westernisation in the form of a multitude of TV and radio programmes, Internet and ‘yellow culture’ (budaya kuning), that is, unwanted Western social values such as materialism, hedonism and individualism. Even if the whole atmosphere surrounding the liberalised media market was euphoric, a large number of concerns were raised. An important theme runs through this chapter and my subsequent research projects on the Malay Muslim middle class: the intricate relationship between the desire for the availability of a wide range of consumer products due to state support of the Malays and expanding markets in the context of steady economic growth; and the moral and Islamic concerns among the Malay Muslim middle class. Malaysia has sustained rapid development within the past three decades, during which the meaning of Islam has become ever more contested. The more markets are liberalised, the more prominent the call for moral protection

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of the Malays becomes. These calls are often Islamic in nature and this points to how Malay middle-class consumption is understood and contested as a particular mode of Islamic practice over time. Due to intense political, religious and social contestation, Islam in Malaysia is increasingly being transformed into a ‘discursive tradition’ (Bowen, 1993), and its capacity to construct, maintain and identify ‘proper Islamic’ practices over time is central to this chapter. Thus, the primary argument of this chapter is that an unpacking of the Malay Muslim middle class over time is important in order to understand the broader picture surrounding this class and its relationship to Malaysian national repertoires such as Islamic revivalism, politics, consumer culture, social mobility and the state-market nexus. Controversies over what Islam is, or ought to be, are intensifying the more cultures of consumption assert themselves and urban Malay middle-class projects (Liechty, 2002), that is, the making of local class culture in Malaysia, are shaped by these controversies. I use middle-class projects as a conceptual framework to capture the diversity involved in the constitution of the Malay Muslim middle class (Kahn, 1996). In each of the research projects below, I will examine informants who are representative of the broad middle-class terrain. The central research question here concerns how Malay Muslim middle-class projects have taken shape in Malaysia since the 1990s. The first project explores Malay middle-class responses to globalisation and media liberalisation of the 1990s; the second project continues this theme by exploring the relationship between Islam and new forms of consumer culture in the early 2000s; the third project examines social/physical mobility as part of middle-class projects by exploring the Malay diaspora in London in the mid-2000s; and the last project focuses on Malay Muslims employed in the Islamic economy in the late 2000s. The basic methodological approach for the four research projects is qualitative and ethnographic in nature and the projects use urban Malaysia (as well as London in the case of project three) as the setting for a detailed, intensive and complex analysis. Altogether I have carried out fieldwork on the Malay middle class for over three years since the mid-1990s. These research projects employ and combine participant observation, semi-structured interviews, informal conversations, life biographies and group discussions. In each of the research projects discussed below, about ten informants were selected to obtain a good representative spread in terms of age, gender and education/income among various middle-class groups. Education, occupation, and income in particular were crucial indicators for defining informants as middle class. Sample data supported Embong’s (2001, 88; 2002, 2) quantitative research on middle-class income in the Klang Valley in which metropolitan Kuala Lumpur is situated. Embong’s data showed that new middle-class groups are relatively affluent in that they have on average a monthly income above RM 4000 (one Malaysian Ringgit [RM] equals approximately USD 0.25). Obviously, there is no immanent conceptualisation of class in Islam,

M iddle-class projects in modern Malaysia   151

but class, or more precisely classing projects, are essential to Malay Muslim middle-class projects in modern Malaysia. When asked about self-definition in terms of class, many informants referred to themselves as ‘middle class’ (kelas pertengahan). More specifically, four months of fieldwork for the first project, an MA thesis, was carried out in 1996 among middle-class groups that were at the centre of the media revolution, so this project also included reception analysis of TV programmes (Riese et al., 1998). The setting for the second project was suburban Malaysia among Malay middle-class families (Fischer, 2008) and fieldwork was carried out for 12 months in 2001–2002. The third project was multisite in nature and included fieldwork among Malay middle-class groups, entrepreneurs and state institutions in both Malaysia and in the UK (Fischer, 2011) for 10 months in 2006–2007. The final research project built on more than one year of fieldwork carried out between 2010 and 2012 focused on Islamic production, trade and regulation around Malaysia among Islamic organisations, companies/shops/restaurants, and Islamic universities, as well as Islamic activists (Fischer, 2015b).

1 What are middle-class projects? The focus on middle-class projects involves assumptions about ‘performativity of social practices’ (Bourdieu 1990). Debates over proper Islamic consumption are of particular significance in the Malay middle class, that is, Malay middle-class projects are given shape in the interfaces between revivalist Islam, consumer culture and the blurred area of everyday respectability. In Malaysia there is a tension between how the state and civil society organisations, on the one hand, and people in their everyday lives, on the other, want to create and maintain cultural, religious and social cohesion (Hoffstaedter, 2011). Middleclass projects come into being as mental and social negotiations between the luxury/excess of elites and the economic necessity of the lower classes and, as we shall see, this is reflected in the discussion over what can be considered ‘balanced’ or proper Islamic consumption. Recent studies of the global middle class (Heiman et al., 2012; Marsh and Li 2016) tend to focus on the construction of meanings and lifestyle practices of the middle class in rapidly transforming economies, but little research focuses on middle-class projects in the interfaces between the material and the spiritual over time. Following Lamont (1992) this chapter argues that moral (religious, for example) status signals and national repertoires (history, mass media, statemarket nexus, educational system, demographic mobility, stratification systems as well as ethnic diversity among other things) are essential to classing projects. Moral symbolic boundaries are drawn on the basis of honesty, work ethic, personal integrity, consideration for others, charity, egalitarianism and sincerity and religious groups tend to defend traditional values such as family life, neighbourhood, community and a religious lifestyle based on moral choices

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against materialism, individualism, elitist meritocracy, secular humanism and cosmopolitanism. Class projects are also given substance by specific practices in everyday life, and hence class can be conceptualised as something that occurs in human relationships (Thompson, 1963). Class happens when people, due to common experiences, ‘feel and articulate the identity of their interests as between themselves, and as against other men whose interests are different from and usually opposed to theirs’ (Thompson, 1963). My exploration of Malay middle-class projects is focused on how to make sense of class as personal class experiences (Kessler, 2001) to move beyond the blurredness and imprecision of the middle-class concept and its ability to explain the origins of the modern world (Wallerstein, 1991). Hence, the middle class occupies a mythical place in the advent of development and modernity and my analysis is inspired by King’s (2008) call to explore the richness of class analysis by focusing on values, outlook, lifestyles, moral perspectives, perceptions of social change and political choices. In Malaysia, the middle class has become a mythical national signifier of mental and material development and it is to this aspect I will now turn.

2 The Malay middle class in Malaysia: between state, market and Islam I now explore the emergence and expansion of the Malay middle class in Malaysia with a specific focus on the interaction between state, market and Islamic revivalism. Constitutionally Malays are only Malays if they are Muslims, speak the Malay language – Bahasa Melayu or Bahasa Malaysia – and follow Malay customs. The Malay middle-class section is the largest and fastest growing in Malaysia and Malay middle-class projects are inseparable from commercial interests and current debates over the shape and meaning of Islam. The New Economic Policy (NEP) was introduced by the state in the 1970s and its main objective was to improve the economic and social situation of the Malays vis-à-vis the Chinese in particular. Malay ownership of production rose and preferential quotas in the educational system increased the number and proportion of Malays engaged in the economy – these transformations constitute essential aspects of middle-class projects. The state succeeded in creating an educated, entrepreneurial and shareholding Malay middle class necessary for economic, national and social cohesion. While the state may be a major ideological driving force behind the manufacturing of a Malay middle class (Kahn, 1991), the force of the market and capitalist relations of production should not be downplayed (Embong, 1998). Simultaneously, many Malaysian middle-class groups are increasingly dissatisfied with the state of governance and democracy in the country (Embong, 2013). The coining of the new term ‘Melayu Baru’ or ‘New Malay’ by Mahathir was not only an attempt at manufacturing an entrepreneurial vanguard of Malay middle-class modernity, but also a national middle-class project

M iddle-class projects in modern Malaysia   153

in its own right. The New Malay embodies an aggressive, entrepreneurial, and global ‘we can’ mentality (Teik, 1995) as well as an emerging Protestantised middle-class work ethic. These new middle-class Malays are modern individuals and groups aware of practising middle-classness through Islam, consumption and legitimate taste (Embong, 2002). Virtually all Malays are Muslim and speak the Malay language, but even so the contestation of Islam produces a range of diverse lifestyles. Islam, or more accurately, the social and moral meaning of what is properly Islamic, is contested and there are competing attempts to incorporate it into both state institutions and a multitude of everyday practices. A number of divergent dakwah (literally, invitation to salvation) groups emerging in the context of the wider resurgence of Islam in Malaysia starting in the 1970s generated new types of middle-class projects, that is, the rise of divergent dakwah groups in the wider resurgence of Islam in Malaysia challenged the secular foundation of the Malaysian state. Dakwah is both an ethnic and a political phenomenon transforming Malaysia for both Muslims and non-Muslims and from the 1970s onward, Parti Islam SeMalaysia (PAS), the Islamic opposition party that still enjoys widespread popularity, together with dakwah groups, criticised the policies of the government led by UMNO for being un-Islamic and secular (Sundaram and Cheek, 1992). Conversely, the state sees dogmatic forms of dakwah as the decline of Islam due to the arrogant rejection of secular knowledge by ulama (religious functionaries) (Milne and Mauzy, 1999). Over time it is becoming clearer how the Islamic way of life is put into practice. An example of this could be to prefer certain locally produced and certified halal goods. Halal is an Arabic word that literally means ‘permissible’ or ‘lawful’ and conventionally halal signifies ‘pure food’, particularly in relation to meat, which is subject to proper Islamic practice such as ritual slaughter and pork avoidance. A particular issue explored in three of the research projects below is halal practices in Malay Muslim middle-class projects. In the modern world, halal is no longer an expression of esoteric forms of production, trade and consumption but part of a huge and expanding globalised market and nowhere is this more evident than in Malaysia. In the modern food industry around the world, a number of Muslim requirements have taken effect, such as an injunction to avoid any substances that may be contaminated with porcine residues or alcohol. The Malaysian state has systematically regulated halal production, trade and consumption since the early 1980s and state bodies such as Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia or the Islamic Development Department of Malaysia (JAKIM) regulate halal in the interfaces between Islamic revivalism, the state, and consumer culture. Moreover, Malaysia aspires to be a world leader in global halal markets and these points resonate with Gupta’s (2003) argument that agriculture, food production, modernity and nation building are inseparable. Halal consumption and Islamic consumer culture more broadly are an expression of a relatively new and Islamic popular culture that appeals to

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devout middle-class groups of Muslims who seek alternatives to traditional and strict images of Islam on the one hand and Western products on the other (Heryanto, 2011). I have coined the term ‘halalisation’ to signify a major preoccupation with the proliferation of the concept of halal in a multitude of commodified forms (Fischer, 2008, 2011, 2015a, b). In essence, the class analysis suggested here is one that aims to connect specific social actions in the local context to wider structural and temporal processes and transformations – in short, middle-class projects. 2.1 Project one: media, modernity, morality

When the Astro Company launched a direct broadcast satellite in 1996 it was hyped in the national media as propelling Malaysia into the media-driven globalisation of the next millennium. The introduction of multiple TV and radio channels in Malaysia was a real media revolution. In 1991, Mahathir unveiled Vision 2020, imagining Malaysia as a fully developed nation by the year 2020. Mahathir and the political elite in Malaysia saw Information and Communication Technology (ICT) as signifying an information revolution that was best left unregulated in order not to disturb its enormous business and globalising potential, for example to attract multinationals to Malaysia in order to increase direct foreign investment. In the broader perspective, network society and ICT have affected significant shifts in Malaysia’s political and economic positioning from the 1990s onwards, most notably in setting up a zone, the Multimedia Super Corridor or MSC in 1995. This ‘high-tech’ zone stretches southwards from Kuala Lumpur and aims to turn the nation’s main metropolitan area into a ‘node’ or ‘hub’ in transnational social and economic networks (Bunnell, 2004, 144). Kuala Lumpur in many ways embodies the quintessential modern and prosperous Asian metropolis. Within the past 30 years, industrialisation, urbanisation and economic growth have produced a city that expands both vertically and horizontally as a visible manifestation of the Malaysian miracle of the Tiger Economies essentialised in and through monumental and visible urban and national hypermodernity. The question I will turn to now is how my Malay Muslim middle-class informants understood and practised this media revolution taking place between the euphoria of Malaysia partaking in global media modernity and concerns about the subversion of local tradition, authority and values that called for a novel kind of inner censorship among the Malay middle class (Riese et al., 1998). The first informant is Kartini. She is in her forties, married with one adult son who is studying in Australia, and has lived in a condominium flat in a middleclass suburb. She was educated as a teacher in Malay Girls’ College. Kartini’s husband holds a senior position in a bank. There was no indication in the condominium flat in the form of Islamic paraphernalia that Kartini was Muslim. She welcomed the increased openness and transparency media globalisation

M iddle-class projects in modern Malaysia   155

and liberalisation could potentially provide to the political system in Malaysia, which is characterised by graft and authoritarianism. Western values in the form of democracy and transparency could help ‘check’ and reinvigorate the political system in Malaysia. Kartini describes the political system in Malaysia as a ‘guided democracy’ that could learn from Western processes of democratisation. However, in the eyes of Kartini, the Malaysian mentality is more easily ‘influenced by emotions’ as opposed to the West and she therefore understands that the government is concerned about local values and traditions in the context of liberalisation. On the one hand, Kartini idealises democracy, rights and openness and on the other, she shares the political system’s concern about national values and stability. In this kind of narrative, Islam and Islamic identity played no role. Conversely, in narratives of other informants Islam and Islamic values were central. Azril is in his 20s and is studying to become a pilot in Kuala Lumpur. He lives with other students at the pilot academy. He is sharply dressed and has travelled extensively, especially in the UK where his mother and father, who are divorced, currently work. Azril’s narrative is characterised by a desire to preserve traditional values, customs and religion as Malaysia develops, especially in connection with the introduction of new media technologies. ‘We don’t want to be like other developed countries, like America’, he argued, as these countries were developing economically while overlooking the damage done to family relations in particular. Many informants argued that Japan was a good example to follow, in that the country developed economically while ‘remaining loyal to their ancestors’ customs and being self-disciplined, respectful’, as Azril put it. These narratives follow the Malaysian state’s idealisation of Japan as a development miracle that should be emulated. In all this, Islam works as a ‘moral guide’ that can preserve spirituality in modern Malaysia where the quest for material wealth is essential for the elite and middle class. The centrepiece of this type of narrative is how to combine ‘spiritual’ and ‘material’ values in Kuala Lumpur. Inspired by the state’s modernist ideal, Azril states that the Malay mentality must change ‘because you can’t afford, you don’t want to be left behind. Tradition shouldn’t be an obstacle for improving your lifestyle, your economic standing. Tradition is there to guide you along the right path, not to make you suffer’. This quotation is telling for how many informants ambivalently negotiated between spiritual and material values in the context of urbanisation and wealth. Informants in this study felt that modernity and modern life were not something external or monumental. Rather, the modern was signified as an intimate feeling one not only lives with, but something that resides inside of one as nationalised culture. In the mid-1990s urban middle-class projects among the Malays were to a large extent centred on coming to terms with liberalised media policies and globalisation in the form of intensified flows of goods and ideas on the one hand, and a plethora of individual and national responses to these transformations. This study evoked a number of questions that were explored in three larger research projects.

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2.2 Project two: proper Islamic consumption

While skyscrapers may be a very visible manifestation of the Malaysian miracle of the Tiger Economies, Kuala Lumpur is to a large extent expanding in the form of suburbanisation, creating vast new residential areas, and thus the fieldwork for this study took place in an affluent middle-class suburb outside Kuala Lumpur between 2001 and 2002 (Fischer, 2008). This study explored a field of contradictory Islamic visions, lifestyles and debates articulating what Islam is or ought to be that frame the everyday organisation and justification of consumer behaviour within Malay middle-class households. The malls and the mosques that surrounded this suburb comprised two central spheres of modern suburban middle-class projects, that is, such projects can fruitfully be examined in the interfaces between Islam as a worldview and a performance of acts of piety and a range of consumer practices and lifestyle choices. In the wake of dakwah the domain of food in particular was increasingly subjected to Islamic understandings of halal and as we shall see these ideas have deepened and widened in Malaysia to be inscribed into a large number of other domains. Thus, capitalism is adjusting to the recent requirements of a growing number of Muslims in Malaysia and the Islamic market is expanding, but also increasingly regulated by the state. Jeti, a woman in her early 20s who held bachelor’s degrees in English and linguistics and currently worked as a research assistant, explained that previously it was very difficult to go to a restaurant and ask if products were halal or not because there were no halal ‘signs’ or ‘logos’. I suggest that the constitution of public distinctions between two Malay middle-class groups is an uneven process reflecting two types of middle-class projects: one group performs proper Islamic consumption as a localised form of purism while another group is more orientated towards a pragmatic approach to the performance of proper Islamic consumption. This distinction between the purist and more pragmatically inclined middle-class Malays was evident from the empirical material gathered in my fieldwork and for the most dedicated among the purists, halal requirements are by no means fixed or stable, but instead elastic and expansive. For these Malays, halal products must also be produced by Muslims in order to be acceptable in Islam and/or broadly proper halal consumption is morally given. Conversely, pragmatic Malays either reluctantly accept the imposition of halalisation or simply reject it as a material and thus shallow display of belief – as Islamic materialism or excess. These Malays can be said to be ‘ordinary Malays’, that is, Malays who are not at the forefront of contemporary religious or political developments and who are somewhat ambivalent about these (Peletz, 1997). This type of resistance was summed up by a woman informant: ‘Islamic belief alone should be fine.’ She made the case that the whole idea about Islam in consumption was insufficiently argued and altogether unconvincing. Yasir is a man in his 40s who worked with IT development. He embodied the power and purism of halalisation involved in consumer preferences in everyday life by dividing Malays into segments according to their adherence to

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extremely elaborate ideas about what was considered acceptable in Islam and what was not. These distinctions produced and maintained a polarity between purity and impurity and legitimate Islamic taste. If accidentally eating food that was not halal certified he would instantly throw it away. Contrary to himself and his family many Muslims were quite indifferent to these requirements, he explained by drawing attention to groups of Malays that lacked knowledge of and dedication to proper Islamic practices. These ideas and ideals about particularity involved in Malay halal food preferences work as one of the clearest examples of ethnic and religious distinctions and social boundaries that together give shape to a particular kind of middle-class project. Moreover, this informant also stressed that as a principle he would buy a minimum of 10% of the family’s goods in local bumiputera shops to support Muslim businesses. To sum up, purist Malay middle-class projects embody the stretching of properly certified halal food to involve proper preferences, taste, handling, presentation and context, whereas more pragmatically inclined or ordinary Malays reject or negotiate these notions. However, among all informants there was a general adherence to halal principles and this point demonstrates that Malay middle-class projects to a large extent are about food consumption. It was this point that made me focus on the Islamic marketplace in urban and suburban Malaysia – for example by far the most food products in urban/ suburban super/hypermarkets are fully halal certified by JAKIM. This tells us that Malay social mobility reflects concerns with ‘getting consumption right’ and that this has helped shape new forms of ethnic and religious Malay middleclass projects. These concerns and confusions are deepening as more and more foreign-produced halal as well as non-halal commodities enter the Malaysian market, but little research focused on how physical mobility or migration are conditioned by or condition Malay middle-class projects and it is to this aspect I will now turn. 2.3 Project three: on the halal frontier

This project studies modern forms of halal understanding and practice among middle-class Malay Muslims in London, that is, the halal consumption of middle-class Malays in the diaspora (Fischer, 2011). Focusing on Malays in multiethnic London allowed me to explore the Malaysian state’s vision of and commitment to promoting halal that specifically identifies London as a centre for halal production, trade and consumption. Secondly, London is home to a substantial number of Malays and Malaysian organisations such as UMNO and Malaysia External Trade Development Corporation (MATRADE), Malaysia’s national trade promotion agency, which promotes halal globally. Intimate connections and exchanges between the two countries have existed since Britain’s colonisation of Malaysia, meaning that Commonwealth migrants from Malaysia could legally settle in Britain. During fieldwork in London in 2006–2007, I spent a great deal of time in halal restaurants, in butcher’s shops,

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grocery stores, super/hyper-markets selling halal products. Most importantly, perhaps, this study shows that the global mobility of the Malay Muslim middle class is an essential aspect of middle-class projects on the one hand, but also diaspora strategies of the Malaysia state on the other (Fischer, 2015a). Halal is highly visible in signs and logos in the urban landscape of London and there are hundreds of halal butchers as well as super/hypermarkets selling halal products in the city. Compared to Malaysia, where halal is highly regulated by the state, the secular government in the UK is not actively regulating halal. Halal in the UK is mainly certified by the Halal Monitoring Committee (HMC) (www. halalmc.co.uk) or the Halal Food Authority (HFA), the two major certifying bodies in Britain that are competitors in the field of halal certification. Thus, the main project for middle-class Malays in London who are accustomed to a highly globalised, multiethnic, and cosmopolitan food market in urban Malaysia is to negotiate their fastidiousness about halal in the diaspora where they are outside the direct protection of the Malaysian state. As long as the food consumed is considered halal, these Malays would cook a wide variety of dishes in their homes. Most of all, it is meat that is subjected to halal/ haram judgments, but alcohol and gelatine are also sources of concern. Often Malays will shop for ingredients used in Malaysian cuisine in Chinese supermarkets such as Loon Fung in Chinatown or elsewhere or Thai grocery stores. A plethora of Muslim groups with divergent understandings and practices of halal compete over and consume halal in this expanding market in Britain and globally. Comparable to what we saw in Malaysia, the empirical material from London suggests two registers of understanding and practice of halal certification among Malays in London. The first group is relatively strict or purist about halal consumption, whereas the second group is more pragmatic about these contested questions – all of these informants are acutely aware that halal understanding and practice is very different in the diaspora. Most of these middle-class informants are in London to work or study and they feel that it is a privilege to be able to further their career or skills in the global city of London. Consequently, they are aware that some level of pragmatism is part of everyday life in the diaspora. The first informant is Nazli. He is a single man who came to London in 2001 to study and he is also a student councillor with an Islamic student organisation. His narrative illustrates the sentiments towards halal certification among the first group of informants. In relation to halal certification in London Nazli complained that shops and butchers’ shops simply put up a sign displaying the word ‘halal’ in Arabic and/or English. To this group of Malays in the diaspora, marking such products and premises in this way represents insufficient certification by a trustworthy certifying body that can be held accountable. Nazli further argues that ‘anyone’ could put up a sign in Arabic that indicates halal: ‘I worry about local halal certification sometimes because you can see people we don’t even know creating their own halal signs and putting them up.’ Even if

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halal is not regulated by the state in the UK, Nazli accepts halal certification by HMC or HFA as reliable and trustworthy. Thus, in the eyes of Nazli, proper halal certification with a convincing logo is sufficient proof that products are fit for consumption by Muslims. As in the case of most other informants, Nazli shops for meat at a local halal butcher’s shop and this requires trust in the Muslim butcher because, in most cases, there is no visible certification in such facilities. This group of middle-class Malays is relatively strict about the halal/ haram binary that requires proper certification and thus this type of middleclass project revolves around their interest in the certification of not only meat but also a whole range of other products. In this way, they support the current proliferation of halal and its regulation that they know so well from Malaysia. In other words, this register of Malay middle-class Muslims understand and practise halal as a religious injunction that should inspire a particular form of Muslim lifestyle. Edgware Road in central London is a centre for halal and it was in a Malaysian halal restaurant here that the informant Binsar and the researcher discussed halal. Binsar is a single man in his 30s and moved to London to study in 1995. Binsar and other more pragmatic Malays are relatively relaxed about their understanding and practice of halal certification. Thus, compared to the more purist Malays discussed above, fastidiousness about halal does not play a major role in the middle-class projects of these diaspora Malays. For example, Binsar explains to me that he basically trusts producers and sellers to live up to halal requirements, and that it is not his responsibility as a Muslim consumer to mistrust their intentions and that there are no significant differences between various types of certification, such as JAKIM and local certification in London: ‘I would take both, JAKIM and local certification in London, there’s not too much of a difference anyway.’ Thus, signs in Arabic stating that products in butchers’ shops or restaurants are halal are perfectly acceptable to Binsar and he concludes that ‘in our belief if someone says it’s halal, we just take it. So if anything is wrong, we just blame the producer or trader.’ Binsar’s friend Abdul is also present in the Malaysian halal restaurant in Edgware Road this evening and reflects similar sentiments. Abdul is a 29-yearold man who moved to London to study in 1996 and now works as an accountant. He lives with his wife and their child in north London. Compared to Binsar, Abdul is even more relaxed and pragmatic about halal understanding and practice in London, ‘I’m just not too concerned. I couldn’t be bothered. I am a bit ignorant, so if I see a halal sign I wouldn’t do more research.’ Abdul is involved with UMNO work in London, but the Malaysian state’s halal vision to dominate the global market for halal seems to be insignificant and distant in his everyday life with his wife and child in London. He feels that ‘when you live outside Malaysia and can’t really get what you need you just have to shut one eye.’ Informants in this group indicate that everyday pragmatism becomes the order of the day when living abroad and without the imagined safety of

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state-certified products, and that everyday halal consumption is characterised by multiplicity and ambiguity: I actually find it a bit confusing when I see halal products such as biscuits and sardines. I am sure that there are different interpretations in our religion, but the way that I have been taught at school is that halal only applies to meat. So these new products are confusing. (Fischer, 2011, 100) Abdul acknowledges that the Malaysian state discourse on halal is overwhelmingly about business and profit and not Islamic devotion: ‘There is a lot of profit to be made on halal. Personally, I’m more liberal about eating non-halal, but the market is still very untapped. Even if I’m not very strict I would support halal as business.’ This type of critique of the massive commercialisation of Islam and halal was rare to see among my informants. It demonstrates, firstly, that ‘ordinary’ or pragmatic Malays may be critical about Malaysian state discourses as well as the halal hype in London and, secondly, that financial or patriotic support for Malaysia through halal consumption becomes the driving force behind practice. Among my informants, halal discourses were often transmitted during state schooling in Malaysia. Thus, education, which is one of the key aspects of middle-class projects, was formative of a basic and extended knowledge of halal as part of school experiences. For example, informants would explain that knowledge of halal was taught as a natural part of ‘a national curriculum’, as ‘a common understanding’, ‘general knowledge’ or ‘a syllabus’. My study shows that although halal is important in middle-class projects in the diaspora it also requires the constant and shifting engagement among these Malays. Even the most relaxed middle-class Malays in London experience multiplicity and ambiguity as halal spreads into new types of commodities and marks spaces in supermarkets, hypermarkets, and advertising. Informants preferred Malaysian state-certified products by far if they were readily available and these were described as ‘familiar’, ‘trustworthy’, ‘reliable’, and ‘convincing’ Most importantly, this study demonstrated that physical and social mobility condition Malay middle-class projects – Malaysia’s efforts to develop and dominate a global market in halal commodities is a type of diaspora strategy in its own right and Malaysian state institutions, entrepreneurs, restaurants and middle-class groups in London respond to and are affected by this effort. Thus, Malay middle-class projects in the diaspora should be explored in the interfaces between Islam, state and market. 2.4 Project four: global halal zones

This research project starting in 2009 explores ‘the bigger institutional picture’ that frames everyday halal consumption discussed above – the contact zones or interface zones between Islam and markets through techniques like

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production, trade and regulation. More specifically, I explore how middleclass Malays are involved in these sectors and I use ‘zones’ to explain how the global markets for halal are comprised of divergent zones inside and between which regulatory institutions and markets interact (Fischer, 2015b). I argue that education/occupation are essential aspects of Malay middle-class projects and explore four types of middle-class workplaces which, each in their own way, are related to the Islamic economy in Malaysia and beyond: global networks of Malay entrepreneurs (Sloane, 1999), Islamic universities and halal laboratories as well as manufacturing companies. I explored a Malay entrepreneurs’ network to strategically promote halal in the global market with state backing. During fieldwork in Malaysia and London I met Altaf – a Malay woman, who in many respects reflected the ways in which networking is practised in Malaysian halal. She held degrees in accounting and business studies from the UK and was currently involved in promoting halal for the Malaysian state by organising trade promotions on the one hand and selling her own company’s halal products on the other. Altaf also runs several consultancy firms that help Malaysian companies with the process of halal certification and regulation both in Malaysia and globally. Being in London allowed Altaf to explore the lucrative UK market that she knew from her studies. She envisaged halal as giving Malaysia an edge and a ‘niche trade network’ and this point was supported by the news that Nestlé had entered into a halal business deal with Malaysia. To Altaf this was proof that only by cooperating with multinationals and using their existing trade networks could a country such as Malaysia succeed. Altaf was confident that the emerging halal trade was forging new Malay ‘community networks’ on a global scale backed by political will in Malaysia. In essence, these last points reflect not only the materialisation of an entrepreneurial New Malay mentality that to a large extent is a product of the NEP as a sort of ethnic network policy of the Malaysian state, but most importantly, perhaps, that Malay middle-class projects exist in the interfaces between state support and networking in the Islamic economy: social and physical mobility among Malay middle-class women that practice networking between state institutions, Islamic organisations, and companies. In Altaf’s everyday consumption she was not very particular about halal and she was not wearing the tudung (long headscarf) on any of the occasions I met her. She is not a dakwah activist, but rather a modern entrepreneur who tries to optimise Malaysian halal performance on the global scale and make the most of this in her own company. On the one hand, Altaf works with companies that produce sauces, pastes, herbal products, baby food and dried fruit, among other things, and she takes on clients and products to ‘tap into the global halal market’ and ‘pushes’ them to become ‘fully certified’. On the other hand, an essential part of Altaf’s work consists of cooperating with JAKIM and MATRADE. She advises these bodies and ‘gives them feedback on what’s happening out there’, building on her extensive experience with halal in the European market and in the UK

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in particular – for example the workings of the local halal certifiers in Britain. Malay middle-class entrepreneurs such as Altaf play an essential role in the Malaysian halal network by promoting Malaysian halal and certification in markets where the Malaysian state has little or no authority. The Malaysian state promotes its vision of a halal network, enabling Malaysia to sell halal commodities through the business of Malay Muslim middle-class entrepreneurs globally.

3 Islamic technoscience Islamic Science University of Malaysia (USIM) houses the Institute of Property Management & Islamic Finance, the Institute of International Fatwa Management & Research, the Faculty of Syariah (‘Syariah’ is the local spelling of ‘Shari’a’ in Malaysia) & Law, as well as the Institute of Halal Research & Management (IHRAM), which is a centre of excellence in USIM for Islamicbased education, research, training, services, consultation and laboratory analyses with issues regarding halal. During fieldwork in 2010, IHRAM’s laboratory used technology and techniques to locate alcohol, pork and other types of contamination in food and drink. This section explores a particular form of Malaysian Islamisation of knowledge and technoscience, that is, material technology and specialised social expertise (Ong and Collier, 2005) that exist in the interfaces between Islamic revivalism, state regulation and markets. Dakwah in Malaysia was to a large extent driven by Malay Muslim middle-class groups and the Malaysian state’s Islamisation efforts included Islamic education and research. This led to increased numbers of government-funded primary and secondary religious schools and tertiary Islamic education also expanded (Aziz and Baharuddin, 2004) and it is in this context that Islamic technoscience and halal in the Islamic Science University should be seen. Thus, middle-class projects in Malaysia are to a large extent shaped by these efforts to make Islam, education and research compatible. The woman director of IHRAM was educated in food science and nutrition and she explained to me about the Institute’s research – for example halal services and Islamic finance that seek to avoid riba (interest) are part of ongoing research that supports the national vision to make Malaysia a global leader in halal. The director argued that several areas of research and planning are important for realising this halal vision: government halal standards; Islamic finance; the development of Syariah audit procedures and services monitored by a Syariah committee that looks into whether institutions are Syariah compliant; social security to increase the ‘Muslim economy’; marketing and traceability, as well as ‘extension of reach’, for example through publications for the umma (community of Muslims); cooperation with industry players; and fiqh (the human attempt to understand Syariah) issues. The core values and objectives of IHRAM build on the compatibility of science and technology on the one hand and Islamic knowledge on the other, and meet in the education

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of BAs, MAs, and PhDs with critical knowledge that can be put into practice in IHRAM’s laboratory that makes use of haram detection technology and techniques to locate alcohol, pork, and ‘minerals contamination such as lead and mercury’ in food and drink. The research in IHRAM and its laboratory also focuses on broader issues such as health and hygiene, contaminants, heavy metals, cholesterol, and edible products that can cause allergies. My fieldwork at USIM for the most part took place in laboratory facilities and I met BA, MA, and PhD students and lecturers, many of whom had come from other Muslim countries, doing research on halal. As a sign of IHRAM’s international outlook, the institute receives visitors from various national and international laboratories, universities and trade organisations wishing to learn about the halal research activities at USIM. IHRAM is an example of how a rationalised Syariah-compliant science department inscribes Islamised knowledge into education, research, training, services, consultation and laboratory analyses, but most of all it shows how middle-class projects emerge in the context of Islamic technoscience. My study demonstrates how technoscience and research is a major focus area for the state on the one hand and, on the other hand, halal science institutions cooperate with companies in terms of product development, innovation and testing. This research is valuable to Muslim consumers in their everyday consumption and middle-class projects more broadly.

4 Manufacturing halal During fieldwork in an industrial estate in Malaysia I visited a European multinational company that produces food ingredients, enzymes (a substance that acts as a catalyst in living organisms) and bio-based solutions. The company specialised in offering manufacturers new opportunities to meet growing consumer demand for halal-labelled products and thus all the company’s raw materials comply with halal requirements. This example from a manufacturing company in Malaysia illustrates the relationship between middle-class Malays and Islamic technoscience. I understand such companies to be types of sociological laboratories with histories, cultures, structures, hierarchies and values to observe and analyse. Employees in many manufacturing companies are to a large extent part of teams – for example Halal Committees, as we shall see below. Ideally, team members complement each other’s capacities; are productive/high-functioning; make great decisions; resolve conflict; gain consensus; and communicate/collaborate fluidly. Thus, the team as a paradigm of productivity and organisational control is internalised through the reconstitution of expertise and redistribution of worker responsibility (Urciuoli, 2008). Halal certified companies rely on JAKIM and Halal Industry Development Corporation (HDC), an organisation established in 2006 by the Malaysian government to co-ordinate the overall development of the halal industry.

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A senior manager I met at the HDC headquarters is an example of a middleclass employee who received his tertiary education in Britain. The senior manager was not directly involved in dakwah, his office did not in any way display any Islamic paraphernalia such as plaques with Islamic calligraphy and he was wearing ordinary office dress. Contrary to earlier generations of dakwah revivalists the current stress on halal is more ‘managerial’, that is, regulative rather than strictly theological, and the senior manager’s main vision and responsibility in HDC was to develop halal ‘integrity’, ‘branding’, and ‘to take halal to the next level’. This project shows how the well-educated Malay middle class plays an essential role in the proliferation and regulation of the halal market. The company mentioned above shows how middle-class Malays fit into Malaysia’s Islamic economy (Sloane-White, 2011) and it is to that example I will now turn. I discussed halal with two representatives from the Halal Committee, which is mandatory in all halal-certified companies. The first representative is a male chemistry graduate who has been working for the company for 19 years. He was initially involved in production and then shifted to work on implementing system requirements on safety, health and standards in environmental management. In his own words, he is the plant’s ‘Halal Manager’. The company focuses on good manufacturing practices and food safety (internationally recognised) instead of the local Malaysian standard for halal MS 1500 (production, preparation, handling, and storage of halal food). The Halal Committee member is responsible for managing halal compliance and certification, including application for and renewal of certificates with JAKIM. Encouraged by JAKIM he has also participated in training to enhance knowledge of halal technology and management. His colleague is a woman who has worked for the company for 13 years and she is responsible for handling JAKIM halal online registration and certification as well as quality control, product services, product specification, and customers’ requirements. The company’s Halal Committee comprises five Malays, who are ‘appointed from executive level’. The company is faced with two groups of officers from JAKIM: a group specialising in technical knowledge with particular reference to food and another group with an Islamic background more focused on religious aspects such as the binary halal-haram. Both these groups can be considered middle class and an important aspect is that company representatives and JAKIM officers not only exchange knowledge, but also develop relationships that help smooth cooperation. A company such as this one is subjected to increasingly strict halal requirements by JAKIM and HDC, but they also develop more refined processes to comply with such requirements – these processes are based on knowledge that employees acquired during their education and experience from working in the Islamic economy, not least interaction with other middleclass individuals that in many cases are part of teams with specialised knowledge of the Islamic economy and bureaucracy.

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Conclusion This chapter has explored continuities and changes in the formation of Malay Muslim middle-class projects in Malaysia and beyond. I have shown how an unpacking of the Malay Muslim middle class over time is important in order to understand the broader picture surrounding this class and its relationship to Malaysian national repertoires such as Islamic revivalism, politics, consumer culture, social mobility and the state-market nexus: Muslim piety as economy. Around the time of the first research project in the 1990s multinational companies such as McDonald’s were fully halal certified in Malaysia (Fischer, 2015b) and this was to a large extent because of pressure from Malay Muslim middleclass groups. In contemporary Malaysia, middle-class projects are intimately linked to the Islamic economy, as exemplified by the research on halal production, trade, regulation, research and consumption. This chapter shows that even the most ‘ordinary’ or pragmatic Malays are faced with and have to negotiate the force of this economy in their everyday lives. Thus, Malay middle-class projects, to a large extent, take consumption in all its forms as the starting point of material, ethnic and religious distinctions. Malay middle-class projects have become more and more compatible with religious capitalism and modernity over the last couple of decades or so. As a consequence of the growing Malay middle class in Malaysia, Muslim consumption has been subjected to state and business intervention in the form of extensive market research and the political institutionalisation of consumption and this is now spreading to other Muslim countries – for example, my study of Islamic education and technoscience showed that many Muslim students come to Malaysia to learn about Islamic economies and research. Halal understanding and practice among these middle-class Malays are inseparable from how the Malay middle class emerged in the interfaces between Islamic revivalism, state and market, and (halal) consumption is entangled in ever more complex webs of political, ethnic and national significance in modern Malaysia. At the same time, notions of the sacred in Malaysia have taken on more political meanings over time and I propose conceiving of the proliferation of halal as a type of national standardisation that attempts to achieve legibility and simplification. Food consumption and its religious, social, and cultural context may be the closest one can come to a core symbol in Malay middle-class projects. Globally, capitalism is adjusting to the recent requirements of a growing number of middle-class Muslims, and the Islamic market is expanding rapidly, that is, in the second millennium, halal also signifies a type of globalised religious market that covers new types of commodities and services. Halal understandings and practices among informants suggest a religious and ethnic identity that increasingly is impersonal and technological in nature, and the four research projects discussed demonstrate this point. Many Malay

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middle-class consumers face moral multiplicity and ambiguity in an expanding halal market, that is, the seemingly boundless expansion of halal and its certification into ever more commodities can be seen as excessive and unnecessary. However, even the most pragmatic Malays acknowledge that a whole range of powerful political and business discourses condition modern forms of halal.

Note 1 This paper was first published by the Department of Anthropology at The Chinese University of Hong Kong in Asian Anthropology, 16(1): 54–69. I am most grateful for Department of Anthropology giving permission to use this material.

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168  Johan Fischer Thompson, Edward P. (1963). The Making of the English Working Class. New York: A. A. Knopf. Urciuoli, Bonnie (2008). “Skills and Selves in the New Workplace.” American Ethnologist 35 (21): 211–228. Wallerstein, Immanuel (1991). “The Bourgeois(ie) as Concept and Reality.” In Race, Nation, Class: Ambiguous Identities, eds. Etienne Balibar and Immanuel Wallerstein, 135–152. London: Verso.

Chapter 8

Modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN Muhammad Talha Salam, Nazlida Binti Muhamad and Vai Shiem Leong

Introduction Concurrent with strong growth in ‘Islamic fashion’ reported in successive editions of the Global Islamic Economy Report, there is a surge in the marketing activities of fashion brands operating in the arena of ‘Islamic fashion’ or ‘modest fashion’ (Thomson Reuters, 2015). The term ‘Islamic fashion’ is used for those fashion products and accessories that comply with Islamic principles or are at least not in contravention of Islamic principles. ‘Modest fashion’, as the name suggests, is that type of fashion which is presented as ‘modest’ compared to mainstream fashion. While Islam professes modesty in dressing, it is not the only religion to do so. Modest fashion is also a relevant concept in Christianity and Judaism (Lewis, 2015). Therefore, in simple words, modest fashion may or may not be Islamic, but Islamic fashion is generally modest fashion. The academic and managerial discourses on Islamic fashion or modest fashion have mostly focused on issues related to dressing and social aspects of veiling (e.g. Boulanouar, 2006; Droogsma, 2007; Lewis, 2007). In formal business and marketing terms, dresses represent only the ‘product’ component of the marketing mix of Islamic fashion brands. An equally important yet under-researched area for Islamic fashion brands is the observance of modesty in promotion or marketing communications. There is limited comprehension of modesty in the promotion of Islamic fashion, notwithstanding the fact that promotion or marketing communications are among the most visible elements of consumer culture in a society. So while the concept of modesty has long been the focus of discussion for dresses (products) in Islamic fashion brands, it has not been applied to marketing communications. This chapter is an endeavour to enrich the discourse on the prevalence of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications and in Muslim consumer culture. This chapter focuses on the practice of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in the ASEAN region in particular. ASEAN, or Far East Asia, was selected to discuss modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications because of the demographic and economic significance of the region in the global Muslim consumer market. Muslim ASEAN countries make up one of the important parts of the global Muslim consumer market of 1.7 billion people. According to a 2009

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demographic report, 253 million Muslims living in ASEAN represent almost 26% of the Muslim population in the Asia-Pacific region or 15% of the global Muslim population (Pew Research Center, 2009). Demographically, the Muslim ASEAN region is somewhat comparable to the Middle East (population: 315 million)—a region that enjoys historical and cultural significance as the birthplace of Islam. Muslim ASEAN countries have experienced a significant growth in modest fashion that parallels the growth of modest fashion in the Gulf and Middle East region. Modest fashion in ASEAN has generally followed the cultural traditions of Far East Asia and manifests the fusion of Islamic values with local cultural traditions. And while the Middle East has its historical, cultural and economic significance, Muslim ASEAN is also a culturally distinctive and economically significant and important part of global Islamic fashion. In a broad sense, a nuanced definition and practice of modesty in ASEAN is one of the distinctive features of consumer culture in the region. Therefore, the distinctive nuance of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications depicts the distinctiveness of Muslim consumer culture in ASEAN. The central research question driving this exploratory investigation is: What is the nature or tenor of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN? In order to answer this question, we take a multidimensional view of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN. The first dimension is the theological position based on the Islamic injunctions on modesty and marketing communications. Since the actual practice of modesty may differ from theological ideals, the second dimension deals with the prevailing societal trends and practices of Islamic fashion industry regarding modesty. The third dimension relates to consumers and captures their perspectives. These three dimensions, namely theological position, societal trends and practices, and consumer perspectives, come together to give a comprehensive view of modesty practices in Islamic fashion. These dimensions are explored by means of a literature review, a review of trends and perspectives and a case study review of a selected Islamic fashion brand. This research approach makes this exploratory study a qualitative investigation. The next section covers the first dimension by exploring the theological and cultural genesis of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN. A review of literature on marketing communications, as well as discourses on Islamic injunctions on marketing communications, are used to explain the theological dimension of marketing communications. In the next section, a review of modesty in Islamic fashion and a case study review of an Islamic fashion brand are used to review societal trends. With the theological and cultural dimensions in the background, the third and final dimension reports survey results on consumer perceptions of the nature or tenor of modesty in marketing communications. Figure 8.1 is a conceptualisation of the overall contents of the chapter vis-à-vis the dimensions they cover. For the sake of clarity, the three dimensions are labelled ‘Religion’, ‘Society’ and ‘Consumers’.

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Figure 8.1 A multidimensional review of the research and three main sections.

1 Literature on Islamic fashion, modesty and marketing Islamic injunctions influence the marketing activities in general and marketing communications in particular of any Islamic brand. In the case of fashion, it is the Islamic injunctions on modesty that can influence the marketing communications of Islamic fashion brands. In order to develop a holistic understanding of modesty in marketing communications by Islamic fashion brands, a primer on marketing communications in general and in the context of the fashion industry is presented first. This is followed by a review of Islamic injunctions on modesty, which translates into the influence of Islamic injunctions on fashion as well as marketing communications. 1.1 A Primer on marketing communications

Marketing communications are arguably the most visible component of marketing practice. The scope of marketing as a discipline and practice can be understood in this definition by the American Marketing Association (AMA): ‘Marketing is the activity, set of institutions, and processes for creating, communicating, delivering, and exchanging offerings that have value for customers, clients, partners, and society at large’ (AMA, 2013). There are four specific functions mentioned in this definition that are also famously known as ‘the marketing mix’ or 4Ps of marketing. These four functions and their corresponding marketing mix elements include creating (product), communication (promotion), delivering (place) and exchanging (price). Among these four elements, this chapter focuses on marketing communications or promotion.

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Marketing communications is an important marketing activity and is formally defined as ‘the means by which firms attempt to inform, persuade, and remind consumers – directly or indirectly – about the products and brands they sell’ (Kotler and Keller, 2012, 476). Pervasiveness and commonness of marketing communications have their challenges. In the process of informing, persuading and reminding consumers, every brand in almost every market is faced with intense competition to attract customers. This competition is found in all domains of the marketing mix, including promotion or marketing communications. In the fashion industry, the use of different tools in the marketing mix can be unique, albeit all the key concepts found in marketing practice elsewhere are practised in fashion marketing as well. This is the reason that books on different areas of fashion marketing invariably contain the same concepts that are found in marketing textbooks. Therefore, fashion marketing communications are simply the practice of marketing communications in the fashion industry. This simplistic definition is based on the conception of fashion marketing as a specialised stream of marketing which is distinguished by the ever-changing nature of fashion (Easey, 2009). Based on this conception, ‘fashion marketing communications’ is an overarching term that covers promotional tools including all kinds of advertising, PR, direct marketing, personal selling and social media, among others. Like other tools of fashion marketing communications, fashion advertising is primarily focused on showcasing the latest designs. With an acute focus on showing the latest fashion products for a season, it is not uncommon for a fashion magazine advertisement to contain nothing but a brand’s name placed on the image of a model (or models) wearing or displaying those products (Phillips and McQuarrie, 2010). Amid the clutter and fierce competition, some brands resort to using different ‘appeals’ or execution styles. Typically, advertisers use appeals like humour, celebrities and even sexuality to make sure that they are noticed by the customers (Severn et al., 1990). Use of different appeals leads to different styles of advertising. These appeals and styles of advertising in turn create a certain image of the brand (Kim and Hall, 2014). Therefore, in a fiercely competitive market, advertising not only communicates the latest products and styles, but also has a role to play in defining the image of a fashion brand. Fashion advertising and marketing communications have their share of controversies. As Lea-Greenwood (2013) puts it: ‘The fashion industry is no stranger to controversy over its advertising because of its propensity to shock, show nudity and play with sexuality and sexual orientation. Overall, it has a need to stand out in an increasingly saturated and competitive retail fashion environment’ (p. 151). Over the years, fashion advertising has seen an increased prevalence of sexuality and female objectification (Merskin, 2004). Compared to news and general interest magazines, both men’s and women’s fashion magazines have been found to include a greater portrayal of women as

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sex objects (Stankiewicz and Rosselli, 2008). Interestingly, such unbridled use of sexuality can be deemed as offensive and can even hurt the brand image (Bae et al., 2015); and yet, the trend still prevails across the industry. 1.2 Islam and modesty

In literal terms, ‘modesty’ can broadly be defined either as ‘the quality or state of being unassuming in the estimation of one’s abilities’ (Oxford Dictionaries, 2018) or a ‘correct or socially acceptable behavior and clothes, representing traditional cultural values’ (Cambridge Dictionary, 2018). The latter definition is of interest in this chapter as it is relevant to clothing and, therefore, to fashion and marketing communications. This definition shows that modesty as a concept is rooted in cultural values and is chiefly manifested in clothing and mannerism. The Islamic concept of modesty is not very different from these descriptions of modesty. In both the Qur’an and Hadith1 – the most important textual sources of ritual and ethics guidance for Muslims – the concept of modesty has been described as a key pillar or component of faith. Modesty has also been explained as a key attribute of steadfast Muslims. Here it would be pertinent to mention that the Arabic term used for modesty in the Qur’an – ‘furūj’2 – is translated and interpreted both as ‘modesty’ and ‘guarding the private parts’. The differences in translations and the resulting diversity in interpretations warrant some discussion, as this has direct implications for marketing communications and Islamic fashion. A particular instance of this translation can be seen in three different translations of verse 5 of chapter 23, as given below3: ‘And who guard their modesty’ (Pickthall) ‘And who guard their private parts’ (Mufti Taqi Usmani) ‘And they who guard their private parts’ (Sahih International) These three different translations of the same verse show that the concept of modesty is interpretable also as guarding the private parts. In verse 35 of chapter 33 of the Qur’an, the concept of modesty is considered to be an important facet for Muslim men and women. Here again, the concept of modesty is interpreted in the same terms as guarding the private parts by different translators4: Lo! men who surrender unto Allah, and women who surrender, and men who believe and women who believe, and men who obey and women who obey, and men who speak the truth and women who speak the truth, and men who persevere (in righteousness) and women who persevere, and men who are humble and women who are humble, and men who give alms and women who give alms, and men who fast and women who fast,

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and men who guard their modesty and women who guard (their modesty), and men who remember Allah much and women who remember – Allah hath prepared for them forgiveness and a vast reward. (Pickthall) ‘[…] the men who guard their private parts (against evil acts) and the women who guard (theirs) […]’ (Mufti Taqi Usmani) ‘[…] the men who guard their private parts and the women who do so, […]’ (Sahih International) Another conception of modesty is found in the Hadith of Prophet Muhammad (Peace Be Upon Him – PBUH). Here modesty is connoted as Al-Haya, which can be translated as ‘being reticent’ or ‘being shy’. The actual narration of this Hadith is: Messenger of Allah (PBUH) passed by a man of the Ansar who was admonishing his brother regarding shyness. Messenger of Allah (PBUH) said, ‘Leave him alone, for modesty is a part of Iman5.’ (Al-Bukhari and Muslim)6 A similar yet brief version of this narration is: ‘The Prophet said: “Modesty (Al-Haya’) is a branch of Faith.”’ (Nasai)7 Yet another conception of modesty is based on modesty in mannerism with a focus on gender segregation. The following verse of the Qur’an explains this conception of modesty while articulating the desired behaviours from Muslim men and women: And tell the believing women to lower their gaze and be modest, and to display of their adornment only that which is apparent, and to draw their veils over their bosoms, and not to reveal their adornment save to their own husbands or fathers or husbands’ fathers, or their sons or their husbands’ sons, or their brothers or their brothers’ sons or sisters’ sons, or their women, or their slaves, or male attendants who lack vigour, or children who know naught of women’s nakedness. And let them not stamp their feet so as to reveal what they hide of their adornment. And turn unto Allah together, O believers, in order that ye may succeed. (Pickthall)8 The four underlined phrases in this verse explain different aspects of modesty. The first word is yaghḍuḍ’na min abṣārihinna (in Arabic9) and is translated as lowering the gaze. The second word, furūjahunna (in Arabic) relates to being modest, again from the word furūj that was also used in previous verses. While this word (furūj) is also connoted for private parts, awrā (in Arabic) is another word describing private parts in this verse. This is the third underlined word

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in this verse and is translated as ‘women’s nakedness’. The fourth underlined word, yukh’fīna min zīnatihinna (in Arabic) brings forth another aspect of guarding modesty as not revealing adornments or concealing them. In this way, this verse brings four aspects of modesty: lowering the gaze, guarding the private parts (furūj), guarding or concealing awrā and concealing or not revealing the adornments. The concept of awrā as a manifestation of modesty is also discussed in the following Hadith that accentuate the importance of awrā in Islam: Bahz bin Hakim narrated from his father that his grandfather said: ‘I said: “O Messenger of Allah, with regard to our ‘Awrah, what may we uncover of it and what must we conceal?” He said: “Cover your ‘Awrah, except from your wife and those whom your right hand possesses.” I said: “O Messenger of Allah, what if the people live close together?” He said: “If you can make sure that no one sees it, then do not let anyone see it.” I said: “O Messenger of Allah, what if one of us is alone?” He said: “Allah is more deserving that you should feel shy before Him than People.”’ (Ibn Majah)10 All these Qur’anic verses and Hadith of the Prophet bring forth the centrality of modesty in Islamic faith. They articulate important guidelines on expressions of modesty for Muslim men and women. Based on these injunctions and interpretations of modesty, the concept is closely related to ‘safeguarding’ the private parts from illicit sexual activity and behaviour. Using these verses and similar injunctions, Boulanouar (2006) considers awrā as those parts of the body that must be covered. Since these ordainments are particularly applicable in interacting with unrelated people or for mannerisms in the public sphere, the implications for marketing communications are quite strong. This implies that Muslim men and women are required to be modest in their character when partaking in a marketing communications activity like modelling for advertising. In other words, the concept of awrā is particularly important for marketing communications – the focal point for this chapter. Delving deeper into Islamic injunctions on awrā and modesty, the definition of awrā is presented differently for males and females in the Qur’an and the Hadith. For males, the awrā is the part of the body from navel to knee (Syed, 2010). In the case of females, some scholars consider awrā to include the whole body except the face and hands (Boulanouar, 2006). For others, the face of a female is also part of awrā and must be covered (Desai, 2006). This latter opinion, that awrā includes the face, leads to the concept of the face veil (or niqab). Those who do not consider the face to be part of awrā suggest that the face veil has its genesis in local customs and traditions and is not compulsory, as per the Islamic injunctions (Dar Alifta, 2017).

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Regardless of whether the face veil is obligatory or not, modest dress compulsorily includes full-body covering, with a loosely fitted garment that does not reveal the person’s figure (Lewis, 2007). Scholarly discourses on modesty and extent of veiling are not the main focus of this paper. Still, veiling or covering awrā remains an important manifestation of modesty in Islam. The relation of veil and modesty is probably best expressed in this statement: ‘Modesty is embodied by the veil and serves as an institution of sexual segregation’ (Syed et al., 2005, 154). 1.3 Marketing communications and Islam

Based on a review of the literature on Islam, marketing and ethics and the burgeoning field of Islamic marketing (e.g. Anwar and Saeed, 1996; Arham, 2010; Saeed et al., 2001; Wilson and Grant, 2013), three important principles come to the fore. These principles invariably articulate the influence of Islamic injunctions on marketing communications. As discussed below, different scholarly traditions of Islam are in broad agreement on two of these principles; there is less consensus on the third. Nevertheless, all three have direct implications for marketing communications. The first principle for marketing communications that is derived from Islamic injunctions is to avoid immoral behaviour or content. Such avoidance should be in any form – explicit, implied or suggestive. This principle is rooted in the concept of modesty as ordained in various Islamic injunctions discussed in the preceding section. It is understandable that, since Islam clearly ordains Muslim men and women to guard their modesty and lower their gaze, particularly in public and in front of the opposite sex, the same applies to marketing communications which unquestionably are in the public domain. The second principle is to avoid deception or falsehood, again in any form – explicit or implied. The concept is straightforward: Islam requires the seller to present the product without any notion of deceiving the customer and with clearly stipulated terms and conditions (Arham, 2010). Avoiding deception and being honest to the buyer is based on Qur’anic injunctions, and particularly on the fear of the seller in being accountable to God (Hassan et al., 2008). Both of these principles – avoiding immoral behaviour and content and avoiding deception – are widely agreed upon among Islamic scholars from different schools of thought (Anwar and Saeed, 1996; Arham, 2010; Saeed et al., 2001). Both these principles apply equally to marketing communications in general as well as marketing communications in the fashion industry. The following excerpt from Saeed et al. (2001) summarises both principles in the context of Islamic ethics for marketers: According to Islam, the promotional techniques must not use sexual appeal, emotional appeal, fear appeal, false testimonies and pseudo research appeal, or contribute to the dullness of the mind and/or encourage extravagance

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[…]. Furthermore, Islamic ethics strictly prohibits stereotyping of women in advertising, excessive use of fantasy, the use of suggestive language and behavior, and the use of women as objects to lure and attract customers. (Saeed et al., 2001, pp. 133–134) In addition to the two agreed-upon principles, there is a third principle which is not uniformly agreed upon, yet has strong implications for modern-day marketing communications. This principle relates to the prohibition of human photography or photography of any living being. The discord on the prohibition of photography stems from the interpretation of Prophet Muhammad’s Hadith, which disapproved image-making. For instance, in a famous Hadith of the Prophet11: Narrated Aisha (the wife of the Prophet): I bought a cushion having on it pictures (of animals). When Allah’s Messenger (PBUH) saw it, he stood at the door and did not enter. I noticed the sign of disapproval on his face and said, ‘O Allah’s Messenger (PBUH)! I repent to Allah and His Apostle. What sin have I committed?’ Allah’s Messenger (PBUH) said. ‘What is this cushion?’ I said, ‘I have bought it for you so that you may sit on it and recline on it.’ Allah’s Messenger (PBUH) said, ‘The makers of these pictures will be punished on the Day of Resurrection, and it will be said to them, Give life to what you have created (i.e., these pictures).’ The Prophet (PBUH) added, ‘The Angels of (Mercy) do not enter a house in which there are pictures (of animals).’ (Al-Bukhari and Muslim) This Hadith and its similar versions are interpreted as disapproval of images and pictures12 of living beings among some Muslim scholars (e.g. Al-Munajjid, 1998). Disapproval of making images of living beings was ostensibly based on the perceived relation of image-making with idol-making or idolatry. Although the context and content of this and similar Ahadith are well understood, there is no clear agreement among Muslim scholars on whether modernday photography falls under this prohibition or not. According to one group of scholars, Prophet Muhammad prohibited making pictures of humans and this prohibition applies to all images, including photography or videos of any human being for almost any purpose. Muslim scholars following this traditionalist approach have issued religious edicts in India and Saudi Arabia in recent years (Al-Munajjid, 1998; PTI, 2013). On the other hand, some Muslim scholars contend that the prohibition of image-making was only because of idol worship – a principal prohibition in Islam since its inception. Their opinion is that if idol worship is neither intended nor involved, photography and videography are permissible activities (CIF, 2017; Zaheer, 1991). Overall, these three principles, two of which are commonly agreed on and one of which is somewhat disputed, are at the heart of the Islamic conception

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of marketing communications. According to Islamic injunctions, there can be no implied or overt immorality and falsehood or deception in marketing communications. While observing both these unambiguous principles, the question still remains as to whether or not human images can be included in marketing communications. The implications of this ambiguity are profound for marketing communications in the Islamic fashion industry. As discussed earlier, the fashion industry accords a somewhat liberal hue to marketing communications. Islam, on the contrary, has a very conservative outlook on marketing communications. Even in the less conservative school of Islamic thought, which allows human images, there is no place for immodesty or immoral content. These conflicting hues of marketing communications emanating from the house of fashion and those based on Islamic injunctions become particularly important in the realm of Islamic fashion – where Islam and fashion meet. The second dimension of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN is based on the prevailing societal trends and practices of the Islamic fashion industry. In dealing with the concept of ‘modesty in practice’, discussion of societal trends focuses mainly on modesty in fashion, and not strictly on modesty in marketing communications. This discussion is essentially an overview of existing social and political discourses on the concept of modesty in Islamic fashion. Apart from society in general, this section also covers the practices of the Islamic fashion industry. Case studies of a selected brand coupled with a general overview of practices of other brands are used to showcase the Islamic fashion industry’s practices in modesty in marketing communications. 1.4 Muslim ASEAN and the rise of modest fashion

With sound demographics and strong socio-economic indicators, the Muslimmajority countries in ASEAN are an important part of the global Islamic economy. Within ASEAN, Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia are leading countries in terms of the proportion of the Muslim population. Each of these three ASEAN nations has their own peculiarities and strengths as emerging Muslim consumer markets. Indonesia, a member of the G20, is the world’s most populous Muslim country. Malaysia is considered one of the most developed Muslim countries, with strong socio-economic indicators and a modern infrastructure. Brunei, even though it is among the least populous Muslim countries, enjoys a very high Human Development Index and GDP per capita figures.13 These demographically significant and economically sound Muslim consumer markets in ASEAN have witnessed an unprecedented surge in ‘modest fashion’, also denoted ‘Islamic fashion’ (Arango, 2016; Demir, 2016). In particular, the increasing trend of wearing a tudung14 and adopting modest dress has given birth to the distinctive entity of a Islamic fashion industry in countries like Malaysia (Su-Lyn, 2015). The decision to adopt modest dress and the

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hijab15 by various individuals and celebrities is driven by a personal inclination to adopt an Islamic lifestyle (Hochel, 2013). Other than being a societal trend and a personal choice, modest dressing has a political connotation as well. For example, in the largest Muslim ASEAN market of Indonesia, a surge in modest dressing or veiling is not necessarily reflective of piety but an association with an international political issue: ‘Yet the veil often reflects values and attitudes that have little to do with piety, for example, when it is donned as an expression of solidarity with Palestine’ (Candraningrum, 2013, 31). Irrespective of the rationale behind the surge, modest dressing or veiling has led to the growing significance of the Islamic fashion industry. This has inadvertently resulted in competition among different players in the arena of the global Islamic economy. Muslim ASEAN countries remain at the forefront of such competition. Titles of fashion magazine reports like ‘Indonesia as the Mecca of World’s Muslim Fashion’ (Muslim, 2015) and ‘Malaysia becoming a trendsetter of modest fashion in the region’ (Naj, 2017) manifest the competitive zeal of Indonesia and Malaysia to be a global and regional powerhouse in the arena of modest fashion. Brunei, despite its small size, is already making strides in expanding the presence of its local fashion brands in the ASEAN or even global Islamic fashion scene (Othman, 2017). It is therefore unsurprising that there are a number of fashion brands originating from these countries. These brands not only target Muslim consumers from their own countries of origin, but also engage Muslim consumers from other parts of the world. All the excitement and euphoric coverage of a growing Islamic fashion industry in Muslim ASEAN countries have also attracted some negative reactions. These reactions mainly consist of socio-political disapproval of hijab-based fashion. In Indonesian cinema, for instance, full-body hijab – inspired by Arab culture – has been portrayed as somewhat alien to local culture (Izharuddin, 2015). Enforcing the hijab or modest clothing by different government officials in Malaysia has also been criticised (Leong, 2015). Even in multiracial Singaporean society, where Muslims are in a minority, assimilation of modest fashion and the hijab by the Muslim population led to political tensions. Abdullah (2016) observed that the stance of the Singaporean Government was to reject the use of the hijab as it became popular among Muslims. Successive governments and political figures saw the hijab as a significant barrier for Muslims to integrate into Singapore’s multiracial society (Hassan and Harun, 2016; Siraj, 2011). Another important criticism of negative reactions to modest dressing is the female-centric focus of discourses and practices. The majority of the articles reviewed in this paper and also found in the literature on subjects like Islamic fashion and veiling are exclusively or primarily focused on females (Medina, 2014). This criticism is probably not specific to modest dressing, as the focus on women is universally common in the fashion industry and fashion discourses (Taylor, 2016).

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1.5 Practices of Islamic fashion brands: case study of CbA

The discussion in the preceding section was on macro-level societal trends in modesty in Islamic fashion. These trends in fashion are related to – and even influence – marketing communications in the Islamic fashion industry. Specifically focusing on the tenor of modesty in marketing communications practice of Islamic brands, we now present a case study of a selected ‘Islamic fashion brand’ followed by a general review of different brands. Since this case study is on an ‘Islamic fashion brand’, it would be only logical to define what we mean by ‘Islamic fashion brand’ or even ‘Islamic brand’. Alserhan (2010) defined a ‘true Islamic brand’ as a brand that complies with Shari’a,16 originates from an Islamic country and primarily targets Muslim consumers. A true Islamic brand would be the most stringent definition of an Islamic brand. Milder conceptions would be of an Islamic brand that fulfils any of the three criteria, like being Shari’a-compliant but not necessarily from an Islamic country and/or not primarily targeting Muslim consumers. Since a true Islamic fashion brand is arguably the best representative of the Islamic fashion industry, this criterion was used to select a brand. A long list of Islamic fashion brands that originated from one of three Muslim ASEAN countries, were Shari’a-compliant and targeted Muslim consumers was prepared. Brands explicitly showing inspiration from Shari’a were taken at their word and regarded as being Shari’a-compliant. Based on the convenient availability of information and consent from the brand, Covered by AnNisa (CbA) was selected for this case study review. Covered by AnNisa or CbA is an Islamic fashion brand from Brunei Darussalam. CbA started its journey initially in 2009 and was re-launched in its current form in 2014.17 The brand was the brainchild of two Bruneian sisters, who had just completed their undergraduate programme. After reselling hijabs and skirts for other retailers, CbA started designing its own product line. In this process, CbA came up with its signature designs both for skirts and jubahs.18 In terms of operations, CbA can still be characterised as a young brand, with the energy and dynamism of a fledgling start-up. In the words of one of the founders, CbA’s mission was: ‘To design and produce edgy, versatile, comfortable and practical apparels that accommodate to the different personalities of Muslimahs.19 We strive to play a role in promoting the love for beauty in modesty.’ In marketing activities, CbA initially retailed through social media and a small outlet. In 2016, the brand moved to a bigger physical location in one of the main shopping malls in Brunei. In its marketing communications, CbA relies heavily on social media. Facebook and Instagram are the two social media platforms where CbA is most active. The bulk of social media posts relate to different national events in Brunei and also to introducing new products and announcing sales. Occasionally, social media posts contain some religious and inspirational quotations as well.

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The tagline of the brand – ‘designed with a purpose’ – alludes to mixing a religiously inspired purpose with fashion designing. A widely used textual element of marketing communications visible in social media posts is the word ‘covered’. For instance, hashtags like #WearCovered and #CoveredEid are commonly found in the brand’s social media posts. ‘Covered’ is both the first word in the brand’s full name and also manifests the association with covering heads and preserving modesty in line with Islamic principles. Like the brand’s tagline, this word also creates a faith-based positioning or association for CbA. As explained on the brand’s webpage20: ‘We hope the brand speaks itself of our utmost goal, to play a tiny role in Muslimah(s) dressing up in style whilst still proudly upholding their identity. […] “covered by” literally means cover, protection, hijab….’ Beyond these observations on relatively subtle elements like the tagline and ‘covered’ as a common phrase, there are a number of interesting observations on the visuals of marketing communications. All these observations combine to characterise the tenor of modesty in CbA’s marketing communications. In their marketing communication visuals – mostly social media posts – female models and even CbA team members don different dresses and fashion items to showcase them to the target audience. It was observed that in all these visuals, female models posed soberly and without any provocative gesture. Table 8.1 presents a selection of a few social media posts by CbA which capture the overall tenor of the brand’s marketing communications. 1.6 Practices of other Islamic fashion brands

The review of CbA, the Islamic fashion brand from Brunei, gives some indication of the tenor of modesty marketing communications in the Islamic fashion industry in ASEAN. To augment and validate these observations, a brief review of other Islamic fashion brands from ASEAN is also presented. Five brands were selected from Brunei, Indonesia and Malaysia. Like CbA, all five brands also had a Muslim market origin, Muslim consumers as their target audience, and they comply with Shari’a. The brands reviewed included: Mumtaz Collections (Brunei), Khadeeja Towards Modesty (Brunei), Hijub (Indonesia), Siti Khadijah (Malaysia) and Naelofar Hijab (Malaysia).21 Most of the marketing communications for these brands were available online. Like CbA, all these brands relied heavily on social media, with Instagram being the preferred platform. There are three common observations that defined the marketing communications of these Islamic fashion brands from ASEAN. First, in the marketing communication of all these brands, most of the content was about product launches and sales promotions. A considerable proportion of content consisted of messages and inspirational quotes related to Islamic festivals like Ramadan, Eid ul Fitr and Eid ul Adha. Second, all these brands used head-covered female models in different images and videos. The posture of models was generally unassuming, with the emphasis on showing

Table 8.1 Sample posts from CbA’s social media (2017–2018)* Not everyone dares to pull off this look but loving the combo of rich yellow #EmanShawlbyCbA and royal blue Tiana Kurung on sis Rabiatul! Nampak mewah the whole outfit. P/S: Tag us #wearCovered or share with us the beautiful you via whatsApp or DM and stand a chance to win 1 piece of #DreamybyCbA! #coveredbyannisa #brunei #designedwithapurpose Facebook post: https://bit.ly/2LsAT5I** (dated: 3 July 2017; accessed: 5 October 2017) Always aim to live a better today than yesterday #coveredGems Assalamualaikum and good morning, Covered Girls! CbA boutique will open at 10am. We’re located at Unit 5, Ground Floor, Giant Rimba (same row as Burger King) Hope to see you insyaAllah. #coveredbyannisa #brunei #designedwithapurpose Instagram post: https://bit.ly/2xazTjS (dated: 18 March 2017; accessed: 5 October 2017) Airis Twist isn’t your ordinary piece of shawl. It holds the story of a journey towards becoming closer to her Creator, behind that piece of material is a striving lady who wants to look good in the eyes of The All-Seeing. She hopes Airis Twist will stand as her witness one day of her efforts to cover up for her Rabb. Featuring: #AirisTwistbyCbA in LaVidaMocha Instagram post: https://bit.ly/2IIMJLq (dated: 12 January 2017, accessed: 5 October 2017) Women’s celebration is never ending! Now here’s a SUPER GOOD NEWS for you and your mom. Happy Mother’s Day kami ucapkan to everyone yg bergelar ibu If you haven’t got any idea what to get for your mom, bring her to our boutique tomorrow & mom-bali tah di CbA. Note: 50% OFF is valid on the 2nd item #coveredbyannisa #designedwithapurpose #brunei #mothersdayeverydday Instagram post: https://bit.ly/2IJZghF (dated: 18 March 2018, accessed: 24 May 2018) Is it just me or are you also having your eyes on everything #taukeCbA is wearing in this picture? What if we bring new arrivals for next week’s #CbAresaleution? Instagram post: https://bit.ly/2J3cC7X (dated: 12 January 2018, accessed: 24 May 2018)

*  The authors thank CoveredbyAnnisa team for giving us permission to use their data. **  This is a shortened version of the original URL, which was quite long.

M odesty in Islamic fashion marketing   183

the products. No hint of sexual provocativeness was observed in these images and videos. Third, the text-based content and messages had a sense of vibrancy. Abundant use of hashtags was common in the social media posts to link to different events. Like CbA, Islamic fashion brands in ASEAN were observed to have a modest outlook on imagery and a sense of excitement in its textual content.

2 Consumers’ perspectives on modesty in marketing communications As part of this study, an exploratory survey was conducted to gather perspectives on modesty in marketing communications among Muslim consumers. In addition to primary data from the survey conducted for this study, an existing survey from another study was also reviewed. These surveys helped us to understand the opinions of consumers on modesty in the marketing communications of fashion brands. These surveys also provided a consumer perspective on which particular brands they felt were practising modesty in marketing communications. Since Islamic scholars had a diversity of opinion on the limits of veiling, it was an underlying objective of this survey to explore the extent to which their opinions trickled down to ordinary consumers. This survey elicited consumers’ opinions using an open-ended questionnaire. For convenience in gathering responses, questions were placed in an online questionnaire using the Qualtrics platform. This sample consisted of Muslim consumers from three ASEAN countries. In all, 17 responses were received, of which ten were from females. There were seven respondents each from both Brunei and Malaysia, while the remaining three were from Indonesia. Most of the respondents were in the age group of 18–25 years (47%), followed by 26–35 years (15%). In the survey, respondents were asked about what they think defines an Islamic fashion brand. They were given these three options (with responses in percentages): a brand that complies with Shari’a (57%), a brand that targets Muslim consumers (33%) and a brand that comes from a Muslim country (10%). These responses were based on the definition of Islamic branding discussed earlier from Alserhan (2010). The responses clearly inclined toward ‘being Shari’a-compliant’ as the most significant attribute for a brand claiming to be an Islamic fashion brand. Selected responses on what consumers thought about modesty in fashion marketing and their expectations of advertising by Shari’a-compliant brands are presented in Table 8.2. It is clearly evident that the central theme in these responses is the observance of Islamic principles. Also, ‘being covered’ and ‘covering the awrā’ are the main benchmarks consumers use to define Shari’a-compliant advertising. Even though the consumers are neither marketing nor religious experts, they have their opinions on modesty in fashion marketing and what they think brands should observe in marketing communications to be Shari’a-compliant.

184  Muhammad Talha Salam et al. Table 8.2 Selected responses from exploratory survey on modesty in fashion marketing (conducted by the authors in August–September 2017) Gender (Age)Nationality

Response

Question: In your opinion, what is modesty in fashion marketing? Male (18–25 Y) Modesty in fashion marketing simply means that Bruneian you are able to advertise as efficiently as it should be without compromising your religion (Islam). Male (26–35 Y) Being less frequent and popping up everywhere Bruneian on multiple social media platform and avoiding over-selling, which is going over the top or sometimes out of the product area to capture attention Female (26–35 Y) Modesty in fashion marketing should comply with Malaysian the Shari’a principles…. Fashion and marketing are about creativity which clearly needs guidance whereby any expression should be within boundaries. Question: If a brand claims to be Shari’a-compliant, how should it advertise its fashion products? Female (18–25 Y) Anyhow they like it as long as the subjects/models Bruneian in the advertisement are ‘covered’ Female (18–25 Y) Portraying female models that are covered with no Bruneian fitting clothes and short hijabs Female (26–35 Y) (1) Cover aurah (female: the exposed skin only Malaysian hands and face) (2) Cloth must be loose & opaque material (3) Model with decent pose (4) Clear picture & sufficient description to explain the product details

Although there is no benchmark study to validate these results, a 2013 study on Arab and Asian Muslim consumers can give some perspective on Muslim consumers’ perception of a similar issue. This study took opinions on different social issues from Muslim consumers from six countries. In one question, respondents were asked to indicate acceptable dress code for females for public places. The question was essentially based on being shown a gradation of images of women with full veil to no veil. The results summarised in Mansoor Moaddel (2013)’s report showed that consumers from Saudi Arabia strongly preferred face veiling and the most conservative dress code. Their responses were contrasted with those by consumers from Lebanon, who largely favoured neither head covering nor face veiling in dress. Responses from consumers in Pakistan, Turkey, Iraq and Egypt can be placed in intermediate positions within these extremes. If, for the sake of argument, dressing in public places is considered as a proxy for dressing or veiling

M odesty in Islamic fashion marketing   185

in marketing communications, the results from this study can be meaningful. These results show that Muslim consumers in different countries are quite diverse in their acceptance of veiling for females. Now, if these results are compared to the opinions of Muslim consumers in three different ASEAN countries, it is apparent that the Muslims in ASEAN would incline towards a covered head as the acceptable dress code for Muslim females. More importantly, their opinions are seemingly more homogenised than Muslims in different parts of the world. This also alludes to a certain level of homogeneity in Muslim consumer culture in ASEAN. Accordingly, it can be construed that Muslim consumers from ASEAN depict a particular cultural strand within the Muslim world.

Conclusion Modesty is one of the key features of marketing communications regarding Islamic fashion, which in turn is part of consumer culture in the region. In the preceding sections, theological, societal and consumer dimensions of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications in ASEAN were presented. These dimensions portray the nature or tenor of modesty in consumer culture in ASEAN. In summarising these dimensions, this concluding discussion presents three aggregate observations regarding the nature of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications. These observations – ‘influence of religion’, ‘being modest and modern’ and ‘reflection of entrepreneurial vision and consumers’ aspirations’ – are presented in this section followed by a suggestion for areas of further research.  In the context of modesty, the influence of religion is clear, based on the Islamic injunctions. However, in the initial conceptualisation of the nature of modesty, religion was deemed to be one of the three dimensions. This conceptualisation gave the impression that religion is equal to the other elements. Based on the review, this can be modified to reflect the actual status or actual influence of religion in shaping the nature or tenor of modesty in Islamic fashion marketing communications (see Figure 8.2). Religion being one of the dimensions that affect the nature of modesty, it also affects the other two dimensions. In the case of society, cultural values prevalent in the society and brand practices were shaped by religion. In the case of consumers, their opinions were shaped by a desire to observe Islamic principles. All the Islamic fashion brands from ASEAN, while being modest, are unreservedly modernistic in their marketing communications. Almost all the Islamic fashion brands reviewed in this chapter were purposely launched to market modest fashion products that were stylish as well. Founders of these brands clearly saw a market opportunity for clothes that were tastefully stylish for globally engaged Muslim consumers. These brands used female models in their visuals and showed faces but ensured the head was covered in all cases. Not covering the face and using human photography in marketing communications

186  Muhammad Talha Salam et al.

Figure 8.2 Revised conceptualisation to reflect influence of religion on Islamic Fashion.

represents the non-conservative side in scholarly debates on issues of face veiling and photography. In terms of being modernistic, another common denominator among all the contemporary Islamic fashion brands from ASEAN is being tech-savvy. While they are modest, all the reviewed brands were found to be active users of social media and relied on e-commerce for growing their businesses. All these brands maintained an active website, allowing consumers to view and order products online. Within social media, Instagram followed by Facebook were actively used social media platforms. Modest yet modern is seemingly the principal feature defining Islamic fashion in Muslim ASEAN and the rest of the Muslim world. Consequently, targeting Muslim consumers for modest yet modern fashion items has been a proposal for the Islamic fashion industry in recent years. Observations of Islamic fashion brands ‘being modest and modern’ can be traced both to the entrepreneurs behind these brands as well as their consumers. Islamic fashion brands from ASEAN are mostly young brands. All the brands reviewed for this study were less than ten years old and were non-listed, privately owned enterprises. The entrepreneurs behind these brands were similar in several traits. Almost all the entrepreneurs were young, religiously inspired if not motivated and tech-savvy. In retrospect, being young and tech-savvy manifestly brings the modernistic element to the marketing communications of Islamic fashion brands, whilst being religiously inspired or motivated obviously leads to being modest in marketing communications. On the consumer side, the primary and secondary surveys and societal trends showed that consumers expect Islamic fashion brands and their marketing communications to be Shari’a-compliant. They expect models in marketing communications to be modest in dressing. Islamic fashion brands in

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ASEAN have met both these requirements unfailingly. In this way, ASEAN Islamic fashion brands can be credited for being in line with consumers’ expectations of Shari’a compliance. This has resulted in a rather uniform outlook for the Islamic fashion industry in the two countries of the ASEAN region. Such Shari’a-compliant, modest yet modernistic marketing communications has become an integral part of consumer culture in the region. Islamic fashion brands have carved out a distinctive identity with their Shari’a-compliant or even faith-inspired activities in the realm of product and promotion aspects of marketing. The product dimension of Islamic fashion and Islamic fashion brands has been discussed for years. However, the distinctiveness of Islamic fashion brands in the realm of marketing communications remained under-researched. The multi-faceted review of marketing communications in Islamic fashion in ASEAN presented in this chapter was an attempt to bridge this knowledge gap. Going forward, further research can be conducted by individually focusing on each of the three dimensions presented in this chapter. In theological aspects of modesty, diversity among different regions as well as different schools of thought can be more insightful. In studying societal trends and consumer perspectives, comparisons across different segments within Muslim consumer markets based on gender, generation and geography can help develop a fuller picture of modesty in the Islamic world. In the same vein, since female-centric discourses on modesty are common (Moors and Tarlo, 2007), it would be pertinent to study modesty in relation to male fashion marketing communications. On the methodological front, the use of quantitative techniques to capture the perspectives of larger samples can also be useful. Translating these research endeavours for the Islamic fashion industry and Islamic fashion brands can also be a potential research agenda in future endeavours. Fashion advertising in the burgeoning sphere of the Islamic fashion industry has trodden a distinctive path. As shown by Islamic fashion brands in ASEAN, Islamic fashion marketing communications have been a blend of being stylish, sophisticated, youthful, inspirational or plain informational. With this distinctive and conformist approach, Islamic fashion brands have been quite successful in Muslim consumer markets. Future academic research can help these brands to be more knowledgeable of societal trends and consumer perceptions.

Notes 1 Hadith are the narrations for sayings and actions of Prophet Muhammad. 2 The term used in the Qur’anic verse 5 of chapter 23 is: ‫وج ِه ْم‬ ِ ‫( ِلفُ ُر‬pronounced as: lifurūjihim). This is the third word of verse 23 and has three segments. The middle word, ‘furūj’, is the root word that is translated both as modesty and private parts. For a detailed review of the term: http://corpus.quran.com/wordbyword.jsp?chapter=23& verse=5#(23:5:3) (accessed on 4 August 2018).

188  Muhammad Talha Salam et al. 3 These translations are from Qur’an.com. The website allows for comparative review of different translations for any verse of the Qur’an. Names in parentheses refer to different translators. Source for this verse and translations: https://quran.com/23/115?translations=20 (accessed on 20 March 2018). 4 Source for translation: https://quran.com/33/35 (accessed on 20 March 2018). 5 Iman can be translated as faith. For Islamic conception of Iman, see: https://islamqa. info/en/9356 (accessed on 1 August 2018) 6 Al-Bukhari and Muslim are two leading collections of Hadith Source: https://sunnah. com/riyadussaliheen/2/1 (accessed on 20 March 2018). 7 Nasai is another leading collection of Hadith. Source: https://sunnah.com/nasai/47/22 (accessed on 20 March 2018). 8 Source: https://quran.com/24/31 (accessed on 22 March 2018) 9 For detailed morphology of different words: http://corpus.quran.com/wordmorphology.jsp?location=(24:31:1) (accessed on 4 August 2018) 10 Source: https://sunnah.com/urn/1262390 (accessed on 22 May 2018). Other Hadith on issue of Awrah can be viewed at: https://sunnah.com/search/?q=awra 11 Source: https://sunnah.com/bukhari/67/116 (accessed on 10 February 2018). 12 The Arabic term in this and similar Ahadith is ‘tasweer’ or its root word ‘sawar’. These terms connote images or pictures. 13 Data and information for these countries were gathered from different sources and not listed separately for the sake of parsimony. For further reference, please review World Bank data (http://data.worldbank.org) and ASEAN stats (http://www.aseanstats.org). 14 Malay word for female headscarf. 15 ‘Hijab’ literally means ‘to cover’ or ‘to veil’ (Hassan and Harun, 2016; Siraj, 2011). In the Islamic fashion industry, the term usually denotes some form of veiling and modest dressing like head covering and may or may not also cover face veiling. 16 ‘Shari’a’ refers to Islamic law. 17 Most of the information was provided by the CbA team through personal communication with one of the authors. Some information was also taken from their official website and social media. 18 Jubah is a full body covering modest dress for females. 19 Refers to Muslim women. 20 Source: http://coveredbyannisa.com/about/ (accessed on: 6 February 2018). 21 Information taken from official websites of each brand, mentioned at the end.

References Abdullah, Walid Jumblatt (2016). “Managing Minorities in Competitive Authoritarian States: Multiracialism and the Hijab Issue in Singapore.” Indonesia and the Malay World 44(129): 211–228. Al-Munajjid, Sheikh Muhammed Salih (1998). “Ruling on Photographs.” IslamicQA.Info. https://islamqa.info/en/365. Alserhan, Bakr Ahmad (2010). “On Islamic Branding: Brands as Good Deeds.” Journal of Islamic Marketing 1(2): 101–106. AMA (2013). “Definition of Marketing.” American Marketing Association, Definition of Marketing. https://www.ama.org/AboutAMA/Pages/Definition-of-Marketing.aspx. Anwar, Muhammad and Saeed, Mohammad (1996). “Promotional Tools of Marketing: An Islamic Perspective.” Intellectual Discourse 4(1): 15–30.

M odesty in Islamic fashion marketing   189 Arango, Tim (2016). “Turkey’s Islamic Fashion Revolution.” The New York Times, September 17. Arham, Muhammad (2010). “Islamic Perspectives on Marketing.” Journal of Islamic Marketing 1(2): 149–164. Bae, Su Yun, Rudd, Nancy and Bilgihan, Anil (2015). “Offensive Advertising in the Fashion Industry: Sexual Objectification and Ethical Judgments of Consumers.” Journal of Global Fashion Marketing 6(3): 236–249. Boulanouar, Aisha Wood (2006). “The Notion of Modesty in Muslim Women’s Clothing: An Islamic Point of View.” New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 8(2): 134–156. Cambridge Dictionary (2018). “Modesty Meaning in the Cambridge English Dictionary.” Cambridge Dictionary. Accessed on 22 May from https://dictionary.cambridge.org/ dictionary/english/modesty#dataset-american-english. Candraningrum, Dewi (2013). Negotiating Women’s Veiling Politics & Sexuality in Contemporary Indonesia. Bangkok, Thailand: Irasec. CIF (Correct Islamic Faith International Association) (2017). “Pictures in Islam.” www. correctislamicfaith.com. Accessed on 21 July from http://www.correctislamicfaith.com/ picturesinislam.htm. Dar Alifta (2017). “Fatawa – How Did the Niqab (Face-Veil) Become a Custom in Muslim Societies?” Dar Alifta. Accessed on 24 July. http://www.dar-alifta.org/Foreign/ ViewFatwa.aspx?ID=6766. Demir, Duygu (2016). “Modest Fashion Revolution.” In Global Islamic Economy Report 2016/17, 126–127. Dinar Standard and Thomson Reuters. Desai, Mufti Ebrahim (2006). “Opinions of Following Ulema/Fuqaha Regarding Face Covering/Niqab.” www.AskImam.Org. http://askimam.org/public/question_ detail/13998.html. Droogsma, Rachel Anderson (2007). “Redefining Hijab: American Muslim Women’s Standpoints on Veiling Redefining Hijab: American Muslim Women’s Standpoints on Veiling.” Journal of Applied Communication Research 35(3): 294–319. Easey, Mike (2009). “An Introduction to Fashion Marketing.” In Fashion Marketing, 3rd ed., ed. Mike Easey, 3–17. Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell. Hassan, Abul, Chachi, Abdelkader and Latiff, Salma Abdul (2008). “Islamic Marketing Ethics and Its Impact on Customer Satisfaction in the Islamic Banking Industry.” Journal of King Abdulaziz University-Islamic Economics 21(1): 27–46. Hassan, Siti Hasnah and Harun, Harmimi (2016). “Factors Influencing Fashion Consciousness in Hijab Fashion Consumption among Hijabistas.” Journal of Islamic Marketing 7(4): 476–494. Hochel, Sandra (2013). “To Veil or Not to Veil: Voices of Malaysian Muslim Women.” Intercultural Communication Studies 22(2): 40–57. Izharuddin, Alicia (2015). “The Muslim Woman in Indonesian Cinema and the Face Veil as ‘Other’.” Indonesia and the Malay World 43(127): 397–412. Kim, Hye-Shin, and Hall, Martha L. (2014). “Fashion Brand Personality and Advertisement Response: Incorporating a Symbolic Interactionist Perspective.” In Fashion Branding and Consumer Behaviors: Scientific Models, ed. Tsan-Ming Choi, 29–45, New York: Springer Science & Business Media. Kotler, Philip and Keller, Kevin Lane (2012). Marketing Management. Prentice Hall. Lea-Greenwood, Gaynor (2013). Fashion Marketing Communications. West Sussex, UK: John Wiley & Sons Ltd.

190  Muhammad Talha Salam et al. Leong, Trinna (2015). “Malaysian Women Face Rising Pressure from Muslim ‘Fashion Police’.” Huffpost Religion, 21 July. Lewis, Reina (2007). “Veils and Sales: Muslims and the Spaces of Postcolonial Fashion Retail.” Fashion Theory – Journal of Dress Body and Culture 11(4): 423–442. Lewis, Reina (2015). “Fashion, Shame and Pride: Constructing the Modest Fashion Industry in Three Faiths.” In The Changing World Religion Map, ed. Stanley D. Brunn, 2597–2609. Dordrecht: Springer Netherlands. Medina, Jameelah (2014). “This Battlefield Called My Body: Warring over the Muslim Female.” Religions 5(3): 876–885. Merskin, Debra (2004). “Reviving Lolita? A Media Literacy Examination OfSexual Portrayals OfGirls in Fashion Advertising.” American Behavioral Scientist 48(1): 119–129. Moaddel, Mansoor (2013). The Birthplace of the Arab Spring: Values and Perceptions of Tunisians and A Comparative Assessment of Egyptian, Iraqi, Lebanese, Pakistani, Saudi, Tunisian, and Turkish Publics. The Tunisia Project. https://mevs.org/files/tmp/ Tunisia_FinalReport.pdf. Moors, Annelies and Tarlo, Emma (2007). “Introduction.” Fashion Theory 11(2–3): 133–141. Muslim, Fajri (2015). “Indonesia as the Mecca of World’s Muslim Fashion | OurIndonesia.” OurIndonesia.Com. http://ourindonesia.com/business/indonesia-as-themecca-of-worlds-muslim-fashion/. Naj (2017). “Malaysia Becoming a Trendsetter of Modest Fashion in the Region.” Malaysian Digest. http://www.malaysiandigest.com/frontpage/282-main-tile/689350-malaysiabecoming-a-trendsetter-of-modest-fashion-in-the-region.html. Othman, Ummi (2017). “Brunei MSMEs Looking to Tap into Halal Market | Biz Brunei.” Biz Brunei. http://www.bizbrunei.com/brunei-msmes-looking-tap-halal-market/. Oxford Dictionaries (2018). “Modesty | Definition of Modesty in English by Oxford Dictionaries.” Oxford Dictionaries. Accessed on 22 May. https://en.oxforddictionaries. com/definition/modesty. Pew Research Center (2009). Mapping the Global Muslim Population: A Report on the Size and Distribution of the World’s Muslim Population. The Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life. Phillips, Barbara J. and McQuarrie, Edward F. (2010). “Narrative and Persuasion in Fashion Advertising.” Journal of Consumer Research 37(3): 368–392. PTI (2013). “Deoband Issues Fatwa Banning Photography as Un-Islamic.” The Times of India, September 11. Reuters, Thomson (2015). State of the Global Islamic Economy Report 2015/16. Saeed, Mohammad, Ahmed, Zafar U. and Mukhtar, Syeda-Masooda (2001). “International Marketing Ethics from an Islamic Perspective: A Value-Maximization Approach.” Journal of Business Ethics 32(2): 127–142. Severn, Jessica, Belch, George E. and Belch, Michael A. (1990). “The Effects of Sexual and Non-sexual Advertising Appeals and Information Level on Cognitive Processing and Communication Effectiveness.” Journal of Advertising 19(1): 14–22. Siraj, Asifa (2011). “Meanings of Modesty and the Hijab Amongst Muslim Women in Glasgow, Scotland.” Gender, Place and Culture 18(6): 716–731. Stankiewicz, Julie M. and Rosselli, Francine (2008). “Women as Sex Objects and Victims in Print Advertisements.” Sex Roles 58(7–8): 579–589. Su-Lyn, Boo (2015). “Tudung Industry in Malaysia: Cashing in on Conservative Islam | Malaysia.” Malay Mail Online. http://www.themalaymailonline.com/malaysia/article/ tudung-industry-in-malaysia-cashing-in-on-conservative-islam.

M odesty in Islamic fashion marketing   191 Syed, Jawad (2010). “An Historical Perspective on Islamic Modesty and Its Implications for Female Employment.” Equality Diversity and Inclusion an International Journal 29(2): 150–166. Syed, Jawad, Ali, Faiza and Winstanley, Diana (2005). “In Pursuit of Modesty: Contextual Emotional Labour and the Dilemma for Working Women in Islamic Societies.” International Journal of Work Organisation and Emotion 1(2): 150–167. Taylor, Charles R. (2016). “Advertising for Luxury and Fashion Goods: An Emerging Area.” International Journal of Advertising 35(3): 389–390. Wilson, Jonathan J. and Grant, John (2013). “Islamic Marketing – A Challenger to the Classical Marketing Canon?” Journal of Islamic Marketing 4(1): 7–21. Zaheer, Khalid (1991). “The Question of Photography.” Renaissance. http://www. javedahmadghamidi.com/renaissance/view/the-question-of-photography.

Chapter 9

Packaging MIB Representations of Islam in Anglophone Bruneian fiction Kathrina Mohd Daud

Introduction Studies have shown that post 9/11, media portrayals of Muslims and Islam worldwide were mostly negative, with Muslims and Islam being framed within the context of religious extremism and a clash of civilisations and cultures (Ahmed and Matthes, 2016). While the majority of studies available have concentrated on the Western media, the effect of such consistent negative representation impacts not only Muslims living in Western societies, but also Muslims worldwide who consume Western media. There has been no systematic study conducted to investigate the nature of this impact in non-Western Muslim communities and countries. However, the impact of the permeation of Western media into the global Islamic consciousness, and its corresponding role in the increase of Islamophobic discourses, is traceable across global and diasporic Muslim literature which seeks to represent, amplify and construct Muslim identity beyond the monolithic, flattening narratives found in the global media. In a country like Brunei Darussalam, which constitutionally practices a Sunni Shafie form of Islam, and whose religious scholars are trained at Al-Azhar University in Cairo, but which also annually sends hundreds of non-religious scholars to the United Kingdom, Australia and the United States to obtain upper secondary, undergraduate and graduate qualifications, the kind of media discourse which polarises the West and the Islamic world in a ‘clash of civilisations’ might well find a response in local constructions of identity. How does a small Southeast Asian nation with Commonwealth traditions and a strong, rich cultural history, but with limited representation in media and creative work in the contemporary world, construct itself in the context of global Islamic identity? This chapter will suggest that, despite the local focus of Anglophone Bruneian literature, as a corpus it is very much engaged with global conversations about Islam and representations of Islam in the media and in world literature. This chapter seeks to explore this question by examining representations of Islam and Islamic identity in Anglophone Bruneian literature. I will (1) articulate the challenges of writing about Islam faced by Anglophone Bruneian

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writers; (2) provide a brief overview of creative production in Brunei; and (3) consider constructions of Muslims and Islam in two Anglophone Bruneian novels, Amir Falique’s 2013 The Forlorn Adventure and Aisha Malik’s 2017 Jewel: An Attempt at a Halal Romance, using a close reading approach. (4) I will conclude with some remarks on what the analysis of these two novels has to offer future conceptualisations of Bruneian literature in an international marketplace and as a narrative form. The choice to close read these particular texts is not to suggest that the conclusions drawn can be unproblematically extrapolated to form the foundation for a discourse of Islam in Brunei, nor that they can be used as a sociological or ethnographic commentary on local practices of Islam and its permutations globally; this paper draws on the tradition of literary scholarship rather than ethnographic, sociological or anthropological methodology. Nevertheless, narrative constructions are reflections of certain popular truths or perceived/desired truths – in this paper is a comparative analysis of recurring narrative and thematic patterns whose recurrence is in itself significant; the persistence of a reflection, however distorted, can still shed light on the process of identity formation.

1 Rewriting Islam and the anxieties of a small nation ‘Bruneian?’ said Bob, sitting on his desk inside his library-esque office. ‘I’ve never even heard of them. Where’d they come from?’ ‘Brunei,’ said Fedrick, while opening the cover of a file labelled with A’jon’s name. ‘Long-form: Brunei Darussalam. It’s a country south of Hong Kong, on northern Borneo. It’s almost as big as Singapore, but the population’s only about four hundred thousand, plus immigrants. The country was the forty-ninth member of the Commonwealth, was the sixth member of ASEAN, and joined the United Nations on 21 September 1984. It’s rich in oil.’ Bob lightly smacked the top of a soft cigarette box until the butt of a stick popped out from the torn opening. ‘Borneo? Isn’t that a jungle island?’ (Falique, 2013, 2661) The excerpt above, from the 2013 The Forlorn Adventure by Amir Falique, neatly articulates the dilemma of Anglophone Bruneian literature. Deeply conscious that a global audience has limited knowledge about Brunei, Anglophone Bruneian writers struggle between capitalising on its cultural, ideological and material Otherness to exotic, fetishised narrative effect, and attempting to demythologise this Otherness for an uninitiated reader. Occasionally both these strategies are deployed in the same narrative, suggesting a fluid and pragmatic approach to the use of exotifying strategies. Both these strategies pivot on the same local perception and awareness of the stereotypes and the nature of limi­ ted global knowledge about Brunei.

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Consider how Brunei is framed in the excerpt above, an exchange between two American administrators. Initially unknown, Brunei is then described in relation to more internationally prominent countries in the region, Hong Kong and Singapore. Her membership in international and regional organisations is then emphasised, to lend her existence legitimacy. The exchange concludes with the two attributes that Brunei is well known for – the possession of oil and primary rainforest as national resources. While this exchange was obviously mildly exaggerated for narrative effect in The Forlorn Adventure, the twin anxieties about (1) Brunei’s relative invisibility in the global gaze and (2) the global perception of Brunei as an underdeveloped, primitive country appear repeatedly in Anglophone Bruneian fiction. These anxieties manifest in a variety of ways. For example, KH Lim, in his pre-emptive paratextual ‘disclaimer’ to the 2014 Written in Black, which hinges heavily on Bruneian exotica, including the poklan subculture and black magic, encourages readers to visit Brunei for themselves, noting that the Brunei he portrays is only one of many possibilities (Mohd Daud et al., 2016). Written in Black therefore capitalises on the exotic but is also careful to avoid fetishising it. In the 2017 The Last Bastion of Ingei by Aammton Alias, a sci-fi supernatural thriller, the rainforest and natural world are fetishised as sites of environmental conservationist purity and the mystical unknown, from which the last war to save global mankind will be waged. This insistence on reframing what is unknown about Brunei into what is of most value to a global citizenship is echoed in Amir Falique’s The Forlorn Adventure. It also echoes the national branding popularised by the local tourism board of Brunei as ‘The Kingdom of Unexpected Treasures’, a place where what is unknown is reframed as what is potentially of most value. These strategies and tactics hinge on what has been identified by Graham Huggan (2001, 32) as strategic exoticism, a deliberate complicity with exoticist aesthetics in order to manipulate its conventions to one’s own political ends. That it is the global audience which is sought after is also apparent elsewhere in the creative industries, where, for example, the phenomenon of ‘firstism’, as coined by Faiq Airudin (2016), is emphasised, with creative endeavours such as the 2014 film Yasmine leaning heavily on marketing itself as the ‘first feature film from Brunei’, or the 2012 Bread Dream being ‘the first-ever Bruneian movie to be shown in [the Cannes Film Festival]’ (Rosli, 2012), often with the emphasis on firstness in the international arena. ‘Putting Brunei on the map’ is also a frequently used phrase in local media when referring to local individuals and organisations in international competitions/exhibitions/etc., suggesting that the desire to be acknowledged and recognised by a global audience is a pervasive national one. All of these factors suggest that the burden on local literature for fair and accurate representation may be felt by writers to be disproportionately heavy. This is particularly so for local literature in English, which is more likely to be accessed by a global audience, and which therefore bears the onus of explaining, representing, and confronting cultural difference.

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These anxieties about being either unknown or mistakenly perceived are the natural anxieties of a small country with a national creative industry that, since 2012, has often been the subject of rhetoric about how its potential continues to be ‘untapped’ (Hayat, 2018). Because of the fledgling, albeit developing, state of local creative industries, the majority of the media that is available to be consumed by local audiences originates from sources external to Brunei – either regional or international in nature – and is therefore unreflective of local concerns, aesthetics, mythology, culture. The desire to see oneself represented in the media one consumes, in order to legitimise one’s experience and identity, is a key concern of global movements to create more diversity in literature. The impetus for this concern is exacerbated in the case of Brunei, where the high visibility of international literature and media products is unbalanced by the relative invisibility of local literature and media. This has a knock-on effect on the narratives about Brunei which are produced locally – in particular, Mohd Daud et al. (2016, 245) pointed out that most Anglophone Bruneian literature uses Western tropes and is not in conversation with Bruneian Malay literature. I would note too that the market for literature in Brunei is a small one. There is a perceived lack of reading culture in Brunei which is regularly lamented by educators and the Government via the Ministry of Education and the National Language and Literature Bureau (DBP) (Mohd Daud, 2018). There is a widespread perception that Bruneians simply do not read for pleasure, although there is currently no empirical data to support this perception. Nevertheless, there are figures from the DBP which show that best-selling local texts in Brunei reach sales of 800–2000 units, and that thus far these have all been non-fiction. There is no data on how much fiction is bought and consumed in Brunei, much less how much of that is local fiction. Preliminary evidence suggests that local literature struggles to sell in the hundreds; local film and cinematic offerings likewise fail to reach a wide audience, despite grassroots #supportlocal movements on social and traditional media, although there is currently no data on the profitability of these commercial offerings. Given the current low consumption of locally produced literature and narratives, particularly in comparison to international imports from the United States, United Kingdom, Europe and the Malay world, it is safe to suggest that the majority of media consumed by local consumers, and therefore content, is international in origin, with the relative invisibility of Bruneian narratives failing to provide a counterbalance. In addition, these anxieties take on a more complex turn when it comes to representations of Islam. Globally, the negative media about Islam and Muslims is well documented (Ahmed and Matthes, 2016). In 2013, when it was officially declared that Brunei would be introducing and implementing the Syariah Penal Code (‘Syariah’ is the local spelling of ‘Shari’a’ in Brunei), there was an international outcry, with international media and activists calling the move a return to ‘the dark ages’ (Buncombe, 2014). Since then, there has been increased scrutiny of Brunei’s Islamic identity in Western media, although Southeast Asian Muslim scholars such as Tan Sri Kamal have noted

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that ‘Brunei’s freedom from the radicalism, extremism and militancy witnessed in other parts of the Muslim world make it a model of the wasatiyyah (mode­ rate Islam)’ (interview during 4th SOASCIS International Conference, 2014). Political and militant Islam do not exist in Brunei in the way that they do elsewhere in the Muslim world, or even in neighbouring countries, where Islam has been mobilised for oppositional politics (Funston, 2006, 21). Indeed, within the country, Bruneian Muslims are frequently urged to ‘avoid religious extremism’ (Mat Sani, 2015) and to embrace moderation. How do Anglophone Bruneian writers confront these contrasting images of Islam within their writing, even as they contend with anxieties about invisibility and misconceptions about the nation and national culture? It is, of course, impossible to discuss the representation of Islam in Bruneian writing without acknowledging the tripartite nature of national identity and ideology. Melayu Islam Beraja (MIB), also known as Malay Islamic monarchy, has been the official state ideology since its implementation in 1984. The three components of this state ideology are: ‘1) Malay language, cultural values and traditions, 2) the teachings of Islam, and 3) a monarchical government headed by the Sultan’ (Mohd Daud et al., 2016, 243). Brunei is the only country which is governed by an Islamic monarchy. This chapter seeks to explore how Islam, as part of a Bruneian identity, is packaged for a global audience in two Anglophone Bruneian novels: The Forlorn Adventure (2013) by Amir Falique, and Jewel: An Attempt at a Halal Romance (2017) by Aisha Malik. This chapter will ask the following questions: (1) How is a Bruneian form of Islam represented for a global audience? (2) What does this particular packaging of Bruneian Islam suggest about how piety is constructed and signalled as part of a Bruneian identity in local literature?

2 Brief overview of local literature From 2009 to 2018, there have been only 11 Bruneian novels published in the English language (see Table 9.1). Given the high adult literacy rate of over 90% (Noor Azam, 2016, 254) and a strong English language proficiency, particularly amongst educated Bruneians, that developed as a result of British involvement from the late nineteenth century onwards (McLellan et al., 2016, 12), the sluggish nature of Anglophone Bruneian fiction is disappointing but mirrors the development of local fiction in English in the Southeast Asian region. Countries like Singapore, Malaysia and the Philippines report similarly slow development of local Anglophone fiction despite similarly high literacy and English language proficiency. The production of Malay language fiction in Brunei is correspondingly nascent, but must be dealt with separately from Anglophone fiction, having its own intricacies and nuances, and is outside the purview of this chapter. The primary difference is that Bruneian Malay fiction is almost completely published by the National Language and Literature Bureau (DBP), and therefore must engage and negotiate

198  Kathrina Mohd Daud Table 9.1 Anglophone Bruneian texts (1998–2018) Year of Title publication Fiction 2009 2010 2011 2013 2014 2016 2016 2017

The Wild Men of the East Selamat Munap Crosswise the Boulevard: An M. Faisal Extraordinary Love Saga Four Kings Christopher Sun

2017

The Forlorn Adventure Written in Black The Last Bastion of Ingei B.I.S.A (Vols 1–3) Jewel: An Attempt at a Halal Romance Kris Hellion (Vols 1–2)

2018 2018

For You, I Do Finding You

Drama 2012

Poetry 1998 2009 2009 2012 2013 2015 2016 2016

Author

Amir Falique K. H. Lim Aammton Alias Amir Falique Aisha Malik

Publisher

Raider Publishing Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka Self-published (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform) Trafford Publishing Monsoon Books Self-published Self-published Self-published

Michael Hardy and J. J. Gillies Aisha Malik Aisha Malik

Self-published

In the Spotlight: An Anthology of Bruneian Plays in English

Ed. Grace V. S. Chin

Creative Industries Research Cluster, Universiti Brunei Darussalam

Under the Canopy and Other Poems: English Poetry in Brunei The Swan Scripts

Ed. Vaughan Rapatahana

Centre for British Teachers

Shai Omarali

Self-published (CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform) Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka Trafford Publishing

Young Dreams Tribute to Brunei and Other Poems Streak of Colour Moments of Nil Neruda di Kuala (A Section of Lovers) Journey after Young Dreams

Izzati Jamil John Onu Odihi Winter Frostt Flora Tavu Fice KB Izzati Jamil

Self-published Self-published

Trafford Publishing Partridge Singapore La Lectrice Publishing & Printing Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka

with the governmental restrictions and guidelines as to what can be published and disseminated within the country. Additionally, being in Malay, the audience for such fiction is limited beyond Brunei to countries with Malay-speaking literatures and populations; in the case of neighbouring countries Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore, the Malay-speaking populations tend to also be primarily Muslim.

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In a practical sense, circulation and dissemination of Bruneian Malay fiction both within and outside Brunei are fairly minimal. Locally, most Bruneian Malay fiction is only obtainable directly from the DBP bookstore or through government libraries. While other local bookstores such as Nollybook, dbookhaus and Best Eastern do carry some local texts or have sections dedicated to local authors, the selection favours the non-fiction or Anglophone variety. Since there has been no significant amount of translation of Bruneian Malay fiction, its audience has, until the present day, continued to be limited. Even Anglophone Bruneian writers, who ‘tend to have very little exposure to Malay literature’ (Mohd Daud et al., 2016, 245), show primarily the influence of Western popular narrative over local fiction in their writing. Given all of these factors – narrative restrictions, primarily Malay–Muslim readership, limited circulation and interaction with Anglophone Bruneian fiction – the audience for Bruneian Malay literature has been local and regional rather than global. As such, Bruneian Malay literature does not seem to function as a corrective or response to global discourses about Islam and Muslim identity – at least, not directly. In contrast, Anglophone Bruneian fiction has thus far seemed to be aimed at a global audience. Only one of the Anglophone Bruneian novels has been publi­ shed by the National Language and Literature Bureau (DBP) – the other nine are a combination of self-published (eight) and traditionally published (one) novels, printed outside Brunei, or published digitally, and which therefore have not had to directly engage with the guidelines of the DBP and the Ministry of Home Affairs during their composition. The availability of these texts online to a global audience is a result of the democratising nature of such platforms as Amazon. As of 2018, seven out of the ten Anglophone Bruneian novels publi­ shed are available on Amazon as ebooks. Indeed, local writer Aammton Alias has penned a memoir in essence outlining the advantages and mechanisms of publishing Amazon ebooks: How I Became a Self-Published Author: The Journey to 51,000 Words (2016). Somewhat ironically, this memoir is the only one of Alias’ publications which has been traditionally published. One possible implication of digital publishing is that how Anglophone novels speak of or represent Brunei might differ from the representations offered by DBP state-sanctioned Malay language novels. However, ‘Bruneian English literature still seems ideologically invested in perpetuating a vision of Brunei in which MIB is central’ (Mohd Daud et al., 2016, 246). This refusal to move away ideologically from the representations offered by Malay-language fiction might be a pragmatic decision, as most of these Anglophone novels, while not published within Brunei, are available to a Bruneian audience through local bookstores. All fiction that is sold locally is generally subject to the vetting of the Ministry of Home Affairs and/or the Ministry of Religious Affairs. It is not surprising that Anglophone Bruneian writers, writing about Brunei, would wish their work to be physically available to a local audience, even as it is also digitally available to a global audience. In order to enable this, writers must ensure that their work does not contravene the Undesirable Publications Act of

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1951 (revised in 2010), or more intangibly cross the ‘invisible line in the sand that defines what we can or cannot say’ (Ain, 2013), with the most sensitive areas being the topics of race, religion and governance – the three central tenets of the MIB philosophy. Balancing these strictures against the negative global coverage about Muslims and Islam, it is perhaps unsurprising that Anglophone Bruneian writers who have included Islamic themes in their work have chosen to represent Islam positively. Nevertheless, the facets of Islam which they have chosen to highlight and emphasise offer an interesting insight into how Islam is packaged and branded by local writers for a global audience to counter negative stereotypes. This chapter will concentrate on the two Anglophone texts which most explicitly address and represent Islam, albeit in very differing ways: Amir Falique’s The Forlorn Adventure (2013) and Aisha Malik’s Jewel: An Attempt at a Halal Romance (2017). While reference will be made to other Anglophone Bruneian texts, these two novels are the ones which actively work, by nature of their genre and theme, to ‘sell’ Islam to their audiences. 2.1 T he Forlorn Adventure: patriotism, speculation and aspirational Bruneian-ness

Published in 2013, The Forlorn Adventure by Amir Falique is a sci-fi novel about the first Bruneian in space, A’jon bin Emir. Recruited by NASA for his codebreaking expertise in 2025, A’jon joins the Russian Vasilli Yurinov on the Mond 13 mission to Mars, which is captained by the American Robinson Lee. During the mission, a war breaks out on Earth, and the Mond 13 is targeted by a hostile missile. During the attack, A’jon is stabbed in the chest, and in order to save him, Lee and Yurinov put him into cryogenic freeze. 500 years later, in the year 2525, A’jon is retrieved from space and resuscitated in Los Angeles. In 2525, the world is still recovering from the Third World War, and there are two factions, the Resistance, which quickly recruits A’jon, and the Pelegrian Order, which possesses the ‘Hell Drop’, a bomb with more destructive potential than nuclear or fusion energy. At the close of the novel, A’jon sacrifices himself to save humanity by launching himself with the Hell Drop into outer space, where it explodes, killing him. The basic premise and structure of the novel draws heavily on cinematic and literary American blockbuster tropes about exceptionalism and saving the world. The Forlorn Adventure is significant for the aspirations it projects about Brunei and Bruneian identity. In the year 2525, Brunei has transformed into an international hub for tourists, a ‘sprawling metropolis’ (Falique, 2013, 2267) that is a model of urbanised efficiency virtually unrecognisable to A’jon on his return. It is widely known as a tourist attraction. ‘Brunei is a tourist attraction now,’ said Albert. ‘Most of them are here to visit the Temburong rainforest, especially the honeymooners. I’ve been

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here so many times; I even spent Ramadan here once. I can speak a little bit of Malay myself. Maybe one day, when I’m done with my duty, I’ll settle down and get myself a Bruneian wife.’ (ibid., 2285) Despite the changes to Brunei, what is most striking is the nature of the things which have not changed. On his arrival in Brunei, A’jon marvels at the changed topography, but also notes that three landmarks are unaltered: the Sultan Omar Ali Mosque, the Istana Nurul Iman, and Kampong Ayer. These three landmarks are clearly significant and symbolically represent the three tenets of the MIB philosophy: Kampong Ayer for Malay culture and history, the SOAS mosque for Islam and the Istana Nurul Iman as the seat of the monarchy. That these three symbolic landmarks have remained unchanged over the years signifies the immutable values of the ideology which defines Brunei. These values and the MIB philosophy also form the basis for which Brunei is a tourist attraction: the ‘jungle’ which is initially derided by the American Bob is now an ecological wonder; the holy month of Ramadan is a prime season to visit; the palace and the monarchy are paid due respect as items of spectacle. The oldest copies of the Qur’an are kept in Brunei, signifying Brunei’s place within Islam and her historical links to it. Likewise, the Sultan of Brunei in 2525 is the fifty-fifth sultan in an unbroken genealogical line, a responsibility that he takes very seriously: ‘For eleven centuries my family has ruled, and I won’t let it die. Brunei’s the only country left on this planet being ruled by a monarch’ (ibid., 3558). On his return to Brunei, A’jon is able to return to speaking in an unaltered Malay language, despite the passage of 500 years. It is interesting to note that, despite The Forlorn Adventure’s insistence on Brunei’s importance in the world of 2525, and the seeming persistence and immortality of the MIB values, the textual examples above betray an anxiety about how these values continue to be under threat. Brunei is the last remaining monarchy in the world; the fragile unaltered Qur’an remains in its keeping; Chinese citizens in Brunei are being given extra help to improve their English in order to modernise. Brunei is significant and valued, but still not secure. This security is only granted at the climax of the novel, when A’jon sacrifices his life for the global community. Unknown to A’jon, this sacrifice is televised and transmitted all over the world. Only then, when no less than the entire world celebrates the Bruneian hero, is Brunei’s status secured. During his final moments, A’jon sings the national anthem, receives the blessing of the Sultan, and attributes his courage and purpose to his faith in God: A’jon felt certain that this was exactly what he was meant to do, the reason why he was frozen for five hundred years in space […] As a Muslim, he knew that his selfless action was nothing compared to the one who organized the rotation of the earth. (ibid., 4102)

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The tripartite nature of Bruneian identity, emphasised repeatedly in the novel, is again present at A’jon’s death through his reaffirmation of allegiance to Brunei, Malay culture, the monarchy, and his acceptance of his divinely determined purpose. The Forlorn Adventure thus links the immutable values of Brunei to a divine purpose. From the beginning, A’jon serves as an expository mouthpiece for the values of Islam. During his conversations with Vasilli, he hopes to ‘deliver awareness’ by expounding on the nature of Heaven and Hell, belief itself. He does this so successfully that Vasilli remarks, ‘If I ever become religious, it’ll be because of you’ (ibid., 512). He observes the five daily prayers, frequently asking where the nearest place to pray is, and preserves chastity and modesty in his relationship with girlfriend Tia. Beyond these ritual observances, however, A’jon is also divinely marked from the beginning. His return from cryogenic freeze is scientifically unexplainable, with the doctor who treats him remarking that what has happened is not medically possible and that therefore there is a miraculous or divine purpose to A’jon’s preservation: ‘It’s simply not the time for him to die’ (ibid., 1602).2 As the symbolic Bruneian citizen, A’jon’s death serves to ‘put Brunei on the map’. Nevertheless, his death is elevated from mere patriotism or nationalism by having the nobility of this death be enjoined by his faith as a Muslim. What does all of this indicate about Bruneian identity and the form of Islam that is being portrayed? The Forlorn Adventure invokes Islam not only as a religious ideology that motivates and ennobles actions, but also to legitimise MIB as a governing principle. This portrayal of Islam as fully inscribed within the tripartite philosophy of MIB, playing a dual role in the governance of the state and in legitimising MIB as a unifying ideology, has elsewhere been noted by scholars of Brunei. The Malaysian political scientist Naimah S. Talib argues that the concept of MIB has always been formulated and insisted on as ‘God’s will’ and ‘the basis of the Brunei Sultanate from time immemorial’ (2002, 141), with the only innovation being its official articulation in 1984 (Melayong, 2018). This propagandistic espousing of Bruneian values is an implicit response to the undercurrent of frustration at how underappreciated Brunei is throughout The Forlorn Adventure. This frustration is targeted at the global audience, at Americans who either ‘have never even heard of’ (Falique 2013, 260) Brunei or who adhere to outdated, Orientalist perceptions when they have (‘Isn’t that a jungle island?’, ibid., 260), and at locals who fail to appreciate what is unique about Brunei. Thus The Forlorn Adventure operates narratively at two levels: it works to explain and justify Brunei’s uniqueness to the outside world, and to condemn what it views as the insular, non-cosmopolitan viewpoints of the locals. For example, Bruneian graduates are dismissed as provincial and government buildings as ‘immature’ (ibid., 192), and the inability of Bruneians to remain professional and keep confidential information confidential is gently mocked.

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This frustration manifests itself in an insistence on both the ideological and material superiority of Brunei, seeking to prove itself through global – Western – recognition. This frustration finds echoes in other Anglophone Bruneian literature, including Aammton Alias’ The Last Bastion of Ingei, in which locals are dismissed as an apathetic people with ‘no real opinion, indifferent to anything and everything, trapped in little bubbles of self-containment and self-contentment’ (Alias, 2017, 92) who ‘don’t even care about their own home [country]!’ (Alias, 2017, 165). The Forlorn Adventure seems to insist that the answer and solution to this insularity and frustration is participation in and adoption of metropolitan, cosmopolitan values in the global marketplace in order to then propagate Bruneian values, rather than critiquing the marginalising mechanics of the global marketplace itself. G. Huggan terms this the dilemma of postcolonial cultural production and the postcolonial exotic (2001, 31). 2.2  Jewel: halal romance and aspirational forms of Islam

Thus far, this chapter has discussed how a quintessentially Bruneian novel – about Brunei, by a Bruneian – has attempted to package and brand Islam for a global audience. This section will discuss a different approach to the treatment of Islam, in the form of Aisha Malik’s 2017 Jewel: An Attempt at a Halal Romance. Like The Forlorn Adventure, Jewel draws heavily on popular Western tropes, in this case situated within the discourse of the popular romance genre. In Jewel, the romance between the half-white, half-Kadazan heroine Yasmin Colburn and the handsome Prince Danial is obstructed by the Prince’s newfound desire to conduct himself in a ‘halal’ way around women, including limiting contact with the opposite sex, except within the presence of a chaperone or third party. Another obstacle is the fact that Yasmin is not of the Muslim faith, although the novel is quick to emphasise her good works and her altruistic, philanthropic nature. Both of these obstacles are nullified by Yasmin’s conversion to Islam and Danial’s determination to marry Yasmin without dating her. The romance novel industry is a billion-dollar one, and within the industry, inspirational or religious romance has been carved out as a sub-genre to cater to the needs of readers of faith who either want to see their faiths reflected in and furthered by the novels they read, or who find that the explicit, graphic or otherwise morally contentious nature of secular romance is inconsistent with the practice of their faiths. Known as ‘inspirational’ or ‘evangelical’ romance, the sub-genre held a 6.1% share of the romance market in the year 2000 (Neal, 2006, 6). In the early days of popular romance scholarship, inspirational or evangelical romance referred almost exclusively to the Christian tradition, the romance genre itself being a primarily Western, secular form. In the last 15 years, however, Muslim writers have begun to appropriate and reform the genre for their own needs and purposes. This process may be considered a

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‘halal-ifying’ one – the desire to offer a ‘halal’ alternative as well as a corrective to the Western popular romance, in which gender interactions generally fall outside the boundaries permitted by the Islamic faith. Muslim scholars and leaders have often viewed popular romance as a genre with suspicion and disapproval, perceiving them as secular products that promote a sexual immorality and promiscuity often associated with ‘the West’ (Marsden, 2007, 91; Hashim and Hamdan, 2010, 70; Whitsitt, 2003, 140; Parameswaran, 2002, 847). The genre itself in its Western cultural form was able to penetrate the global market through the work of the Harlequin publishing house, which has dominated the North American, European and global markets for mass market romance since the 1980s due to strong translation practices. Local and indigenous publishing lines worldwide have often been a response and an attempt to capitalise on the success of the Harlequin model. Globally, Muslim and halal romances have formed a part of this response. The notion of halal literature is still under-conceptualised as a field of study. This is perhaps rightfully and ethically so – to put forward a notion and a framework for halal literature would be to propose a limitation on the kind of literature that can be produced, consumed and distributed in Muslim communities, particularly in Muslim-majority countries which draw on Islamic frameworks for governance, including those which practice Shari’a law. The standardisation and institutionalisation of halal as a concept are certainly gaining traction in the political economy and globalised religious markets (Fischer, 2011, 18). While previously matters of halal have largely focused on food (ritual slaughter, pork and alcohol avoidance), halal banking, tourism and fashion are of increasing interest. The question of whether there even needs to be a conceptualisation of halal literature might be easily answered, then, with a ‘No’, except that Muslim writers themselves are increasingly using the term ‘halal’ to describe their own work, primarily when the works are romance. On popular online storytelling site Wattpad, the search for ‘halal’ brings up 16,600 stories; narrow the search to ‘halal love’ or ‘halal love story’ and it drops to 3500, still a significant amount. A quick check shows that even stories which do not come up under ‘halal love’ or ‘halal love story’ come up under ‘halal romance’. There is clearly, then, a commonly understood way of using the term ‘halal’ by writers and their readers. However, this usage seems to refer not – or not only – to the consumption of romance, but to the carrying out of romance within the story itself. The process of creating halal romance has manifested differently in Muslim communities worldwide. In Southeast Asia, the blockbuster success of the Indonesian novel Ayat-ayat Cinta (‘Verses of Love’) by Al-Azhar alum Habiburrahman El-Shirazy in 2004 spurred on a glut of copycat ‘halal’ romances in literature and film which modelled aspirational romantic relationships in Islam, characterised by pre-marital chastity and separation between the sexes, acceptance of polygamy, and the prioritisation of God above the romantic relationship. In Nigeria, Muslim romance offers a corrective to social

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practices which oppress, silence and marginalise women. The Kano market literature of littattafan Soyayya (‘books of love’) is produced, disseminated and read almost entirely by women; this pulp literature often performs the ideological work of resisting and engaging with patriarchal and religious authorities. In the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia, writers such as Na’ima B. Roberts and Leila Aboulela offer aspirational and inspirational romances which demonstrate how halal relationships can be conducted within a Western societal context. All of these localised and halal Muslim romances engage with the Western popular romance model which has so permeated the global market, even if it is to resist and offer correctives. They also have in common their faithfulness to the generic narrative requirement of the HEA or Happily Ever After. Aisha Malik’s Jewel fits neatly into this global Muslim romance genre. In this sense, the novel, like The Forlorn Adventure, positions itself for a global readership; unlike The Forlorn Adventure, its claim to inclusion in the global market­ place is not via an insistence on Brunei’s status in the international arena, but via a global Islamic identity that transcends nationality. I would argue that the unifying thread linking global Muslim romance across its linguistically and culturally diverse forms in Asia, Europe and Africa is its repudiation of cultural, racial and class-based limitations on behaviour and identity, calling on its readers instead to take recourse to Islam as the ultimate arbiter of behaviour and identity. It is for this reason that global Muslim romances often feature cross-cultural, inter-religious relationships – the tensions which these relationships must negotiate throw into relief the clashes between cultural practices and religious beliefs. Jewel exemplifies these characteristics of the genre through its narrative themes and content, and further solidifies its allegiance to a global genre through the material considerations through which readers can access Jewel. Firstly, it must be noted that, unlike all of the other Anglophone Bruneian texts, Jewel is only available digitally and not in print. It is available through major online retailer Amazon, although earlier and amended versions are available for free on Wattpad, which houses a substantive number of fiction pieces under the categories of halal and/or Muslim romance. During an interview with Aisha Malik in 2017, she noted that her intended readers were ‘young Muslims anywhere; not particularly Brunei or anything like that’, primarily because ‘I don’t think the book is very accessible from here [Brunei].’ Malik also noted that her own preference for acquiring fiction would be a Bruneian or physical bookstore, even though her own book exists only in digital form. There has been no study conducted to examine the extent to which Bruneians read digitally; it is hard therefore to draw a conclusion as to whether a digital text is more or less accessible to a Bruneian audience. One can extrapolate, however, from the fact that Brunei has the highest social media penetration in ASEAN and the third highest in the world, that digital accessibility in and of itself is not difficult in Brunei. The extent to which Bruneians are, in practice, reading locally produced fiction

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available online is also impossible to gauge, although preliminary overtures have been made to find out Malik’s sales figures to date, and how her books are selling internationally versus locally. It is important to note that Malik identifies herself as a Muslim but not a Bruneian writer, and shared that her own reading practices are mainly of North American romances. It becomes clear, then, that the literary genealogy of Jewel is not Bruneian, but North American.3 These distancing tactics from the site of Brunei extend to the novel’s setting, the fictional Malaysian state of Mekar. Aisha Malik’s second novel, another halal romance, is also set in Malaysia. The romance itself functions dually as a proselytising or explanatory text for non-Muslim readers (‘I wanted to show the audience someone [the heroine Yasmine] actually falling in love with Islam’), as well as an aspirational text for Muslim readers (‘I wanted to put it out there that it was possible to get to marriage without doing things that will be frowned upon’). Both of these functions are linked to generic form. American and British Muslim conversion narratives written by women do tend to perform explanatory purposes, to justify to sceptical Western audiences the choice to abandon what is often viewed as a ‘coveted’ place on the social stratum to join, instead, a visibly marginalised community. Often these explanations include pre-emptive resistance to the perception that they might convert for the sake of a Muslim love interest. Similarly, while in Jewel, Yasmin’s interest in Islam, ‘this thing that was stopping him from being with me’ (Malik, 2017, 1226), is piqued by Prince Danial’s behaviour around her, it is not until a near-death experience that she begins seriously looking for the meaning of life. During this search for the truth, she avoids Danial, determined not to confuse her feelings for him with her feelings about Islam. Ultimately, Yasmin chooses to convert because she is convinced by what the Qur’an says about the purpose of life – to worship God and to perform good works to be rewarded in the afterlife. The entire conversion takes only a few pages; the reader, it is presumed, is meant not to be convinced by this rather brief and intellectual parsing of the Qur’an, but by Islam as embodied in the form of the tortured hero Prince Danial, whose attractiveness lies in his ideals of fidelity, chastity and respectful treatment of women as mandated by his understanding of proper Muslim behaviour. It is worth noting that, although Jewel is ostensibly set in Malaysia rather than Brunei, Prince Danial embodies and indeed propagates the values of MIB by being a Malay, Muslim future monarch, neatly tying together romantic desirability with Bruneian ideological value. Indeed, as a halal romance, the reward for Yasmin’s conversion is presented in the novel as worldly rather than spiritual, in the form of the literal Prince Charming, Danial. Never, in a million years, would I have imagined my life to turn out the way it did. Little old me, with my textbooks and jeans, turned to a Muslim

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princess with a fairytale wedding […] now I was fully, irrevocably in love with two new entities: Islam and my prince. (Malik, 2017, 1602) The ‘fairytale’ of Jewel is compliant with the generic constraints of global halal/ Muslim romance: the interracial, cross-cultural romantic relationship is conducted in a Shari’a-compliant way, and submission to God precedes and is rewarded by the Happily Ever After. Nevertheless, one can read Bruneian influence in the idealised embodiment of MIB, Prince Danial and the way that the happy ending for Yasmin is an incorporation of MIB values, as a Muslim princess who embraces Malay tradition.

Conclusion What do The Forlorn Adventure and Jewel have in common in terms of how Islam is packaged for global readership? How do they engage and reject Bruneianness within this conceptualisation of Islam? To what extent does Bruneian writing target a Bruneian audience at all? What does this mean for the future of Bruneian literature? Both novels seek to engage a global audience rather than a local one, suggesting that local writers recognise the economic, ideological and material limitations of the local market for a sustainable, creative industry in literature. At the same time, representations of Islam remain overwhelmingly positive. While The Forlorn Adventure inscribes Islam as inseparable from the tripartite national ideology of MIB from the start, Jewel’s allegiance to the MIB ideo­ logy is less explicit, and can be read mainly through how happiness and reward are constructed in the novel, through an assimilation into a symbolically MIB identity, which represents a departure from the transcendence of nationalism and race that global Muslim romance generally espouses. This suggests that while Bruneian identity is construed as part of a larger global Islamic identity, it remains within the purview of firmly localised national identity. These texts suggest that the Bruneian form of Islam offers a model for conceptualising a global Islam that is inclusive, moderate and in opposition to popular stereotypes and misconceptions about Islam to which these texts assign an ‘extreme’ identity and politics. This proposal is further suggested by the use of English rather than Malay for these texts, demonstrating the extent to which postcolonialism has influenced how Bruneians see themselves in the world, and the desire that Bruneians have to see their culture represented positively in the world market. Thus, Anglophone Bruneian writers prioritise digital and therefore global dissemination of their novels, in reaction to anxieties about invisibility and misrepresentations. What does the future hold for Bruneian literature? Thus far, Anglophone Bruneian fiction has drawn from a Western and global literary tradition and inscribed itself within it. As the creative industries mature and more texts

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and media are produced, it is to be hoped that Bruneian literature will begin to look inwards for audience, market and inspiration. The novel form, after all, is an imported one, and it may be that short stories and poetry, the preferred mediums for Bruneian Malay literature, may have something to offer an Anglophone expression of Bruneian identity and narratives. As readership and corresponding critique of Anglophone Bruneian literature grows, and as the local literary industry matures in the years to come, the nature of Bruneian narratives will be determined. This will reflect but also determine and shape national identity, as it provides alternatives and, therefore, correctives to global perceptions of Brunei.

Notes 1 The references to Falique’s novel are from the ebook, which is the most widely available version. 2 A’jon’s return also marks the debunking of the theory of evolution, with an American scientist telling him that ‘This may be the future, but it’s only our technology that’s advanced. The human body does not change. So much for the theory of evolution’ (Falique, 2013, 1645). 3 It is perhaps useful to note that the romance industry has been able to thrive and to grow annually, in contrast to other book sectors which have faltered (Tapper, 2014: 250) in large part due to early adoption of ebook technology. Anglophone Bruneian writers, in their ability to leverage on ebook publishing, may similarly be able to address the challenges of publishing from a small nation with limited publishing opportunities and distribution channels.

Bibliography Ahmed, Saifuddin and Matthes, Jorg (2016). “Media Representation of Muslims and Islam from 2000 to 2015: A Meta-Analysis.” International Communication Gazette, 9: 219–244. Airudin, Faiq (2016). “Creative Industry Needs Support.” http://faiqairudin.tumblr.com/ post/144432487607. Alias, Aammton (2016). How I Became a Self-Published Author: The Journey to 51,000 Words. Bandar Seri Begawan: MPH Publishing. Alias, Aammton (2017). The Last Bastion of Ingei. Self-published. Ebook. Bandial, Quratul-Ain (2013, 3 May) “The Case for Press Freedom.” Brunei Times. http:// southeastasianists.tumblr.com/post/88431717109/the-case-for-press-freedom Buncombe, Andrew (2014). “International Outcry as Brunei Introduces Sharia Law and Takes Country Back to the Dark Ages”. The Independent, April 30. https://www. independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/international-outcry-as-brunei-introduces-sharialaw-and-takes-country-back-to-the-dark-ages-9308088.html. Falique, Amir (2013). The Forlorn Adventure. Singapore: Trafford Publishing. Ebook. Fischer, Johan (2011). The Halal Frontier: A Global Religious Market in London. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Funston, N. (2006). “Brunei Darussalam.” In Voices of Islam in Southeast Asia, eds. Greg Fealy and Virginia Hooker, 19–22. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies.

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Hashim, Ruzy Suliza and Hamdan, Shahizah Ismail (2010). “Facets of Women in Malay Romance Fiction.” Kunapipi 32(1): 67–79. http://ro.uow.edu.au/kunapipi/vol32/ iss1/8. Hayat, Hakim (2018). “Potential of National Creative Industry Still Untapped.” Borneo Bulletin, February 11. https://borneobulletin.com.bn/potential-of-national-creativeindustry-still-untapped/. Huggan, Graham (2001). The Postcolonial Exotic: Marketing the Margins. London and New York: Routledge. Lim, K. H. (2014). Written in Black. Singapore: Monsoon Books. Malik, Aisha (2017). Jewel: An Attempt at a Halal Romance. Self-published. Ebook Only. Malik, Aisha (2018). For You, I Do. Self-published. Ebook Only. Marsden, Magnus (2007). “Love and Elopement in Northern Pakistan.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 13(1): 91–108. Mat Sani, Khai Sem (2015, 14 May). “Avoid Religious Extremism, Brunei Muslims Told”. Borneo Bulletin. https://btarchive.org/news/national/2015/05/14/avoidreligious-extremism-brunei-muslims-told. McLellan, James, Noor Azam, Haji-Othman and Deterding, David (2016). “The Language Situation in Brunei Darussalam.” In The Use and Status of Language in Brunei Darussalam: A Kingdom of Unexpected Linguistic Diversity, eds. Noor Azam Haji-Othman, James McLellan and David Deterding, 9–17. Singapore: Springer. Melayong, Muhammad Hadi bin Muhammad (2018). “MIB: Our Soul, Identity.” Borneo Bulletin, February 12. https://borneobulletin.com.bn/mib-our-soul-identity/. Mohd Daud, Kathrina Mohd (2018). “Battling Ephemera: Bruneian Narratives, Public Record, the Need for a Critical Middle.” Kyoto Review of Southeast Asia, Young Academics Voice. https://kyotoreview.org/yav/battling-ephemera-bruneian-narratives/ [Online article]. Mohd Daud, Kathrina Mohd, Chin, Grace V. S. and Jukim, Maslin (2016). “Contemporary English and Malay Literature in Brunei: A Comparison.” In The Use and Status of Language in Brunei Darussalam: A Kingdom of Unexpected Linguistic Diversity, eds. Noor Azam HajiOthman, James McLellan and David Deterding, 241–251. Singapore: Springer. Neal, Lynn S. (2006). Romancing God: Evangelical Women and Inspirational Fiction. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Noor Azam, Haji-Othman (2016). “Bilingual Education Revisited: The Role of Ugama Schools in the Spread of Bilingualism.” In The Use and Status of Language in Brunei Darussalam: A Kingdom of Unexpected Linguistic Diversity, eds. Noor Azam Haji-Othman, James McLellan and David Deterding, 253–267. Singapore: Springer. Oxford Business Group (2012, 23 August). Brunei Darussalam: Creative Industry. Oxford: Oxford Business Group. https://oxfordbusinessgroup.com/news/brunei-darussalamcreative-industry. Parameswaran, Radhika (2002). “Reading Fictions of Romance: Gender, Sexuality, and Nationalism in Postcolonial India.” International Communication Association 52(4): 832–850. Rosli, Sobrina (2012, 8 June). “Bruneian Filmmaker Makes It to Cannes.” Asia One. http:// www.asiaone.com/News/Latest%2BNews/Showbiz/Story/A1Story20120608-351260. html Syazwani Hj Rosli (2017). “Brunei’s Creative Industry will not be forsaken: Minister.” Borneo Bulletin. https://borneobulletin.com.bn/bruneis-creative-industry-will-not-forsakenminister/.

210  Kathrina Mohd Daud Talib, Naimah S. (2002). “A Resilient Monarchy: The Sultanate of Brunei and Regime Legitimacy in an Era of Democratic Nation-States.” New Zealand Journal of Asian Studies 4(2): 134–147. Tapper, Olivia (2014). “Romance and Innovation in Twenty-First Century Publishing.” Publishing Research Quarterly 30(2): 249–259. Whitsitt, Novian (2003). “Islamic-Hausa Feminism Meets Northern Nigerian Romance: The Cautious Rebellion of Bilkisu Funtuwa.” African Studies Review 46(1): 137–153. http://www.jstor.org/stable/1514984.

Chapter 10

Tales from two cities Financialisation, consumerism and affordable housing in Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta Lena Rethel, Juanita Elias and Lisa Tilley 1

Introduction There is much change afoot in Muslim Southeast Asia.2 Since the economic crisis of the late 1990s, countries in the region have accelerated their programmes of market-oriented reforms. These reforms have had a significant impact on everyday life in the region’s cities, stretching from an intensified regime of evictions of urban poor in Jakarta to the skyrocketing of house prices – and, concomitantly, levels of household debt – in Kuala Lumpur. Dynamics of gentrification have been pervasive in the region’s metropoles (Tilley et al., 2019). In the process, practices revolving around land, property and housing have been transformed and given new meanings as they are increasingly wrapped up in the triple onslaught of neoliberalism, financialisation and consumerism. In this chapter, we pay particular attention to the role of Islamic finance in this regard, as it illustrates well many of the ambiguities that arise in the process. On the one hand, Islamic finance – despite its moral claims – has been made complicit in the region’s financialisation. A slew of new products is creating new financial subjects and subjectivities. Islamised versions of mortgages, car loans and personal finance products, and even crowdfunding platforms, are designed with the aim of drawing an ever-expanding middle class into the market. On the other hand, Islamic values are inspiring new forms of contestation, be it the taking to court of mortgage lenders over the Islamicness of a loan, crowdfunded alternatives to public housing or the assistance provided by Islamic organisations in covering the rent in new public housing developments. In analysing these dynamics of transformation, resistance and modification, and the way that Islam and Islamic values are invoked in them, the chapter draws on observations from Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta. It is divided into four parts. The next section reviews some of the key principles of Islamic finance. The section thereafter discusses the contribution of an everyday political economy approach to understanding the political and social consequences of the region’s rapid urban transformation and the related emergence of a politically increasingly influential – and vocal – ‘middle class’. This is especially so because top-down development efforts often uncritically embrace

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a modernisation narrative overly focused on the formalisation of economic relationships – among ordinary people and between ordinary people and the state – and their rationalisation. The section thereafter will focus on developments in Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta, respectively. In Malaysia, in the wake of the crisis of the late 1990s, buying property has become an important middle-class strategy for accumulating wealth whilst seeking to limit exposure to volatile financial markets. Compounded by comparatively easy access to credit, this has been a driver of both rising house prices and growing household indebtedness, with significant impact on the affordability of housing. In Jakarta, the growth of the middle class has led to renewed attempts to gentrify neighbourhoods, which have resulted in an intensified evictions regime. Some dwellers of traditional settlements, also referred to as ‘kampungs’, are rehoused in rental apartments in new public housing developments, but the impact of this has been rather ambiguous. Not only does it disrupt existing livelihood strategies, economic and otherwise, but in some cases it is also a significant driver of household debt, in particular in cases where families who previously owned the property in which they lived now have to pay rent to the relevant government agency. Both cases clearly illustrate how political, economic and cultural practices and ideas around housing and finance in these two Muslim-majority countries are in the process of undergoing significant changes, with profound impacts on people’s everyday lives. In concluding, the discussion will thus draw together some of the core themes of this chapter. It will suggest that emerging forms of protest and contestation around (re-)housing and household debt clearly signify that the political apathy of the region’s middle classes – if it ever truly existed – most certainly is a thing of the past. In the following discussion, we seek to bring to the fore some of these entanglements between state-led development, financialisation and household debt. In so doing, it is worth pointing out that the cases under analysis—and the methods through which they are studied—are quite different, but nevertheless espouse some common themes. The Kuala Lumpur case study primarily draws on official reports as well as conversations and interviews with academic observers, financial regulators and market practitioners – in both the conventional and Islamic finance sectors – that were conducted over several visits over the last decade. The Jakarta case study is the product of a much more focused period of research in November 2016, when 20 interviews were conducted with women from low-income backgrounds, residing in kampungs, evicted sites and new public housing developments. Nevertheless, whilst the experience of one city does not necessarily repeat itself in the other, there is certainly some resonance which extends beyond the need of developing coping and resistance strategies in the face of an acceleration of global capitalism, or the intersections of the local and the global.

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1 Islamic finance: core concepts Contemporary Islamic finance is a modern phenomenon that gained wider traction following the oil crises of the 1970s. Whilst financial practices in accordance with Islam had not been completely absent in the colonial and early post-colonial financial systems of the Southeast Asian region – take, for example, the creation of Tabung Haji, the Pilgrimage Fund, in Malaysia in the 1960s, or the widespread existence of arisan, rotating savings clubs compatible with Islamic principles in Indonesia – the first commercial Islamic banks in the region are of rather recent provenance.3 Bank Islam Malaysia Berhad was established in Malaysia in 1983, whereas its Indonesian counterpart, Bank Muamalat, was founded in 1991. In both countries, these banks co-exist with what Islamic finance practitioners refer to as conventional banks—that is, banks which charge interest on their loans and pay interest on deposits and engage in other practices that would be deemed not permissible from an Islamic perspective. The establishment of Islamic banks were signal moments in the development of Islamic finance in the region, which since then has come to encompass a wide range of financial activities, including capital markets and takaful (insurance), in addition to more traditional bank products such as home and car lending as well as personal finance. More recently, Islamic versions of so-called FinTech applications – for example, crowdfunding platforms that directly match lenders and borrowers – have joined this slew of products. Nevertheless, in both countries Islamic finance still remains a fraction of the overall banking system, with a share of just over 5% in Indonesia and about 28% in Malaysia, although growth rates have exceeded those of the conventional banking sector. The most common understanding of Islamic finance sees it as financial practice based upon – and constrained by – the religious principles codified in the Qur’an and the Hadith and developed in the body of jurisprudential knowledge known as the Shari’a. In this regard, a core element of Islamic finance is the prohibition of riba, translated as ‘increase’ or ‘usury’ and interpreted as the paying and receiving of interest. Indeed, the prohibition of interest is often seen as the core element of Islamic economic and financial philosophy and early references to Islamic finance often use the term ‘interest-free’ or ‘riba-free’ banking. It is based on the notion that making money from money is not ethically acceptable. More generally, there are three closely related reasons to justify the prohibition of riba in Islamic finance. From an Islamic perspective, it is ‘unfair, it is exploitative, and it is unproductive’ (Warde, 2000, 63). According to Venardos (2006; 57), in Islamic economic philosophy, money is considered ‘as potential capital rather than capital, meaning that money becomes capital only when it is invested in business’. The issue at stake here is not so much the practice of lending itself, but the possibility of earning a fixed return without sharing the commercial risks. Thus, in Islamic finance, loans are typically structured so that consumers pay a fee agreed in advance rather than interest on the value of the loan.

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The second outstanding feature of Islamic finance, which sets it apart from conventional finance, is the distinction between haram (unlawful, prohibited) and halal (lawful, permissible) practices. The prohibition of financing sinful products and activities is meant to give Islamic financial products a moral character. Among these are alcohol, pork-related products, pornography, gambling, prostitution and activities engaging in riba and other practices that are deemed not to be in compliance with Islam, such as so-called conventional (i.e. non-Islamic) banking. Thus, the market mechanism is complemented by a ‘moral filter’ of what is socially desirable (Rice, 1999, 346). To ensure compliance with Islamic financial principles, products have to be approved by socalled Shari’a boards, which in Indonesia and Malaysia operate at both the firm and the national level.4 However, Islamic finance also contains a strong charitable dimension. Most important in this regard is zakat, the mandatory alms tax that constitutes one of the five pillars of Islam (Steiner, 2012). Zakat is a tax on wealth rather than income. Its beneficiaries include those who are fakir (destitute) or miskin (poor) as well as al-gharimin (people in debt). For commentators like Shaheen Ali (2016), the commercial and the charitable sides of Islamic finance should be inextricably linked, the over-emphasis on its commercial side lamented. For the purposes of this chapter, two further aspects of Islamic finance are particularly noteworthy. They are the prohibition of gharar (uncertainty), in the context of Islamic finance seen to apply to issues of speculative risk or the practice of financial speculation more broadly, as well as the requirement of lenience towards borrowers in distress. Islam frowns upon speculative activities and promotes clearly specified contracts. With the development of modern Islamic finance, this principle has been applied, for example, to conventional insurance or currency speculation. With regard to the latter, verse 280 of the Surah Al-Baqarah of the Qur’an stipulates that ‘If the debtor is in a difficulty, grant him time Till it is easy for him to repay. But if ye remit it by way of charity, that is best for you if ye only knew.’ Thus, again Islam adopts a debtor-friendly approach. Indeed, through requirements such as these, and more generally stipulations against profiting from debt, Islamic economic thinking enshrines debtor rights as well as creditor rights. To put it in a nutshell, Islamic finance infuses religious principles into everyday economic practice. In so doing, it resonates strongly with some of the core concerns of the emerging field of everyday political economy approaches to the Southeast Asia region.

2 An everyday political economy of urban change in Southeast Asia The impact of the rapid expansion of the middle class across Southeast Asia is perhaps one of the most fascinating political dynamics in the region. Concentrated largely in urban and peri-urban areas, the rise of the middle

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class has had a significant impact on city life, in terms of both the lived and built environment (Robison and Goodman, 1996; Chua, 2009; van Leeuwen, 2011). As part of wider processes of gentrification, tied up with national development agendas, traditional neighbourhoods have been or are in the process of being erased to make space for luxury hotels and shopping malls, or even the development of new financial districts. This includes, for example, the area which is now known as the Sudirman Business District in Jakarta, where development began in the late 1980s, or the regeneration (and resettlement) of Kampung Haji Abdullah Hukom in Kuala Lumpur, also in the late 1980s and early 1990s, to create space for the construction of Mid-Valley Megamall and the business offices surrounding it (Bunnell, 2002; Rethel, 2018b). Increasingly, in both Jakarta and Kuala Lumpur, traditional settlements – or kampungs – are equated with slum-living, and their residents, who are not just the urban poor, are under threat of eviction (Bunnell, 2002). Development planners across the region seem to have embraced a discourse of modernity and achievement that seeks to replace the old with the new. This, as Ballard (2012) notes, is a vision of modernity that is tied up with the privileging of the middle class (urban) subject within development planning so that economic ‘success’ is tied not only to GDP-growth but also to those symbols of urban modernity – the shopping mall, the light transit system – that are often off-limits and inaccessible to the city’s urban poor. In an eponymous article, he refers to this as ‘geographies of development without the poor’. Along these lines, the development of the ‘exemplary center’ (Kusno, 2010) as a feature of nationalist development visions is tied to what Contractor (2012, 24) characterises as the construction of the slum as ‘peripheral life space’. This expansion of middle-class capitalist accumulation is also reflected in consumption patterns, ranging from what Chua (2009) refers to as the ‘ubiquitous availability of small objects’ to cars and housing, in which the burgeoning markets for credit – credit cards, car loans, mortgages – play an increasingly significant role. Consumerist narratives are closely intertwined with celebratory discourses of state achievement and translated into a middle-class politics, where the ‘new rich’ are characterised as being politically largely apathetic as long as an ever-increasing desire for consumption is met – a desire in ordinary people but also of the state itself (Robison and Goodman, 1996). In this sense, state efforts at rationalisation are not just about ‘making legible’ (cf. Scott, 1998) its subject populations, but also about making them taxable – from charging rent for hawker stalls and apartments in new public housing developments, to increasing the base for income and other taxes by expanding the reach of the formal economy. Cases in point are Indonesia’s 2016–2017 tax amnesty, offering low tax rates in return for people declaring hidden assets, also with the aim of expanding the tax base, and also the introduction of a Goods and Services Tax in Malaysia in 2015 which turned into a major issue of contention in the 2018 general election. The impact of these

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market-building initiatives is highly gendered, given, for example, differential rates of participation in the formal and informal economy, which in turn influences further channels of political and economic (non-)participation. However, there is a danger in relying too much on these top-down development narratives in understanding economic, political and social change in the region. Indeed, as Jonathan Rigg (2016) argues, there is significant analytical purchase in distinguishing between ‘development-as-policy’ and ‘development-as-practice’. Similarly, Elias and Rethel (2016, 4) advocate an ‘everyday political economy’ approach to the region, which challenges us to consider not only the ways in which economic transformations “touch down” within the lives of ordinary people but also how the emergence of more marketised [and rationalised] forms of economic policy making is sustained and challenged through everyday practices of economic engagement. Here, we suggest focusing specifically on the city as a site where these dynamic transformations play out. In so doing, the approach pursued in this chapter resonates strongly with what Fincher et al. (2016), drawing on their research on urban renewal in Melbourne, Australia, in a recent article term ‘the everyday political economy of “making place”’. Another specific focus of inquiry of the everyday political economy literature is the multiple ways in which everyday financial subjects – savers and borrowers – have become implicated in ongoing processes of financialisation, broadly understood here as the growing influence of financial markets over economic, political and social life (Pike and Pollard, 2010; see also Rethel, 2016). In Malaysia, and to a somewhat lesser extent in Indonesia, Islamic finance has become an increasingly important pathway to credit, both for Muslims and non-Muslims, particularly where consumer finance is concerned. This intersects with a new everyday political economy of place-making in various ways. In the next section, we will provide examples that illustrate these dynamics.

3 Comparative analysis: making place in Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta 3.1 (Un-)affordable housing in Kuala Lumpur

Work by Demirgüc-Kunt et al. (2013, 22) and others highlights the gap at the global level between Muslims and non-Muslims when it comes to financial inclusion, measured as ‘usage of formal financial services’. In this context, Islamic finance could play an important role in expanding the credit choices of consumers and thus contribute to more inclusive financial development. However, as the case of Malaysia shows, this narrative is far from straightforward. Malaysia is commonly understood to have one of the most developed financial systems

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of the Southeast Asia region (CARI, 2013). According to the Global Findex database, in 2017 85% of Malaysians aged 15 and above had an account with a financial institution (World Bank, 2018). Malaysia’s position according to this measure of financial inclusion compares well with other emerging market economies, and indeed Indonesia, as we will discuss below. A range of Islamic financial products are widely offered. In 2010, Maybank, Malaysia’s biggest commercial banking group, adopted an ‘Islamic first’ strategy, signifying that branch customers are offered Islamic products by default, of which they can opt out (Maybank, 2011). The Islamic banking sector outperformed a government target of reaching a market share of 20% by 2010 and had reached a size of around 34.9% of total loans and financing by 2017 (BNM, 2018, 93). However, the expansion of Islamic finance has been feeding into a significant increase in household debt levels. Between 2008 and 2012, Malaysian household debt in the formal financial system grew at an average annual rate of 12.5%, considerably above the national growth rate of around 6% (Rethel, 2016). Despite this levelling off somewhat since then, following the central bank’s tightening of lending criteria, with a figure of 84.5% in 2017, Malaysia currently has one of the highest levels of household debt as a percentage of GDP not only in the Asia-Pacific region, but among emerging market economies more broadly (BNM, 2018, 3; see also Rethel, 2016). While these debt statistics have to be taken with a certain amount of caution, given that they underplay the importance of informal credit – especially in countries with less developed financial systems – they are nevertheless striking. And indeed, it is important to note that the growth of Islamic loans at 9.4% in 2017 (and 11.8% in 2016) has been significantly higher than that of conventional loans at 1.3% and 2.4%, respectively (BNM, 2018, 93). This significantly complicates the success story of Islamic finance, with its strong norms against overindebtedness and profiting from debt. It provides an emphatic illustration of the paradoxes of pursuing a finance-led development strategy, with the Islamic dimension of Islamic finance having, at best, little mitigating impact in terms of wider dynamics of financialisation. Rising house prices have played a significant role in the increase in household debt; indeed, in September 2016, debt incurred because of property purchases made up half of total household indebtedness (The Edge Property Singapore, 9 March 2017).5 Since 2012, the rise of house prices has exceeded income growth (BNM, 2017, 90). Houses in the main urban centres – Kuala Lumpur, Petaling, Johor Baru and Georgetown – have become unaffordable for households earning the median income (BNM, 2017, 93). And this is only according to data provided by the central bank. A recent newspaper infographic goes even further to suggest that the ‘average house price was above the affordability threshold of at least 80 per cent […] of households’ in 2016 (The Edge Malaysia, 23 October 2017).6 The central bank classifies housing in Kuala Lumpur as ‘seriously unaffordable’. Figure 10.1 illustrates the steep increase in the value of residential property transactions over the last two decades.

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Figure 10.1 Value of residential property transactions, 2001–2016, in RM million. Source: National Property Information Centre web portal.

Greater demand for housing (as opposed to equities) as an investment after the Asian financial crisis, in combination with greater availability of housing finance from banks under pressure to expand their loan books, led to rising house prices, which in turn further encouraged speculative investment in housing. Indeed, a recent Malaysian documentary film, M-C-M’: Utopia Milik Siapa, provides a very insightful social commentary on the problems that have emerged in an economy where high house prices increasingly price lowermiddle-class earners, in particular young people, out of the market.7 Thus, whilst it has been suggested that the rise in household debt is offset by a rise in household wealth, this is dependent on continuously rising asset – in particular house – prices. Moreover, debt and wealth are unevenly distributed when it comes to age, class, race/ethnicity and gender. Again, this rise in speculative property investment is far from straightforward, given strong Islamic norms against speculation. And indeed, there have been cases where Islam was invoked as a resource to contest this development. Let us give an example that was discussed in depth at a two-day training workshop on ‘Islamic Banking System and Operation’ one of us attended in 2013. The workshop was taught by a senior Shari’a scholar, who also served on the Shari’a board of an Islamic bank in Malaysia. The workshop was attended mainly by regulators and market practitioners, for some of whom it was part of their (mandatory) continuous professional development training. After detailing the philosophy underlying Islamic finance and setting out its core principles, the workshop switched to consumer deposit products. The scholar highlighted one technique, bai al-Inah financing (or refinancing of assets), as particularly ‘controversial’ and pointed out that it was not recognised by scholars from

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the Middle East. He himself was highly sceptical of the contract; and he highlighted that it made up less than 10% of the financing extended by the bank on whose Shari’a board he served. Moreover, when moving on to a discussion of home financing specifically, the scholar suggested that the bai bithaman ajil (deferred payment sale, BBA) approach to home financing, still very popular at the time, contained an element of inah and that it was therefore not surprising that it had led to several disputes; indeed, the scholar estimated that 85% of cases in one Kuala Lumpur court involved BBA home financing contracts (see also Apnizan and Hakimah, 2012). Since then, inah contracts have been phased out in Malaysia. Malaysian financial regulators have undertaken a number of efforts to tackle indebtedness, ranging from responsible lending stipulations to financial education initiatives (Rethel, 2016). However, insufficient attention is being paid to more systemic factors and the challenges that arise from pursuing finance-led growth strategies. At the time of writing, the Malaysian central bank just launched a new initiative, the so-called ‘value-based intermediation’ or VBI framework. The idea behind this initiative is to strengthen the social responsibility of banks, and in its initial phase it is directed at the country’s Islamic banks, with the suggestion that it will be implemented across the financial system as a whole at a later stage. Thus again, Islam serves as an inspiration for demanding more from the financial system in terms of social justice, but at times it is difficult to see how these aspirations will be turned into reality. The picture emerges of an increasingly indebted middle class that, to date, can use access to credit, provided by both Islamic and conventional banks, to satisfy its consumption desires. However, this dependency is problematic for several reasons. It relies on continued access to credit, which is difficult to imagine as being sustainable. Yet, if this credit should dry up, social fault lines will become more visible, leading to a potentially very combustible situation. Moreover, access to credit is highly differentiated – with, for example, women being less likely to be in formal employment and thus having access to credit from the formal financial system, which makes them potentially more vulnerable to exploitation by unregulated lenders and loan sharks. This is exacerbated by a regime that seeks to tackle over-indebtedness, whilst ignoring underlying causes such as low levels of income growth and rampant house price speculation. The result is growing inequality and an economy that is becoming increasingly economically and socially stratified. These dynamics also resonate with our Jakarta case, to which we will turn next. 3.2 Kampung eviction and resettlement in Jakarta

According to the Global Findex database, in 2017 only 49% of Indonesians aged 15 and above had an account with a financial institution, and the financial system is thus subject to even greater stratification than that of Malaysia

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(World Bank, 2018). Nevertheless, many of the banking practices and financial products discussed with reference to the Malaysian case are also gaining greater traction in Indonesia. To some extent, this has been driven by a renewed policy emphasis on financial development and inclusion. However, it is also a product of the greater regionalisation of ASEAN financial markets, with Malaysian banks in particular (Maybank and CIMB, both of which are included in the list of Indonesia’s ten biggest banks) seeking to strengthen their Indonesian presence.8 Of course, financial capital – including Islamic finance – has for some time played a role in the re-making of Jakarta. The superblocks and shopping malls that have come to represent the city’s embrace of modernity are not simply a manifestation of state developmental ambitions, but also of an extremely costly form of urban planning – financial capital comes to play a key role in the shaping of urban possibilities (including ensuring that popular participation is kept out of the planning process). And the government has set a target for Islamic finance to grow from its current 5% of total financial services to 15% of banking assets by 2023, so that it plays a greater role. However, the case of Jakarta also reveals interesting insights into how the Islamic financial economy operates quite differently at the level of everyday practice amongst the urban poor. This includes practices that are increasingly jeopardised by the ramping up of an eviction regime that has served to shatter the livelihoods of many of the city’s poorest. In Indonesia’s capital city Jakarta, just as in many cities around the world, the forced removal of urban poor communities has a long and varied history. The eviction of urban kampung villages has been more or less constant throughout very distinct phases of urban production – from the making of Batavia as ‘Capital of all the Dutch Factories and Settlements in the East Indies’, to Sukarno’s early independence nationalist urbanism-guided production of Jakarta, through to the present-day investor-led phase of capitalisation in the city, materialised in the form of commercial super-blocks (Tilley, 2016; Herlambang et al., 2018; Leitner and Sheppard, 2018). However, between 2014 and 2016 the evictions of kampung communities greatly intensified, and long-established village neighbourhoods, including Kampung Pulo, Kampung Akuarium and Bukit Duri, have been destroyed by the state, displacing thousands of Jakarta’s urban poor (Tilley, 2016, 2017). In this context, we sought to understand the gendered nature of community life before and after urban dispossession and the impact on everyday economic life. The focus of our inquiry was on urban poor women’s collective and individual lives and needs, the ways in which these shape and are shaped by the kampung ecology and economy, and the ways in which these are transformed upon eviction and relocation to public housing. In particular, we sought to explore how the challenges presented by daily existence within a particular urban ecology inform gendered subjectivities in new and changing ways. In this sense, it was one of our aims to reveal details of gendered urban life before

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and after resettlement, in which we included details of financialisation at the everyday level, indebtedness and means of avoiding debt. It is one of the common misperceptions that being poor means not being financially active. However, each and every woman we talked to as part of this project either was or had been financially active, be it as a saver or a borrower, or – most commonly – both, even if not through formal financial institutions. In Indonesia, there exists a long tradition of arisan, rotating savings clubs (Hospes, 1992; Lont, 2000). Arisan are formed by small groups of people, often only women, who convene regularly and contribute a mutually agreed amount of money, which group members can then take out as loans, with eligibility being decided by a lottery. This loan is then gradually repaid. The absence of a profit motive, i.e. no interest charged on the loan, makes this a form of financing compatible with Islamic financial principles by Indonesian interpretations as long as the purpose is permissible (halal). However, in 2001 the Fatwa Committee of the Majelis Ulama Indonesia (Indonesian Council of Ulama) of Jakarta province issued a fatwa (legal opinion) that arisan specifically created to fund the haj (pilgrimage) are not compatible with Islamic principles, as incurring debt to fund the pilgrimage is not permissible from an Islamic perspective.9 Thus, whilst arisan on their own do not constitute a form of Islamic finance, in Indonesia they are deemed to be an Islamically compatible form of finance. Not only do arisan serve an important economic function, but they also constitute a popular means of social interaction. Indeed, they are a form of communal practice, where group members exchange information and gossip. In some cases, this includes sharing tips on financial management; in other cases, arisan were seen as but one of a number of collective enterprises in which our research participants took part, alongside Qur’an reading groups or even participation in a Christian church choir. Lont (2000) furthermore draws attention to the role of arisan as ‘local social security institutions’, seeking to draw out how ‘these institutions become meaningful for coping with insecurity’, in particular fluctuations in income. Here, the impact of the intensified evictions regime has again been disruptive. Following eviction, women responded with a number of different coping strategies. For some, eviction meant the end of the arisan or their participation in it. Other women sought to maintain their communal arisan at the original location, whereas another group of women started new arisan following their rehousing. Take, for example, Ibu Sri, one of our research participants whose house was demolished in September 2016 as part of the Bukit Duri evictions. Ibu Sri used to be very actively involved in her local community and participated in arisan. Her arisan had 24 members, with daily contributions of between 1000 and 5000 rupiah and monthly payouts. Effectively, this meant a running time of a year, with two women each month chosen by lot for their payout. The money was usually spent on various things, depending on the ‘need of the family’. For example, if the payout coincided with Idul Fitri (the end of Ramadan celebration), it was usually spent on food.

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On the question of whether the arisan was still going, she said it had ceased its activities. As many families lost their job and home, it made it too difficult for them to join. Lont (2000) highlights the potentially ambivalent impact of arisan not just as a financial safety net, but also as a possible driver of growing indebtedness. In the context of evictions and subsequent rehousing, this is exacerbated by new payment obligations that can arise from this process. Indeed, a common complaint amongst our research participants was that, from being the owners of their own housing, if not even part of a petty bourgeoisie that rented out rooms, they were turned into tenants in the new public housing development, with the obligation of paying rent. Here, provision of public housing is a cause of rising ‘formal’ indebtedness as tenants fall behind on the rent payments they owe to the state. This also points to interesting questions about what it means to be ‘financially included’. Here, similar to the Malaysian case, financial inclusion increasingly signifies being part of an official regime – consisting of indebtedness to either the state, and/or the formal financial system. This notion of inclusion as a form of rationalisation is compounded by the requirement to have a bank account in order to pay rent, yet another mechanism of financial incorporation. Paradoxically, however, this way of becoming included is the result of a significant rupture in these women’s way of being financial, as discussed with reference to the overall negative impact of rehousing schemes on their arisan activities. Once more, rather than looking into the more systemic reasons, state efforts to tackle rising indebtedness have focused on consumer education, in this case on educating tenants in new public housing developments in the paying of rent. However, the charitable side of Islamic finance has contributed to providing some relief. Indeed, one important organisation in this regard mentioned by our research participants is BAZIS (Badan Amil Zakat Infaq dan Shadaquah), a zakat collection body set up by the government of Jakarta province in the late 1960s and expanded in the early 1970s (Abdullah, 1991; see also bazisjakarta. id). BAZIS collects zakat and spends it on causes such as the support of orphans and the poor, but also projects such as mosque renovations. One of the people receiving support from BAZIS is Ibu Lina, a widow who now lives in the West Jatinegara Public Housing Complex in East Jakarta. Ibu Lina works selling chicken and fish dishes outside the housing block close to the street. Her husband passed away four years ago. She lives with her unemployed son and a granddaughter – she is the only income earner in the household. She had been evicted from Kampung Pulo in 2015 where she had a two-storey home with a bathroom, kitchen, electricity and running water. She also had a commercial stall that she operated from a site separate from her home. She has worked for 35 years, but these days her income is incredibly irregular. She now lives on the tenth floor and transports her entire cart and stall items down every day in the lift. She sold much more in Kampung Pulo

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than she does here. Here in the public housing she has not paid her water bill for seven months. She has had help from BAZIS, the zakat (Islamic alms tax) collecting organisation for Jakarta DKI, for the past seven months. She owes four million rupiah for water bills and rent and received a warning about nonpayment of rent. She previously didn’t have to pay bills and is finding it hard to adjust. She says there are many female-headed households in the complex. At the West Jatinegara site, there are arisan groups, and there is also a pangajian (Qur’an reading group) but she doesn’t participate in either. She constantly struggles with payments for her accommodation. She says that the only benefit of public housing is having a place to sleep. Another initiative driven by Islamic ideas, but in this case private, is Islamic crowdfunding of affordable housing. Crowdfunding platforms directly match lenders with borrowers. One such platform is Singapore-based Club Ethis, which has provided financing for affordable housing projects in the Greater Jakarta and Depok areas (see e.g. EthisCrowd, 2015).10 However, whilst these initiatives might alleviate some of the hardship, they constitute a modification of, rather than full-fledged resistance to, accelerating dynamics of financialisation.

Conclusion It has been held as a common wisdom that Southeast Asia’s emergent middle classes tend to be politically apathetic, as long as their expanding consumption desires are met. The experience of Kuala Lumpur and Jakarta discussed in this chapter shows that this story has become increasingly complicated by housing policies and high levels of household debt. Indeed, housing and household debt have become increasingly important pressure points for Southeast Asian regimes. As both of our cases show, housing has emerged as a critical site of political contestation and protest – within both the urban poor and the urban middle-class populations. These groups, that were once found to support (in different ways) the maintenance of the region’s illiberal democracies (Jayasuriya and Rodan, 2007), are increasingly experiencing urban life as one of marginalisation and indebtedness. It is not surprising that these issues have attracted the attention of policymakers. In this chapter, we have drawn attention to some of the dislocations caused by these economic dynamics. These disclocations most visibly came to the fore in the Anti-Ahok demonstrations in Jakarta in 2016 and 2017 (Topsfield, 2017), but similar sentiments have also been uttered by participants in Malaysia’s Bersih protests and have contributed to the surprise election result of May 2018 (Abdul Rahman, 2013). In Kuala Lumpur, a young and educated middle class increasingly struggles to find affordable housing. In Jakarta, the development of high-end malls and similar commercial spaces contributes to new dynamics of dispossession. Islamic values and social norms – against overindebtedness and speculation – have been invoked in some cases to challenge

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these dynamics, but to date and on their own allow for only the modification, not full-fledged resistance to these dynamics. Indeed, such resistances are complicated – since we see that twenty-first-century Islamic finance is often complicit in one way or another with the forms of speculative land and property deals that have led to urban dispossession, or in the expanding market in consumer and housing debt. If Islamic values and norms are to play a role unpicking and unravelling these relationships, then more localised and small scale interventions – such as in our cases arisan, zakat-based crowdfunding and similar – might serve as more justice-centred, alternative models of financial citizenship shaped by underlying principles that incorporate ‘the right to make a new urban geography more in accord with principles of social justice’ (Harvey, 2010, 180).

Notes 1 Research conducted for this chapter was funded by the British Council Newton Initiative as part of the Institutional Links Grant The Gendered Everyday Political Economy of Kampung Eviction and Resettlement in Jakarta (project ID 271195589). 2 Of the ten countries that make up the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), Brunei Darussalam, Indonesia and Malaysia have Muslim-majority populations and significant Muslim minorities exist in other countries in the region. 3 See for example Rudnyckyj (2013); Lai (2015); Maznah and Saravanamuttu (2015) or Rethel (2016) for more detailed overviews of the development of Islamic finance in Malaysia, and Lindsey (2012), Atho (2013) and Rethel and Abdalloh (2015) on Indonesia. The history of Islamic finance in these two countries is very rich and bound up with domestic politics and international ambitions. In this chapter, we focus in particular on issues related to housing finance. See Hospes (1992) for a discussion of arisan and their development more generally. 4 For more information about how the certification of Islamic financial products in Indonesia and Malaysia works in practice, see Rethel (2018a). 5 The full article can be accessed at: https://www.edgeprop.my/content/1086907/ rising-household-debt-concern-across-asia. 6 The full article can be accessed at: http://www.theedgemarkets.com/article/ whats-affordable-housing-malaysia. 7 This documentary can be accessed at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v= hv9bWjgEXtc. 8 At the time of writing, much of their business is concentrated in the greater Jakarta area. CIMB Niaga also has retail branches in Surabaya and Bandung, according to its website (http://www.cimb.com/en/who-we-are/overview/our-presence/indonesia. html, accessed on 26 October 2017). Maybank BII’s branch network extends to other parts of Java, Bali and Nusa Tenggara, Sumatra, Kalimantan, Sulawesi and Maluku and Papua (https://www.maybank.co.id/sites/en/networks/Pages/Cabang.aspx, accessed on 26 October 2017). Both banks offer conventional and Islamic financial services to their Indonesian customers. 9 The full line of reasoning can be accessed at: http://www.muidkijakarta.or.id/fatwahukum-arisan-haji/. Note that, in this case, the purpose of the arisan was ruled to be impermissible, but not the practice of arisan itself. 10 For information about how this crowdfunding platform works as well as about projects financed by it, please see: https://www.ethiscrowd.com/

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Bibliography Abdullah, Taufik (1991). “Zakat Collection and Distribution in Indonesia.” In The Islamic Voluntary Sector in Southeast Asia, ed. Mohamed Ariff, 50–84. Singapore: ISEAS. Ali, Shaheen (2016). Modern Challenges to Islamic Law. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Apnizan, A. and Hakimah, Y. (2012). “The Trend of Legal Suits Involving Islamic Financial Transactions in Malaysia: Evidence from the Reported Cases.” ISRA Research Paper No. 48. Atho, M. M. (2013). “The Legal Reasoning and Socio-Legal Impact of the Fatwas of the Council of Indonesian Ulama on Economic Issues.” Ahkam 13(1): 9–20. Ballard, Richard (2012). “Geographies of Development: Without the Poor.” Progress in Human Geography 36(5): 562–571. Bank Negara Malaysia (BNM) (2017). Annual Report 2016. Kuala Lumpur: Bank Negara Malaysia. Bank Negara Malaysia (BNM) (2018). Financial Stability and Payment Systems Report 2017. Kuala Lumpur: Bank Negara Malaysia. Bunnell, Tim (2002). “Kampung Rules: Landscape and the Contested Government of Urban(e) Malayness.” Urban Studies 39(9): 1685–1701. Chua, Beng Huat (2009). “From Small Objects to Cars: Consumption Expansion in East Asia.” In The New Middle Classes. Globalising Lifestyles, Consumerism and Environmental Concern, eds. H. Lange and L. Meier, 101–115. Dordrecht: Springer. CIMB ASEAN Research Institute (CARI) (2013). Capital Markets. Lifting the Barriers Roundtables, Preliminary Paper. Kuala Lumpur: CARI (with Oliver Wyman). Contractor, Qudsiya (2012). “Unwanted in My City – The Making of a “Muslim” Slum in Mumbai.” In Muslims in Indian Cities – Trajectories of Marginalisation, eds. Laurent Gayer and Christophe Jaffrelot, 23–42. London: Hurst & Co. Demirguc-Kunt, Asli, Klapper, Leora and Randall, Douglas (2013). “Islamic Finance and Financial Inclusion. Measuring Use of and Demand for Formal Financial Services for Muslim Adults.” Policy Research Working Paper 6642. The World Bank. Elias, Juanita and Rethel, Lena (2016). “Southeast Asia and Everyday Political Economy.” In The Everyday Political Economy of Southeast Asia, eds. Juanita Elias and Lena Rethel, 3–24. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Embong, Abdul Rahman (2013). “Responding to Globalization and the State: Negotiations and Contestations by the Middle Class in Malaysia.” In Globalization and Social Transformation in the Asia-Pacific: The Australian and Malaysian Experience, eds. Claudia Tazreiter and Siew Yean Tham, 63–77. Basingstoke: Palgrave. EthisCrowd (2015). “Club Ethis Crowdfunding for Low-Cost Residential Housing in Jakarta, Indonesia.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbU516sk-E0. Fincher, Ruth, Pardy, Maree and Shaw, Kate (2016). “Place-Making or Place-Masking? The Everyday Political Economy of “Making Place”.” Planning Theory & Practice 17(4): 516–536. Harvey, David (2010). The Enigma of Capitalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Herlambang, Suryono, Leitner, Helga, Tjung, Liong, Sheppard, Eric and Anguelov, Dimitar (2018). “Jakarta’s Great Land Transformation: Hybrid Neoliberalisation and Informality.” Urban Studies. Available online first: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/ full/10.1177/0042098018756556 Hospes, Otto (1992). “People That Count: The Forgotten Faces of Rotating Savings and Credit Associations in Indonesia.” Savings and Development 16(4): 371–401.

226  Lena Rethel et al. Jayasuria, Kanishka and Rodan, Garry (2007). “Beyond Hybrid Regimes: More Participation Less Contestation in Southeast Asia.” Democratization 14(5): 773–794. Kusno, Abidin (2010). The Appearances of Memory: Mnemonic Practices of Architecture and Urban Form in Indonesia. Durham: Duke University Press. Lai, J. (2015). “Industrial Policy and Islamic Finance.” New Political Economy 20(2): 178–198. Leitner, Helga and Sheppard, Eric (2018). “From Kampungs to Condos? Contested Accumulations Through Displacement in Jakarta.” Environment and Planning A: Economy and Space 50(2): 437–456. Lindsey, T. (2012). “Between Piety and Prudence: State Syariah and the Regulation of Islamic Banking in Indonesia.” Sydney Law Review 34: 107–127. Lont, Hotze (2000). “Finding the Right Balance: Financial Self-Help Organizations as Sources of Security and Insecurity in Urban Indonesia.” International Review of Social History 45: 159–177. Maybank (2011). Annual Report 2010. Kuala Lumpur: Maybank. Maznah, Mohamad and Saravanamuttu, Johan (2015). “Islamic Banking and Finance: Sacred Alignment, Strategic Alliances.” Pacific Affairs 88(2): 193–213. Otoritas Jasa Keuangan (OJK) (2015). Roadmap Perbankan Syariah Indonesia 2015–2019. Jakarta: OJK. http://www.ojk.go.id/id/kanal/syariah/berita-dan-kegiatan/publikasi/ Pages/Roadmap-Perbankan-Syariah-Indonesia-2015-2019.aspx. Pike, Andy and Pollard, Jane (2010). “Economic Geographies of Financialization.” Economic Geography 86(1): 29–51. Rethel, Lena (2016) “Global Ambitions, Local Realities. Islamic Finance in Malaysia.” In The Everyday Political Economy of Southeast Asia, eds. Juanita Elias and Lena Rethel. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rethel, Lena (2018a). “Economic Governance Beyond States and Markets. Islamic Capital Markets in Southeast Asia.” Journal of Contemporary Asia 48(2): 301–321. Rethel, Lena (2018b). “Capital Market Development in Southeast Asia: From Speculative Crisis to Spectacles of Financialisation.” Economic Anthropology 5(2): 185–197. Rethel, L. and Abdalloh, I. (2015). “Inculcating Ethical Behaviour in Market Transactions? The Case of the Sharia Online Trading System in Indonesia.” In MoneyLab Reader: An Intervention in Digital Economy, eds. Geert Lovink, Nathaniel Tkacz and Patricia de Vries, 105–116. Amsterdam: Institute for Network Cultures. Rice, Gillian (1999). “Islamic Ethics and the Implications for Business.” Journal of Business Ethics 18(4): 345–359. Rigg, Jonathan (2016). “Policies and Negotiated Everyday Living: A View from the Margins of Development in Thailand and Vietnam.” In The Everyday Political Economy of Southeast Asia, eds. Juanita Elias and Lena Rethel. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Robison, Richard and Goodman, David S. G. (1996). The New Rich in Asia: Mobile Phones, McDonald’s and Middle Class Revolution. Abingdon: Routledge Rudnyckyj, Daromir (2013). “Wall Street or Halal Street?: Malaysia and the Globalization of Islamic Finance.” Journal of Asian Studies 72(4): 831–848. Scott, James C. (1998) Seeing Like a State. How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press. Steiner, Kerstin (2012). “Variations of “Unpacking” a Global Norm in a Local Context: A Historical Overview of the Epistemic Communities that are Shaping Zakat Practice in Malaysia.” In Law and Development and the Global Discourses of Legal Transfers, eds. John Gillespie and Pip Nicholson, 356–378. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Tales from two cities  227 Tilley, Lisa (2016). The Condition of Market Emergence in Indonesia: Coloniality as Exclusion and Translation. Doctoral dissertation, University of Warwick. Tilley, Lisa (2017). “Immanent Politics in the Kampungs: Gendering, Performing and Mapping the Jakarta Economic Subject.” In Women, Urbanization and Sustainability, eds. Anita Lacey, 43–65. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Tilley, Lisa and Elias, Juanita and Rethel, Lena (2019). “Evictions, Public Housing, and the Gendered Rationalisation of Kampung Life in Jakarta.” Asia-Pacific Viewpoint, 60(1): 80–93. Topsfield, Jewel(2017). “The Real Reason Many Poor Jakartans are Opposing Ahok in the Gubernatorial Election.” Sydney Morning Herald, February 4. https://www.smh.com.au/ world/the-real-reason-many-poor-jakartans-are-opposing-ahok-in-the-gubernatorialelection-20170203-gu52aj.html. Van Leeuwen, Lizzy (2011). Lost in Mall: An Ethnography of Middle-Class Jakarta in the 1990s. Leiden: KITLV Press. Venardos, A. M. (2006). Islamic Banking and Finance in Southeast Asia: Its Development and Future. Singapore: World Scientific Publishing. Warde, Ibrahim A. (2000). Islamic Finance in the Global Economy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. World Bank (2018).The Global Findex Database 2017. https://globalfindex.worldbank.org/.

Chapter 11

Afterword Contemporary halal tropism, or Islam and economy between the global and the traditional era Jérémy Jammes and Johan Fischer

In his seminal work La société de consommation, Jean Baudrillard (1970) defines the society of consumption as a society in which the very identity of individuals is structured around mass consumption, leaving vacant the question of meaning. Contemporary forms of Islamic economy and Muslim consumerist practices strive to make sense of their experiences of consumerism with reference to select ethical and religious concepts from Muslim tradition in ways that shape the contours of a new hybrid ‘Islamic consumer society’.1 Hybridity is of course due to the spatio-temporal – some would say anachronistic – shift between practices traced to the Arabian Peninsula at the time of the Prophet on the one hand, and those globalised today on the other. Hybridity can also be understood between two types of the ‘Muslim Homo economicus’: between a traditional potlatch or kula model of exchange, in which the individual accumulates essentially in order to redistribute, forge alliances, make social bonds and contribute to the functioning and reproduction of society; and the capitalist form, in which individuals accumulate in order to satisfy one’s (consumerist) desires rather than one’s real biological needs, in order to maximise one’s profits. The Islamic consumer society intends to assign meaning (understood as a combination of ethics, values, and a faith inspired by the traditions of the Prophet) into a ‘spirit of capitalism’. It is in this hybridity that numerous tensions, positions, oppositions, infractions and reinterpretations arise. The unprecedented debates related to the halal classification of products perfectly illustrate the praxeological and ethical shifts underway in the contemporary global Muslim world, with an obvious resonance among non-Muslims. As most of the chapters in this book suggest, a real halal tropism is at the heart of both pastoral (intra-Muslim-community) and missionary (extra-Muslim-community) strategies of production, consumption and circulation of goods and services. As a sign of the times and the current evolution of the Islamic moral economy, the term ‘halal’ systematically returns in our work and deserves special attention. Today, traditionally trained theologians do not have the monopoly of the term ‘halal’, but its use becomes recurrent, even inescapable, in the statements not only of consumers, but also of chemists, marketing experts, fashion

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designers, bankers and insurers, etc. Today we speak of ‘halal business’, ‘halal insurance’, ‘halal market’, ‘halal fashion’, ‘halal romance’, ‘halal tourism’, among others; while the word ‘halal’ is described, as a matter of course, in terms of ‘porcine DNA test’, ‘animal gelatine E428 and E441 detection unit’, ‘sensuality’, ‘modesty’, ‘beauty’, etc. In parallel, the budgets of private and state companies have exploded to assess the degree of ‘halalness’ in a particular product. Contemporary halal practice is comparable to a painting that offers multiple vanishing lines, numerous angles of approach and interpretation. We will here limit ourselves to the Southeast Asian cases of our book, although many hypotheses and conclusions can be applicable to other contexts around the world. The contemporary evolution of the word ‘halal’ reveals a rhetorical construction and neologistic production of the world involving the exclusion (through a process of detection, production, circulation and consumption) of substances declared impure and/or contagious in normative Islamic tradition (Douglas, 2003 [1966]) and its subsequent contextualised interpretations. The transformation in the usage, definition and practice of halal exemplifies what Carol Gluck and Anna Tsing Lowenhaupt (2009) have called a ‘word in motion’, i.e. the travel of both words and concepts in precise historical and geographical encounters. This complex phenomenon of continuous reinterpretation (and claims of orthodoxy and orthopraxy) is worth being approached not as a linear and definitive process, but as a ‘circulatory global resource’ (Duara, 2015, 73) in which seventh-century Muslim–Arabic words and concepts have been entered into a transformative process since the earlier stages of Islam, initiating a continuous cycle of interpretation. This circulatory process appears clearly today in the multitude of words, agents and actors that invoke the term ‘halal’ in a wide diversity of fields (food, finance, business, literature, fashion, science, etc.). This halal-scape sees the emergence of ‘translingual practices’, which Lydia Liu has defined as ‘the process by which new words, meanings, discourses, and modes of representation arise, circulate, and acquire legitimacy within the host language due to, or in spite of the latter’s contact/ collision with the guest language’ (Liu, 1995, 26–27), in which the ‘host’ and ‘guest’ languages represent in our case those of Southeast Asian Muslims in their ethnic, linguistic, political and cultural diversity.2 Is this professed ‘halalism’ – a neologism which was suggested to make sense in this halal-scape during a roundtable discussion with Muslim colleagues of the SOAS Centre for Islamic Studies at Universiti Brunei Darussalam in January 2017 – a sign that religion is moulded on the model of capitalism or ‘religious capitalism’,3 or that material and symbolic goods of the religious take on a market value and enter into a capitalist market system and rules? Are we then speaking of ‘capitalised religions’? This debate seems to be unproductive since it would come back to the question of the chicken and the egg. The sterility of these questions is also based on the inextricability that exists de facto between the religious and the economic (of which capitalism is only a variant, since the

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models of barter, trade, production and consumption exist in our industrial and non-industrial societies).4 Like other economic models studied by anthropo­ logists,5 the capitalist market shows its double capacity to make an alliance with the sacred (from possession worships to monotheisms) and to create sacredness (from the world of brands to the beneficiaries of capitalism [actors, singers, etc.], erected as icons to be worshipped). In contemporary Islamic discourse, quoted in our book many times, ‘halal’ refers to a rite of purification and is, like other rites, a ‘praxeological matrix of meaning production [matrice praxéologique de production du sens]’ (Obadia, 2013, 113). This rite has the power to classify, regularise, authenticate, authorise, denounce and reject. The particulars will depend on people and institutions, on context and discursive production more than on scriptural texts. Following Talal Asad’s (1993, 27–54) understanding of religion as a transhistorical and transcultural phenomenon, ‘halal’ cannot be understood as a word fossilised in one place or time; rather, we need to consider it throughout the original historical shift that has brought it into a new and hybridised moral economy framework. In other words, it would be anachronistic and arbitrary to regard the term ‘halal’ used nowadays as it was in the medieval Muslim epoch. Instead, this book considers halal to be a historical and geographical product of discursive processes, reflecting the ‘creative role of institutional power’ (Asad, 1993, 37) and of the modernized imaginaries of ‘piety-minded’ Muslims (Feener and Gedacht, 2018, 1). From an economic perspective, the Qur’an invents with halal a minimum threshold of subsistence, which individuals must respect as a supererogatory act. The role of ‘Islamic finance’ in reinterpreting and extending the halal concept to products other than food has been paramount (Rudnyckyj, 2013). Islamic finance emerged in the early 1960s in Egypt out of a concern to offer banking services consistent with ethical standards and observances of Islam. In reading the place of money in the scriptures of major religions, it is clear that money also reveals complex symbolic values, sometimes ambivalent, whether in the ‘value’ it is supposed to hold or in its accumulation, its rationalisation, its representation, the type of social bonds and the quality of the exchange it generates. ‘Money’ (and its subsequent possession, manipulation, circulation, usage, pursuit, desire) is ‘situated in mental states, in social relations and in the logical structure of reality and values’ (Simmel, 2004 [1978], 52). In terms of consumption, ‘It is more than a tool to satisfy the worship of consumption and enjoyment [culte de la consommation et des jouissances]. […] Money symbolises life in society’ (Balandier, 1988, 228). The handling of money is not trivial for a person whose daily life requires managing rules and codes of religious conduct, especially when society is governed by Shari’a law and encourages adopting it as an ethics and a praxis at the same time. From an emic (Muslim) perspective, Islamic finance responds to a dual dynamic. It presents itself as a strategy to domesticate the capitalist economy; simultaneously, and paradoxically, it proposes a rhetoric of lawsuits

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and even of demonisation of capitalism. Islam shares with many other religions the ban on usury, or the use of interest-bearing loans (riba),6 which is one of the many sins of Islam.7 Here again, halal praxeology allows us to condone practices ‘framed’ by ‘lawful’ rules: ‘double selling’ (which ensures credit without it being official) becomes halal, just like certain forms of profit (with products called mudaraba and musharaka).8 Many sectors are theoretically – or theologically – ‘illegal’ or ‘impure’ (haram) in Islamic morality, although all of them are treated with the same level of concern. It is for instance the case of the practice of excessive risk (gharar), of gambling (for its hazardous practice) and conventional insurance contracts (for their lack of transparency in their operations and transactions), of the sale of what is not possessed, of the deferred exchange of standard values of the same nature (gold against gold, money for money, and consequently money against money), and of course of all financial activities in connection with pork and its derivatives, alcohol, drugs, tobacco, weapons, contraception, prostitution, etc. (Mzid, n.d., 3–4). Subsequently, some ‘legal stratagems’ (hiyal) have been developed to symbolically circumvent such prohibitions. For example, in so-called takaful insurance, ‘in order to circumvent the prohibition of excessive risk taking (gharar) and payment and receipt of interest (riba), the premium takes the form of a donation to the community of insured persons for their mutual benefit’ (Mzid, n.d., 9). By revising the practices of a capitalist economic sector, Islamic finance aims to make the treatment of money and profits compliant with Shari’a law. In a comparative, transhistorical and transcultural approach similar to that approach of Talal Asad, Lionel Obadia considers this ‘a project of ‘re-Islamisation of Islam’ [réislamisation de l’islam] via the economic and, more broadly, ideological programme of adjustment to the standards of modernity, which can be labelled, according to the point of view adopted, as an ‘Islamisation of modernity’ or a ‘modernisation of Islam’ (Obadia, 2013, 144–145). There is every reason to believe that the phenomenon of halalisation – ‘a major preoccupation with the proliferation of the concept of halal in a multitude of commodified forms’, as discussed in Fischer’s chapter – undertaken is inscribed and must be understood in this process of re-Islamisation of Islam, following a programme that is both pastoral and missionary. Several challenges surround the practice of Islamic marketing: holding fast to Islamic ethics and scriptures injunctions (do not seek gain for gain, do not lie about products, sell only ‘pure’ products which are also ‘good’ for health and respect for others), while promising to provide access to salvation for Muslims and to disseminate Islamic values to non-Muslims with a view to converting them. As we see in the case of halal fashion discussed in Chapter 8 – strategically renamed ‘modesty fashion’ to flatter consumers who become ‘modest’ in their commercial act and their dress practice – it is interesting to note that ‘Islamic marketing’ has erected itself as an academic discipline (just like ‘Islamic finance’, ‘Islamic governance’) and currently aims to thwart and replace secular

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advertising with Islamic-inspired advertisements (mannequins in shop, newspapers or websites being un-made-up and covering the awrah [‘naked’, in this context] parts of the body, for example). ‘Communication relationships [rapports de communication]’ are thus also ‘relationships of symbolic power [rapports de pouvoir symbolique]’ (Bourdieu, 1982, 14). At the same time, if there is an advertisement and a commodification of religion (a historical trend that Islam shares with other major religions), religion is also advertising and marketing, which unsurprisingly revitalises a missionary strategy and the consolidation of a sense of ‘one’ Muslim community identity in the Global Age, a time of explosion of localised cultures and loss of bearings. The comparison is quite salient between this contemporary Muslim tendency that uses dress codes to instil a missionary spirit and the Pentecostal movement in Brazil. An expansionist Evangelicalism, Brazilian Pentecostals proposed a reorganisation of the vestment market and a striking contrast with the traditional practices of the body in Brazil; Brazilian Pentecostals target specific ‘moral fashion collections’, that means in respect of the sobriety ethic which suits and reflects perfectly the North American roots of the movement (Selka, 2010). Halal being defined by its purity and selective access, Muslims are encouraged to develop halal production. Several chapters in this volume insist that the subsequent halalisation shall be seen as rational, in the sense that they imply that the individual has detailed information on the halal quality of a product, that is, on the value of the objects consumed, which value is compared among the products before choosing and consuming. We are talking here about the efforts and ethical struggle of all kinds of Muslim producers and consumers to fill in this symbolic rarity (lack of purity of the product) – what Georges Bataille called ‘the accursed share’ (la part maudite) – and such efforts are gathering pace as never before: physical effort (unbridled and systematic search of Muslim restaurants or ‘halal certified’ products), psychological effort (the authors of Chapter 5 insist on the ‘worldwide concern’ and ‘agony’ of Muslim consumers in a ‘minority situation’, e.g. a situation that cannot guaranty the halal monopoly),9 militant effort (identity claims for access to halal products), techno-scientific effort (to detect traces of pork or alcohol, in particular at the DNA level), logistical effort (in setting up highly prescriptive companies capable of securing halal production), etc. This both halal- and pious-minded determination, which is omnipresent in the fervent follower’s life, becomes an (‘energetic’, in Bataille’s words) expenditure essential in the way of life, the social bond, the general micro- and macroeconomy life, and the representation and action of Muslims. Interestingly, these contemporary developments of the word ‘halal’, its practice and its ideo­ logy can be considered a kind of management of abundance as it takes place in a period of feverish and surplus production and consumption. Still according to the hypothesis of G. Bataille (who deals little with Islam in his works, while being aware of the originality of this religion in relation to economics),

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contemporary ritualised and commodified efforts in halal ‘detection’10 and consumption would offer a surplus of symbolism that would make sense precisely in the contemporary context of a surplus production of an ideology on monetary expenditure and the international banking system. In other words, a systematic halalist programme and ethical struggle for purity thus supports L. Obadia’s idea when he writes that ‘symbolic expenditure and monetary expenditure [dépense symbolique et dépense monétaire] are, in this context, intima­ tely linked’ (2013, 113). As a consequence of the halalisation at play since 1990s onwards, halalism, in its age-old theorisation and ritualisation, inspires not an economic model per se, but a model of production, of packaging and of consumption that can only function in its universality. Halalism dissociates itself from its initial context of food use to apply by addition to regimes of thought and action which will include economic but also techno-scientific-aesthetic agents and networks of production, circulation and appropriation of all kinds of activi­ ties and products (natural, artefacts or services) (Fischer, 2015). Such an extension today allows for multiple and translingual usage of ‘halalist thought and action’ (translations, rhetorical strategies, naming practices, commodification, and legitimising processes) which are all the more active and diffuse in society given that violation of its imperatives would provoke a breach or even an ontological rupture from contemporary understandings of normative Islamic tradition, with major detrimental consequences for individuals and their relatives, e.g. damnation (leitmotiv in the recommendations of the Muslim clergy). In line with the work of R. Firth (1929), such economic choices are neither strictly individual nor necessarily collectively concerted, but that they form a system. They are conditioned in relation to moral values, to the degree of conditioning of a sociological group. Using Firth’s terminology, we would say that the choice of halal – and the constitution of a halalist system – is based on three levels of understanding and analysis. First of all, the decision to promote a halalist logic is of a political order: it is inscribed at the very foundation of the early days of religion, aiming to reflect the practices of the Prophet Muhammed and the first Muslim leaders; in a time of global consumerism and of forces claiming revivalist reconceptions of a global Muslim community (Umma), this halalist logic became both an instrument and a goal of social reproduction and cohesion for ‘the’ community. Likewise, the prophetical mimetic consumption – based on the idea that ‘humanity could begin a completely new life if they would only turn back to the simple, plain, and practical message of the Prophet’ (Schimmel, 1985, 250) – the halalist logic thus forms a major pivot in the feeling of social cohesion and solidarity, a Muslim esprit de corps (asabiyya), to use the term coined by the Middle Ages Arabic philosopher Ibn Khaldun (1332–1406). In Southeast Asia, their choice and active support of halal – boosted by the

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application of Shari’a at the level of the State or of the mosque – engage the long-term future of a Muslim communitas, inexorably aiming to increase halal resources for the community and the next generations (this point is clearer in the case of Malaysia and the Sultanate of Brunei, where Islam is inscribed in the Constitution). Secondly, the decision to develop halal can be understood as a managerial choice, organising as rationally and efficiently as possible the implementation of halalist logic (from production to consumption, through packaging, transport and marketing). Thirdly, the choice of halal is operational, in the sense that it highlights practical methods of purification, pollution and, eventually, salvation. The Islamic system of prohibition and of salvation offered is based on tactics of social solidarity, financial support, mutual aid and religious loyalty internal to the Muslim community, which is simultaneously driven by intense missionary activity. In this teleological sense, Islam does not only have a role in the economic development of the Muslim community, but more broadly influences the economy of non-Muslims by structuring missionary and pastoral ethics of production and consumption of goods and services. The dynamic role of ‘halal business’ – requalified ‘halalism’ in our Afterword to highlight the systemic ideological, translingual and transhistorical resource of the phenomenon – on one hand, and the resilience of a ‘prophetic emulation’ (mimicking or emulating the personal behaviour and tastes of the Prophet to achieve salvation), on the other, deserves to be emphasised in this process. We recognize here the two categories of “contagious magic” and of “imitative (or homoeopathic) magic,” respectively, coined by the anthropologist James G. Frazer in his celebrated The Golden Bough (1922, chapter 3). The first cate­ gory refers to the law or logic of contiguity (working by means of images), of contact, contamination or contagion, when things in contact with each other continue to act on each other after the physical contact.11 The second category he discerned is based on the logic of similarity, when an effect resembles its cause, when like produces like. These two logics correspond to a religious reaction that is all the more significant as they are transnationally and translinguistically implemented both in Islamic and in the more secularised countries (such as European and North American societies). There, their practice may convey a spiritual and self-cultivation quest, but they may also reflect the identity tensions of local Muslim communities in their conception of religion (which is a missionary religion and political community at the same time) and subsequently in their contentious conception of citizenship and social integration. Simultaneously, this commodification of the sacred produces a certain dislocation of the halal concept with its initial ritual framework, but contributes to a renaissance and redefinition at the same time, which is the natural evolution of lexica as a transcultural, transnational and translingual adventure. And this volume is a clear illustration of this matter of things in motion.

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Notes 1 We are grateful to Joshua Gedacht and an anonymous reviewer for their fruitful comments and insights on the late version of this Afterword. 2 For a full discussion of the concept of ’translingual practice’, see Jeremy Jammes and David A. Palmer (2018). 3 According to W. Palaver (2007). 4 Asceticism is no stranger to economic practice and ideology: different terrains in Southeast Asia have shown that the account books of the Caodaist temples and Benedictine or Buddhist monasteries reveal many transactions; and these ascetic Orders, sometimes mendicant Orders, play a role in the local economy, sometimes in national and international ones. In the same way, many exchanges take place in the mosque, in the heart of a ‘chaplain economy’ (économie aumônière), to quote C. Décobert (1991), where zakat can be seen as the archetype of an economical and symbolic circulation of alms from the wealthy to the poor. Likewise, the group Jama’at Islam founded by Syed Abul A’ala Maududi, author of Economic System of Islam in 1940, based its political revivalist theology on Maududi’s interpretation of almsgiving as an economic instrument of social welfare (regarding zakat, see Chapter 3 by Joshua Gedacht). 5 For the comparative and transnational Economic Anthropology of M. Herskowitz (1952 [1940]), the ethnographic works of R. Firth, Malay Fishermen: Their Peasant Economy (1946) in Southeast Asia, or D. Goodfellow, Principles of Economic Sociology (1932) on the African Bantu people. 6 This prohibition is valid both for the contractual interest on the loan and for any other form of interest for late payment or interest disguised as penalties and fees. 7 Based on ad-Dhahabi (1274-1348)’s work and The Path to Paradise by M. Tahlawi (translated by Jamaal Al-Din Zarabozo, Saudi Arabia: Ibn al-Mubarak House, 1995), the Muslim Students Association of Indiana University eventually listed up to seventy sins (see http://www.iupui.edu/~msaiupui/majorsins.html). 8 In capitalist participation by Islamic banks, a mudaraba contract means that one party is a financier (silent partner) and the other party (active partner) provides work and entrepreneurship. But in a musharaka contract, all participants are working partners. The musharaka contract establishes a partnership or joint venture for an economic activity between the bank and one or more clients. In this joint venture, all parties can contribute a percentage (not necessarily equal) of the three factors of economic output (capital, labour and entrepreneurship). Islamic banks use the musharaka contract to finance trade, provide working capital and support other major projects. 9 See sub-section “Scientific advancement in the halal industry” in Chapter 5. 10 Although it could appear unrealistic and controversial to talk about ‘detection of purity’ (which is the literal translation of ‘halal detection’), except in allusion to the understanding of totalitarian movements and their ‘racial purification’ agenda during World War II for instance, we keep this usage as it refers to specific infrastructures in the Muslim world. 11 J. G. Frazer (1922, Chapter 3) used the term ‘sympathetic magic’ in the case of the combination of both categories – which seems often the case according to the Scottish anthropologist.

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Baudrillard, Jean (1970). La société de consommation, ses mythes, ses structures. Paris: Editions Denoël. Bourdieu, Pierre 1982. Ce que Parler veut dire. L’économie des échanges linguistiques. Paris: Fayard. Décobert, Christian (1991). Le mendiant et le combattant: l’institution de l’islam. Paris: Seuil. Douglas, Mary (2003 [1966]). Purity and Danger: An Analysis of the Concepts of Pollution and Taboo. London: Routledge. Duara, Prasenjit (2015). The Crisis of Global Modernity: Asian Traditions and a Sustainable Future. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Feener, Michael and Gedacht, Joshua (2018). “Hijra, Hajj and Muslim Mobilities: Considering Coercion and Asymmetrical Power Dynamics in Histories of Islamic Cosmopolitanism.” In Challenging Cosmopolitanism: Coercion, Mobility and Displacement in Islamic Asia, eds. Joshua Gedacht and R. Michael Feener, 1–29. Edinburg: Edinburg University Press. Firth, Raymond (1929). Primitive Economics of New Zealand Maori. New York: Dutton. Firth, Raymond (1946). Malay Fishermen: Their Peasant Economy. London: Kegan Paul. Fischer, Johan (2015). Islam, Standards and Technoscience: In Global Halal Zones. New York: Routledge. Frazer, James George (1922). The Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. New York: MacMillan. Gluck, Carol and Lowenhaupt, Anna Tsing (2009). Words in Motion: Toward a Global Lexicon. Durham: Duke University Press. Goodfellow, David M. (1939). Principles of Economic Sociology: The Economics of Primitive Life as Illustrated from Bantu Peoples of South and East Africa. London: Routledge. Herskowitz, Melvin (1952 [1940]). Economic Anthropology: A Study in Comparative Economics, 2nd ed. New York: Knopf. Jammes, Jeremy and Palmer, David A. (2018). “Occulting the Dao: Daoist Inner Alchemy, French Spiritism and Vietnamese Colonial Modernity in Caodai Translingual Practice.” Journal of Asian Studies 77: 405–428. Liu, Lydia H. (1995). Translingual Practice: Literature, National Culture, and Translated Modernity – China, 1900–1937. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Mzid, Wadi (n.d.). La Finance islamique: Principes fondamentaux et apports potentiels dans le financement de la croissance et du développement. Tunis: Banque Zitouna. http:// rh.banquezitouna.com/upload/1451918489.pdf. Obadia, Lionel (2013). La Marchandisation de Dieu. L’économie religieuse. Paris: CNRS Editions. Palaver, Wolfang (2007). “Challenging Capitalism in Religion” Hans H. Ulrich’s Theological and Ethical Reflections on the Economy.” Studies in Christian Ethics, 20(2): 215–230. Rudnyckyj, Daromir (2013). “From Wall Street to Halal Street: Malaysia and the Globalization of Islamic Finance.” The Journal of Asian Studies, 72(4): 831–848. Schimmel, Annemarie (1985 [1981, Düsseldorf/Köln: Eugen Diderichs Verlag]). And Muhammad is His Messenger. The Veneration of the Prophet in Islamic Piety. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. Selka, Stephen (2010). “Morality in the Religious Marketplace: Evangelical Christianity, Candomblé, and the Struggle for Moral Distinction in Brazil.” American Ethnologist 37(2): 291–307. Simmel, Georg (2004 [1978]). The Philosophy of Money, 3rd ed., ed. David Frisby. London and New York: Routledge. Tahlawi, M. (1995). The Path to Paradise (translated by Jamaal Al-Din Zarabozo). Saudi Arabia: Ibn al-Mubarak House.

Index

9/11, effects of 8, 19, 193 activism and activists 15, 71, 161, 196 alcohol 15, 103, 107, 118–120, 132, 134–137, 145, 158, 162, 163, 204, 214, 232, 233 animals 92, 103, 104–106, 108, 111, 119, 120, 130, 133, 134, 137–141, 144, 145, 177, 230 audits and Islamic audit culture 79, 81, 85, 87, 89, 94, 162, 233 blood 65, 103, 116, 120, 134, 139 boycott 120, 145 bureaucracy/bureaucrats 15, 37, 42, 46, 54, 164 capital/capitalism/capitalists 3–11, 21, 35, 54–58, 60, 62, 63, 65, 67, 141, 152, 156, 165, 194, 204, 212, 213, 215, 220, 229–232, 236 certifiers/certificates/certification 17, 18, 21, 22, 75–100, 129, 130, 132, 138, 145, 153, 157–166, 233 China/Chinese 9, 10, 14, 15, 39, 85–87, 94, 95, 106, 110, 158, 137, 149, 152, 156, 166, 201 class 4, 5, 9, 15, 18–20, 53, 58, 62, 63, 65, 66, 71, 72, 149–168, 205, 211, 212, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219, 223 commodities/commodification 5, 7–10, 13–15, 22, 102, 154, 157, 160, 162, 165, 166, 232–235 companies and business 1, 3–5, 9, 10, 15, 17, 22, 23, 29, 31–34, 44, 56, 58, 75, 76, 78, 80, 81, 84–88, 91–94, 96, 109, 112, 119, 130, 138, 140–142, 149, 151, 154, 157, 160–164, 166, 169, 186, 213, 215, 224, 225, 230, 233, 235

contamination 18, 107, 109, 116, 117, 122, 129–148, 162, 163, 235 dakwah 17, 53, 56, 153, 156, 161, 162, 164 debt 20, 211, 212, 214, 217–219, 221-225 diaspora 150, 157–160 DNA 109–114, 119, 230, 233 education 1, 46, 47, 53, 54, 63, 66, 81, 102, 147, 150–152, 160, 161–165, 196, 222 entrepreneurs/entrepreneurship 3, 4, 11, 19, 56, 81, 160–162, 186, 236 enzymes 22, 106, 115, 118, 135, 145, 163 ethnicity 9, 13, 15, 64, 65, 78, 151, 153, 157, 158, 161, 165, 219, 230 fashion and dress 19, 75, 83, 102, 133, 155, 164, 169–191, 232, 233 finance (Islamic) 5, 8, 9, 20, 21, 22, 44, 83, 92, 96, 132, 133, 162, 211–214, 218–222, 224, 230–232, 236 gelatine 104, 105, 106, 111, 115, 117, 135, 158, 230 genetics 110, 129 global, the/globalization 1–5, 8–11, 13, 15, 17–23, 37, 39, 56, 75–77, 80–84, 86, 87, 93–96, 101, 102, 129, 133, 144, 149–152, 153–155, 157, 158–162, 165, 169, 170, 178, 179, 185, 193–197, 199–205, 207, 208, 212, 216, 217, 219, 229, 230, 233, 234, 237 governance 41, 42, 76, 93, 94, 129, 152, 200, 202, 204, 232 Hadith 3, 4, 11, 13, 29, 33, 34, 36, 53, 58, 69, 101, 103, 104, 136, 144, 173–175, 177, 188, 213

240 Index halal, general: defining, 5 halalisation 21, 129, 154, 156–157, 232–234 halalism 7, 230–231, 234–235 haram 18, 102–104, 107, 108, 110, 118–120, 129, 134–136, 138–141, 143, 158, 159, 163, 164, 214, 232 healing 12, 14, 16, 18 hygiene 12, 103, 107, 131, 141, 163 India/Indians 6, 9, 12, 57, 59, 73, 87, 94, 106, 149, 177 Islamic jurisprudence 8, 59, 60, 131, 132 Jabatan Kemajuan Islam Malaysia ( JAKIM) 80, 81, 103, 153, 157, 159, 161, 163, 164 Kula 6, 7, 20, 229 laboratories 79, 120, 161–163 logos 10, 17, 76–77, 79, 87, 88, 92–93, 96, 138, 156, 158–159 Malay(s) 14, 15, 18–19, 76, 78, 96, 105, 132, 149–168, 196–199, 201–202, 206–208 methodology 3, 11, 15 Marketing 2, 9, 19, 86, 93, 95, 162, 169–173, 175–181, 184–185, 187, 195, 229, 232– 233, 235 media 5, 15, 19–20, 22, 37, 55, 69, 71, 83, 110–112, 149–151, 154–155, 172, 180–184, 186, 188, 190, 193, 195–196, 205, 208, 217, 219 Middle East 5, 9, 80, 145, 170, 219 missionary logic 13, 21–22, 57–58, 229, 232–233, 235 modernity/the modern 4, 7, 8, 16–17, 19, 23, 46, 54–55, 57–59, 63–64, 66, 69, 71–72, 102, 145, 149, 151–157, 161, 165–166, 177–178, 185–187, 201, 212–215, 220, 231–232, 237 modesty 19, 169–188, 202, 230, 232 money 3, 16, 31, 33–36, 54, 56, 58, 61–62, 67, 69, 71, 213, 221, 231–232 moral/morality/moral economy 1, 2, 5, 6, 8–11, 14–16, 20, 22–23, 26, 30–36, 38, 41–43, 46–48, 57, 149, 151–156, 166, 176, 178, 203–204, 211, 214, 229, 231–234 Muslim Homo economicus 10, 229

networks 8, 17, 48, 54, 59, 61, 72, 93, 154, 161, 224, 234 pastoral logic 13, 229, 232, 235 piety 1–3, 6, 8–11, 15, 19, 156, 165, 179, 197, 231 pig/pork 22, 101, 103–107, 109–111, 116–118, 120, 132, 134, 135, 137, 141–143, 153, 162–163, 204, 214, 232–233 potlatch 6, 20, 29 Prophet Muhammad 3, 7, 11–14, 22, 33, 56, 66, 101, 136, 174, 175, 177, 187, 229, 234, 235 prophetic mimetic consumption 7, 12–13, 234–235 Qur’an 3–4, 13, 16, 29–30, 32, 36, 47–48, 53, 58, 68–69, 101, 104, 130, 131, 144–145, 173, 174–176, 188, 201, 206, 213–214, 221, 223, 231 restaurants 87, 88, 140–143, 151, 156–157, 159, 160, 233 ritual 6, 7, 21, 22, 53–55, 131, 134, 138, 153, 173, 202, 235 science 1, 3, 14, 18, 66, 69, 78–80, 101–127, 162–163, 165, 230 secularists/secularism 5, 7, 9, 21, 40–42, 102, 132, 152–153, 158, 166, 203–204, 232, 235 Shari’a 3, 4, 14–16, 19, 23, 75, 84, 87–88, 91, 93, 95–96, 102, 132, 136, 138, 141, 143, 162, 180–184, 187–188, 196, 204, 207, 213–214, 218, 219, 231–232, 235 shops/malls 9, 54, 63, 69, 140–141, 151, 156–160, 180, 215, 220, 223–224 Singapore 5, 44, 66, 81, 109, 118, 179, 194–195, 197–198, 217, 223 slaughter 79, 87, 88, 90–92, 103, 104, 108, 118, 127, 131, 133–134, 137–142, 144–145, 153, 204 standards/standardization 2, 22, 75–81, 87–98, 102, 112, 115, 131, 162, 164–165, 204, 231–232 Sunni Islam 12, 131–132, 145, 193 Thailand 22, 77–81, 85, 96, 106, 110, 118–119, 158 translingual practices 230, 234–236 Turkey 9, 184

I ndex  Ulama 22, 54, 60–61, 65–67, 69–72, 103, 153, 221 umma 54, 67, 70, 162, 234 United Kingdom/Britain/London 57, 87, 94, 118, 149–150, 157–162, 164, 193, 195–196, 205

United Malays National Organisation (UMNO) 149, 153, 157, 159 zakat 16, 31–32, 54, 60–62, 66, 69, 71, 133

241