Islam and Muslims in Germany (Muslim Minorities)

Islam and Muslims in Germany

Muslim Minorities Editors

Jørgen S. Nielsen University of Birmingham

Felice Dassetto University of Louvain-la-Neuve

Amira Sonbol Georgetown University, Washington, DC

VOLUME 7

Islam and Muslims in Germany Edited by

Ala Al-Hamarneh and Jörn Thielmann

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2008

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A C.I.P. record for this book is available from the Library of Congress

ISSN 1570–7571 ISBN 978 90 04 15866 5 Copyright 2008 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishers, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements ............................................................................. List of Tables, Figures, Maps and Illustrations ............................... List of Contributors .............................................................................

ix xi xv

Islam and Muslims in Germany: An Introductory Exploration ........................................................................................... Jörn Thielmann

1

PART I

FRAMING OF MUSLIM LIFE WORLDS LEBENSWELTEN

Euro-Islam: Some Empirical Evidences ........................................... Faruk Şen Islamic Norms in Germany and Europe .......................................... Mathias Rohe Religiousness among Young Muslims in Germany ........................ Kea Eilers, Clara Seitz, Konrad Hirschler

33 49 83

PART II

ISLAM AND SOCIAL PRACTICE

Governmentality, Pastoral Care and Integration ............................ Levent Tezcan Prayer Leader, Counselor, Teacher, Social Worker, and Public Relations Officer—On the Roles and Functions of Imams in Germany ............................................................................................... Melanie Kamp Christian-Muslim Encounter—Recent Issues and Perspectives .... Friedmann Eissler The Bellicose Birth of Euro-Islam in Berlin ..................................... Wolfgang G. Schwanitz

119

133 161 183

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contents PART III

COMMUNITIES AND IDENTITIES

Muslims’ Collective Self-description as Reflected in the Institutional Recognition of Islam: The Islamic Charta of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany and Case Law in German Courts .................................................................................... Nikola Tietze Islamic Instruction in German Public Schools: The Case of North-Rhine-Westphalia .................................................................... Margrete Søvik Difficult Identifications: The Debate on Alevism and Islam in Germany ............................................................................................... Martin Sökefeld Philosophers, Freedom Fighters, Pantomimes: South Asian Muslims in Germany .......................................................................... Claudia Preckel

215

241

267

299

PART IV

CULTURE

Turkish-German Filmmaking: From Phobic Liminality to Transgressive Glocality? ..................................................................... 331 Viola Shafik A Literary Dialogue of Cultures: Arab Authors in Germany ........ 353 Yafa Shanneik The Entertainment of a Parallel Society? Turkish Popular Music in Germany ..................................................................................... 371 Maria Wurm

PART V

MEDIA

“I can watch both sides”—Media Use among Young Arabs in Germany ............................................................................................... 395 Judith Pies

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Islam in German Media ...................................................................... 423 Sabine Schiffer The Turkish Press in Germany: A Public In-between Two Publics? ................................................................................................. 441 Christoph Schumann

PART VI

GENDER

Re-fashioning the Self through Religious Knowledge: How Muslim Women Become Pious in the German Diaspora .............. 465 Jeanette S. Jouili Gender in Transition: The Connectedness of Gender and Ethnicity in Biographies of Female Entrepreneurs of Turkish Background .......................................................................................... 489 Verena Schreiber

PART VII

ISLAMIC ECONOMIES OR BUSINESS AS USUAL?

Transculturality as Practice: Turkish Entrepreneurs in Germany ............................................................................................... 511 Robert Pütz The Construction of ‘Turks in Germany’ as a Target Group of Marketing ............................................................................................. 537 Matthias Kulinna Islamic Financing Transactions in European Courts ..................... 569 Kilian Bälz General Index ...................................................................................... 585

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A project like the present one cannot be pushed forward without the support of others. The editors wish therefore to thank Widad Hamarne, Stephanie Müssig, Muhammad Sameer Murtaza, Erik Petersen and Eva Schönau for helping us to prepare the manuscripts at various stages. Rosemary Spars made the text more English. The editorial work was generously supported by the Kompetenzzentrum Orient-Okzident Mainz KOOM at the Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz. Trudy Kamperveen and Gera van Bedaf, from Brill, kept the whole thing going, constantly encouraging us, and we wish to cordially thank them for their support. Our thanks go also to the anonymous readers as well as to the editors of “Muslim Minorities” for the helpful suggestions and comments and for accepting this book for the series. All remaining responsibilities are the authors—and ours, of course.

LIST OF TABLES, FIGURES, MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS

PART I

FRAMING OF MUSLIM LIFE WORLDS LEBENSWELTEN

Tables 1–5 and Figures 1–4 (belonging to “Euro-Islam: Some Empirical Evidences” by Faruk Şen) Table 1: Turkish-Islamic Organizations in Germany ................. Table 2: Frequently Performed Religious Acts According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics ........................................ Table 3: Evaluation of Religious Items According to SocioDemographic Characteristics ................................................... Table 4: Membership of Mosque Organizations According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics ..................................... Table 5: Members of Selected Roof Associations and Total Membership According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics ............................................................................ Figure 1: Degree of Religious Belief ............................................. Figure 2: Evaluation of Religious-Conservative and Modern Statements ................................................................................... Figure 3: Membership of a Mosque Organization ...................... Figure 4: Membership of Roof Associations of Mosque Organizations ..............................................................................

37 40 43 44

46 39 41 43 45

Tables 1–20 (belonging to “Religiousness among Young Muslims in Germany” by Kea Eilers, Clara Seitz, and Konrad Hirschler) Table 1: Age ...................................................................................... 95 Table 2: Origins ............................................................................... 96 Table 3: Denomination ................................................................... 96 Table 4: Relevance of Religion/Generation ................................. 97 Table 5: Relevance of Religion/Generation ................................. 98 Table 6: Place of Birth/Relevance of Religion ............................. 99 Table 7: Relevance of Religion/Duration of Residence .............. 100 Table 8: Relevance of Religion/Education ................................... 101

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Table 9: Religious Duties ................................................................ Table 10: Prayer ............................................................................... Table 11: Attendance at Mosque ................................................... Table 12: Qur’an-School/Education ............................................. Table 13: Qur’an-School/Relevance of Religion .......................... Table 14: Qur’an-School/Religious Duties ................................... Table 15: Practiced vs. Perceived Religiousness .......................... Table 16: Comparison Relevance of Religion .............................. Table 17: Comparison perceived Parent’s Relevance of Religion ........................................................................................ Table 18: Comparison Participation Qur’an-School .................. Table 19: Comparison Religious Duties ....................................... Table 20: Comparison Membership/Sympathy ..........................

102 103 104 104 105 105 107 110 111 111 112 112

PART II

ISLAM AND SOCIAL PRACTICE

Map and Illustration (belonging to “The Bellicose Birth of Euro-Islam in Berlin” by Wolfgang G. Schwanitz) Map: “Übersichtsskizze der Orte mit Nachrichtensälen in der Türkei”: Max von Oppenheim’s map shows his network of so called reading rooms for war and jihad propaganda ............. 191 Illustration: “Regarding the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem” as written by Dieter Wisliceny of the SS on Amin al-Husaini’s activities in Berlin during his exile there from 1941 to 1945 .............................................................................................. 211

PART III

COMMUNITIES AND IDENTITIES

Figures 1–2 (belonging to “Difficult Identifications: The Debate on Alevism and Islam in Germany” by Martin Sökefeld) Figure 1: Is Alevism today part of Islam? .................................... 279 Figure 2: Did Alevism originate historically from Islam? ......... 279

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Illustrations 1–6 (belonging to “Philosophers, Freedom Fighters, Pantomimes: South Asian Muslims in Germany” by Claudia Preckel) Illustration 1: Dr. Salim Ali ............................................................ Illustration 2: Azad Hind Flag ....................................................... Illustration 3: Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose (Copyright: Eros Entertainment, India) ....................................................... Illustration 4: Jalsa Salana, Mannheim 2005 (Copyright: Shahid Abbasi, Frankfurt) ......................................................... Illustration 5: “Kredit für Taslima” (“A Credit for Taslima”) (Copyright: Berliner Compagnie, Berlin) ............................... Illustration 6: Irshad Panjatan (Copyright: Irshad Panjatan, Berlin) .............................................................

303 308 309 314 323 326

PART V

MEDIA

Tables 1–4 (belonging to “ ‘I Can Watch Both Sides’—Media Use among Young Arabs in Germany” by Judith Pies) Table 1: Search for Orientation in German TV Entertainment Table 2: Motives for the Use of the Two Media Topics ‘Heimat’ and Islam ..................................................................................... Table 3: Use and Assessment of Al-Jazeera .................................. Table 4: Identification with Iraq, Palestine and the Headscarf/ Islam .............................................................................................

405 411 415 417

Tables 1–2 (belonging to “The Turkish Press in Germany: A Public In-between Two Publics?” by Christoph Schumann) Table 1: Selection of Turkish Newspapers in Germany ............. 450 Table 2: Other Periodicals .............................................................. 451

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list of tables, figures, maps and illustrations PART VI

GENDER

Figure 1 (belonging to “Gender in Transition: The Connectedness of Gender and Ethnicity in Biographies of Female Entrepreneurs of Turkish Background” by Verena Schreiber) Figure 1: Dimensions of Gender and Sex Categories in Women’s and Gender Studies .................................................... 495 PART VII

ISLAMIC ECONOMIES OR BUSINESS AS USUAL?

Figures 1–5 (belonging to “Transculturality as Practice: Turkish Entrepreneurs in Germany” by Robert Pütz) Figure 1: Entry and Exit of Enterprises in Berlin, According to the Business Register, 1991–2003 ............................................. Figure 2: Businesses run by Entrepreneurs of Turkish Origin in Berlin: Sectoral Composition and Business Characteristics ............................................................................ Figure 3: Entrepreneurs of Turkish Origin in Berlin: Generation and Personal Characteristics ..................................................... Figure 4: Unemployment in Germany and Berlin ...................... Figure 5: Economic Situation of the Entrepreneurs of Turkish Origin in Berlin ..........................................................................

515

516 517 519 521

Table 1 and Illustration (belonging to “The Construction of ‘Turks in Germany’ as a Target Group of Marketing” by Mattias Kulinna) Table 1: Chapters and Codings ..................................................... 551 Illustration: Advertisement picturing Kizkulesi, the “Girl Tower” in the Bosporus, Istanbul ........................................................... 560

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Ala al-Hamarneh is born in Amman/Jordan. He holds a Ph.D. degree in economic and social geography from Kiev State University (1994). Since 1996 he has been affiliated to the Center for Research on the Arab World at the University of Mainz. He is currently an assistant professor in human geography in Mainz. Issues of migration, poverty, tourism and cinematic geo-hermeneutics are in the centre of his academic research and publications. His present research activities include spatial interactions of identity and integration as well as aspects of globalization and regionalization of tourism and higher education. Kilian Bälz, Dr. LL.M., presently is a research fellow at the Harvard Law School Islamic Legal Studies Program. Before, he practised as a lawyer with a major German law firm in Frankfurt, specialising in corporate finance transactions with a particular focus on, but not limited to, the Middle East. In addition, he was actively involved in some of the first Islamic finance transactions in Germany and has advised Government and aid agencies on law reform in the Middle East. Bälz studied law and Middle East studies at the universities of Freiburg, Berlin, Damascus, Cairo (AUC) and London (SOAS). He has published extensively on Middle Eastern constitutional and business law as well as on Islamic finance. Kea Eilers, M.A. (2007) in Political Science and Middle Eastern Studies, Christian-Albrechts-University Kiel. Her main interests are Islam in Europe, Migration in the Arab Region and the Rentier State Theory. Friedmann Eissler, Dr. theol., is assistant lecturer at the Seminar for Religious and Jewsih Studies (Institutum Judaicum) at the Faculty of Protestant Theology, Eberhard Karls Universität Tübingen. Konrad Hirschler, Ph.D. African/Asian History (2003) is Lecturer in the History of the Near and Middle East at the School of Oriental and African Studies (London). His research interest in the interplay of identity and historiography is reflected in publications such as “Defining the

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Nation—Kurdish Historiography in Turkey in the 1990s”. In: Middle Eastern Studies 37/3 (2001), pp. 145–166. Jeanette S. Jouili, Ph.D. (2007) in Sociology/Anthropology, EHESS, Paris and European University Frankfurt/Oder currently holds a postdoc fellowship at ISIM in Leiden, Netherlands. Her main interests are Islam in Europe, Islamic revivalism, Anthropology of religion, gender, and popular culture. Selected Publications: “Religious Practices: Ablution, Purification, Prayer, Fasting and Piety, Western Europe” In: Joseph, Souad. Encyclopedia of Women and Islamic Cultures. Vol. 5. Leiden: Brill, 2007, 281–284, and with Schirin Amir-Moazami: “Knowledge, empowerment and religious authority among pious Muslim women in France and Germany” In: Frank Peter and Elena Arigita (eds.) Muslim World, special issue: Authorizing Islam in Europe, 96,4, 2006, pp. 617–642. Melanie Kamp is Ph.D. candidate in Islamic Studies, Freie Universität Berlin, and researcher at the Zentrum Moderner Orient (ZMO) in Berlin, where she studies Islamic training institutes in Germany within the framework of the research project “Muslims in Europe and their Societies of Origin in Asia and Africa. Diversity and Consequences of Religious Faith and Practice in Different Contexts”. Her main interests are Islam in Europe and Islamic movements. Matthias Kulinna, Ph.D. (2007) in Geography, Johann Wolfgang Goethe Universität Frankfurt, is currently working as a freelance consultant in the fields of ethnic marketing and location of industry. His Ph.D. topic: “Ethnomarketing in Deutschland. Die Konstruktion von Ethnizität durch Marketingakteure” (Ethnic Marketing in Germany. The construction of ethnicity by Marketing actors). Frankfurt am Main, 2007. Judith Pies, M.A. (2004) in Media and Communication Science, Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz, is Ph.D. candidate at the Department for Media and Communication, Universität Erfurt. Her main interests are Media in the Arab World, Journalism Cultures and Media and Migration. Claudia Preckel, Ph.D. (2005) in Islamic Studies, Ruhr-University Bochum, is a freelance writer and trainer on Islam in India and Germany.

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Her main research interests comprise Islamic scholarly movements in India & Pakistan, Unani medicine and Islam in Bollywood cinema. She is presently preparing a volume on “Screening Indian Muslims”. Among her publications are contributions on Indian Muslim women, like The Begums of Bhopal (New Delhi: Roli Books 2005) and several articles in the Encyclopedia of Women in Islamic Cultures (Leiden: Brill, 2007). Mathias Rohe, studies in law and Islamic Studies (Ph.D. 1994), habilitation (1997), chair of private law, international law and comparative law at Friedrich-Alexander Universität Erlangen-Nürnberg, chairman of the German Society for Arabic and Islamic Law, founding director of the Institute for Islam and Law in Europe. His main interests are legal issues related to the live of Muslims in Europe and the development of modern Islamic law and theology. Among his latest publications is Muslim Minorities and the Law in Europe, New Delhi 2007. Sabine Schiffer is head of the Media Responsibility Institute (IMV) in Erlangen (Germany), where she organizes and conducts workshops on media analysis and media education. She holds a Ph.D. in linguistics from the University of Erlangen-Nürnberg. Her research focuses on the analysis of prejudice and discrimination in news media and on the impact of media on attitudes and values. Modern forms of propaganda are one of her most important subjects, in which the “Enemy” (Feindbild) Islam is playing an important role today. Publications include a book on the Coverage of Islam in German Press (2005), a contribution to Racism as a Barrier of Social Integration (2007, ed. by Jäger/Halm) and to the Cartoon Debate and the Freedom of the Press (2007, ed. by Debatin) and journal articles about Antisemitism, the Middle East News Coverage and Mediaviolence. Verena Schreiber, M.A., is Scientific Assistant in the Department of Human Geography at the University of Frankfurt am Main. Her research interests are in the field of social geography, especially focusing on discourse/security and gender/migration. Christoph Schumann is assistant professor of Islamic and Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Bern, Switzerland. His research interests cover modern political thought in the Arab world and Middle Eastern diaspora communities in the West. His publications include

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Radical Nationalism in Syria and Lebanon: Political Socialization and Elite Formation, 1930–1958, Hamburg: Orient-Institute 2001 (in German); and From the Syrian Land to the States of Syria and Lebanon (ed. with Thomas Philipp), Beirut: Ergon 2004. Wolfgang G. Schwanitz is assistant professor at Rider University, NJ. He holds a Ph.D. from Leipzig University in Middle Eastern Studies. He authored four and edited ten books on the Middle East like History of the German Orient Bank (Trafo: Berlin 2002), Germany and the Middle East (Wiener: Princeton 2004), Germany and the Middle East In the Cold War (University Press: Leipzig 2006), and German Islam Policy (Trafo: Berlin 2008). Clara Seitz, M.A. (2008) in Political Science and Middle Eastern Studies, Christian-Albrechts-University Kiel. Her main research interests include the European Muslim youth as well as communalism and ethnic conflicts in the Middle East. Faruk Şen, Prof. Dr., is a business economist and since 1991 Director of the Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey/Stiftung Zentrum für Türkeistudien in Essen and professor at the University Duisburg-Essen. Viola Shafik, Dr. phil. (1994) in Islamic Studies, Hamburg University, is a freelance filmmaker, curator and lecturer in film studies. Her main interests have been Arab film, media and history, Ancient Egyptian and Coptic history, transnational filmmaking and post-colonial culture. Among her works are the documentaries: Musim zar` al-banat/Planting of Girls (1999; UNICEF/Ford Foundation) and Die Reise einer Königin (2003; ZDF/arte) as well as the publications: Arab Cinema: History and Cultural Identity, AUC-Press, Cairo, 1998 (& 2007) and Popular Egyptian Cinema: Gender, Class and Nation, AUC-Press, 2007. Yafa Shanneik is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of English Literature and Cultural Studies at the University of Würzburg (Germany). She is working on the image of Arab women in English and German literature written by Arab authors. She has published a book with Ralph Pordzik on the Egyptian writer Ahdaf Soueif Transkulturalität und euroarabische Literatur von Migrantinnen. Neue Aufgabenfelder der Anglistik in Deutschland (Würzburg: Würzburger Geographie Manuskripte, 2004). She has published several articles among them ‘Die Werke der

list of contributors

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ägyptischen Autorin Ahdaf Soueif als Mittel zur Dekonstruktion des Fremden’, in Atef Botros (ed.), Der Nahe Osten—Ein Teil Europas? Reflektionen zu Raum und Kulturkonzeptionen im modernen Nahen Osten (Würzburg: Ergon, 2006) 289–302. Martin Sökefeld, Ph.D. (Tübingen 1996), Habilitation (Hamburg 2005), is Assistant Professor at the Institute of Social Anthropology at the University of Berne, Switzerland. His main interests include the study of diaspora and transnational politics and of ethnicity and the politics of identity. He has done field research in Pakistan, Germany, Britain and Turkey. His publications include “Mobilizing in Transnational Space: A Social Movement Approach to the Formation of Diaspora”, Global Networks 6, 2006, pp. 265–284; the edited volume Jenseits des Paradigmas kultureller Differenz: Neue Perspektiven auf Einwanderer aus der Türkei, Bielefeld, transcript, 2004, and “Alevism Online: Re-Imagining a Community in Virtual Space”, Diaspora, 11, 2002: 85–123. His monograph Struggling for Recognition: The Alevi Movement in Germany and in Transnational Space will be published by Berghahn Books, Oxford/New York, in 2008. Margrete Søvik (born 1972), Ph.D. (2006) in modern European history, University of Bergen, Norway. Søvik is currently affiliated to the Norwegian Centre of International Cooperation in Higher Education. Her main interests are Islam in Europe, European policies of minority integration and European church-state relations. Her main contributions are The Social Benefit of Domesticated Religion: Islamic Instruction in German Public Schools, 1979–2001 (Ph.D. thesis, 2006) and Islam in the French Discourse of Integration: the French Debate on the Muslim Veil in 1989 (Master thesis, 1998). Levent Tezcan received his Ph.D. (2001) in sociology from the University of Bielefeld. Since 1995, he is research assistant at the Institute for Interdisciplinary Research on Conflict and Violence of the University of Bielefeld. His main areas of interest are Turkish modernization, Islam in Europe, Religion and Conflict, and inter-cultural Communication. Among his publications is the book Islam and the New Europe. Continuities, Changes, Confrontations (together with Sigrid Nökel), Bielefeld: transcript, 2005. (Yearbook of the Sociology of Islam, 6)

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Jörn Thielmann, Dr. phil. (2001) in Islamic Studies, Ruhr-Universität Bochum, is Managing Director of the Kompetenzzentrum Orient-Okzident Mainz KOOM at the Johannes Gutenberg-Universität Mainz. His main interests are Islamic law, Islam in Europe and Anthropology of Islam. Among his publications are Nasr Hāmid Abū Zaid und die wiedererfundene hisba. Šarī‘a und qānūn im heutigen Ägypten. Würzburg: Ergon, 2003; “The Shaping of Islamic Fields in Europe—A Case Study in South-West Germany”. In: Sigrid Nökel, Levent Tezcan (eds.), Islam and the New Europe. Continuities, Changes, Confrontations. Bielefeld: transcript, 2005, pp. 152–177. (Yearbook of the Sociology of Islam, 6) Nikola Tietze, Ph.D. (1999) in sociology, EHESS-Paris and PhilippsUniversität Marburg, is a researcher at the Hamburg Institute for Social Research. Her main interests are transnational community building by religion, language, and territory and public policies of religion, language, and territory. Among her publications are: Islamische Identitäten. Formen muslimischer Religiosität junger Männer in Deutschland und Frankreich, Hamburg: Hamburger Edition, 2001. Maria Wurm, M.A. in Islamic Studies (2000), Rheinische FriedrichWilhelms-Universität Bonn; Ph.D. (2005) in Cultural Anthropology and European Ethnology, Johann-Wolfgang-Goethe-Universität Frankfurt/Main. Her main research interests are Muslims in Germany, media, and popular culture. Among her publications is Musik in der Migration. Beobachtungen zur kulturellen Artikulation türkischer Jugendlicher in Deutschland, Bielefeld: transcript 2005.

ISLAM AND MUSLIMS IN GERMANY: AN INTRODUCTORY EXPLORATION1 Jörn Thielmann

This book is the first attempt to explore the vast and diverse fi eld of Islam and Muslims in Germany from different perspectives. Therefore, it is obviously not intended as a comprehensive compendium of Islam and Muslims in Germany, but hopes instead to stimulate further research and publications. The field of research and observation concerned, namely Muslims and Islam in Germany, is constantly in transformation and changes all the time and does therefore not allow for fixing a stateof-the-art. However, this book offers nevertheless an overview of Islam and Muslims in Germany and insights in social, cultural and economic practices and political discourses of Muslims. It is its particular strength that it brings together disciplines normally working isolated from one another and contains papers from established academics as well as contributions from younger colleagues. They all share their grounding in empirical studies, be it in Geography or Sociology, Religious Studies or Law, Literature or Islamic Studies, History or Film Studies. It is amazing to observe in the present contributions to what a degree the study of Islam and Muslims in Germany has unfolded over the last couple of years and become rich and diversified. All common themes, issues and questions of the scientific and societal debates are to be found here as well as the shifts and developments of paradigms and interests. The contributions in this book address not all actions by Muslims (or, more precisely, people perceived as Muslims) through “Islamic lenses”. Quite a lot of them overcome also the prevailing Turkish bias. There are, of course, still desiderata left. For example, papers on conversion to Islam and converts are missing. Mysticism, i.e. Sufism, is not addressed. Some Muslim ethnics in Germany, like the Bosnians, are not looked at. Papers on mosque building, the headscarf and the resulting conflicts will not be found, even if these issues are treated en passant

1 I wish to thank Frank Peter and Judith Pies for their helpful comments on an earlier draft of this introduction.

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in some of the papers. Rituals and ritual practices are not especially treated; however, these are subjects of a current project of the research group “Ritualdynamik” (SFB 619) at the University of Heidelberg. The recent dynamics in the Islamic fields caused by the Deutsche Islam Konferenz (DIK, German Islam Conference), initiated and convened by the Federal Minister of Interior, Wolfgang Schäuble, in September 2006 as well as the resulting establishment of the Koordinierungsrat der Muslime in Deutschland (KRM, Coordination Council of Muslims in Germany) in March 2007 could not be included, but that seems quite normal in researching and publishing on on-going processes. Nevertheless, we are confident that this book will contribute to a better understanding of Islam and Muslims in Germany and instigate further research. This introductory exploration will, first, sketch out the history of Muslim life in Germany and examine the research done so far. Here, paradigms and research questions will be identified and related to general political and societal discourses. Second, the contributions of this volume will be presented.

Islam and Muslims in Germany—a short historical sketch A part from exceptional Muslims traders in the Middle Ages, travelling along the Rhine, we find traces of Muslim presence at the end of the 17th century, after the second Ottoman siege of Vienna in 1683. Captured Turks came as prisoners of war to the German lands. Since the 18th century a small number of Muslims live continuously on the territory of the actual Federal Republic of Germany. In 1763, an Ottoman legation existed at the Prussian court in Berlin. The death of the third envoy, Ali Aziz Efendi, in 1798 led to the establishment of the first Muslim cemetery in Germany at the Columbiadamm in Berlin. During the First World War, the first mosque was constructed in wood in a camp for prisoners of war near Berlin. In 1922 Muslims from 41 nations founded a community, the “Islamische Gemeinde Berlin” and German Muslims established in the same year a mosque in Berlin as well (since 1930 named “Deutsch-Moslemische Gesellschaft) as a journal (cf. Abdullah 1981: 27–31). Until the early 1960s, however, the number of Muslims in Germany has been fairly negligible. Since then, through the massive labour migration following the bilateral recruitment agreements with Turkey and Yugoslavia, their number has continuously increased and

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reaches today approximately 3.2 to 3.5 million (2.25–2.5 mill. foreign Muslims, mainly Turks, but also of other origins, and ca. 800,000 German Muslims2) (Bundesministerium des Innern 2007, for older figures see Deutscher Bundestag 2000: 4f). However, these figures are only estimations, because they are based on statistics of migration and immigrants and related to nationality, and therefore problematic with regard to figuring out the number of Muslims. The situation of the migrant workers or “guest workers” (the “Gastarbeiter”), as they are called, changed significantly after the recruitment stop in 1973: Being until then mainly considered as employees and cheap labour force, the migrant workers now got their families and relatives over and settled permanently in Germany. This development is reflected in the emergence of several religious organisations in the early 1980s, some of them having predecessors like the Islamische Gemeinschaft Millî Görüş (IGMG; Islamic Community Millî Görüş), founded in 1985, but active under other names since 1973. The IGMG is closely linked to the Islamic Party (best known under the name of Refah Partisi) of Necmettin Erbakan in Turkey. But the Turkish state also tried to get hold of its (former) citizens in Germany and to control the religious scene among the Turks and established in 1984 a branch of its office for religious affairs (Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı, which is part of the Prime Minister’s office) under the name of “Diyanet İşleri Türk İslâm Birliği” (DİTİB), the Türkisch-Islamische Union der Anstalt für Religion (Turkish-Islamic Union of the Office for Religious Affairs) (cf. Seufert 1999). Besides Millî Görüş, other organisations like the Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren (VIKZ; Association of Islamic Cultural Centres), the German branch of the Turkish Süleymancı movement (cf. Jonker 2002), have been active since the early 1970s. All of them have their headquarters in Cologne. The legal framework for Muslim life in Germany is until today subject of debates among Muslims and German jurists and politicians alike.3 So far, they are organised as registered associations (eingetragener Verein, e.V.) or as foundations (Stiftung). All associations seek since

2

By “German Muslims” are understood holders of German citizenship, i.e. naturalised Muslims from various origins. Their number nearly doubled since 2000 thanks to a reform of citizenship law. The number of German converts is unknown, according to the Federal Ministry of the Interior. 3 Cf. Kippenberg 2000, Klinkhammer 2002, Oebbecke, 2000. See also the contribution of Rohe in this volume.

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the late 1970s to obtain the status of a publicly recognised corporation (Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts), like the Christian churches or the Jewish community. This would give them some additional rights (e.g., collection of church taxes by the state on behalf of them) and possibilities, mainly in the field of education. It is perhaps surprising that even after more than forty years of notable Muslim presence in Germany, no research has so far been done on the inner-Muslim discourses and interactions between the various ethnic groups under the specific conditions of the Diaspora, with the notably exception of the work of Werner Schiffauer (e.g., Schiffauer 1997). Most of the scientific literature which pretend to present Muslim life in Germany (cf. Feindt-Riggers/Steinbach 1997, Heine 1997, Şen/Aydın 2002, Spuler-Stegemann 2002, Zentrum für Türkeistudien 1995a & 1995b) give schematic presentations of the, mainly Turkish, organisations without giving any information on the religious ideas and concepts or the life worlds of Muslims. Taking into consideration the overwhelming Turkish majority, Islam in Germany is mainly looked at through “Turkish lenses” (cf., e.g., Karakoşoğlu/Nonneman 1997). Of special interest for the German public is, of course, Islamic extremism, which is examined by Metin Gür (1983), Peter Heine (1990), or in a much-criticised study by Heitmeyer (Heitmeyer/Müller/Schröder 1997), also by Meng (2004). Relatively early, some studies looked at the situation of migrated Muslim women as well as of that of the daughters of the second or third generation (cf., e.g., Kandiyoti 1977, Baumgartner-Karabak/Landesberger 1978, Ahmed 1992, Nökel 2001 & 2002). The wearing of a headscarf or veil, heavily debated in German society over the last years, is perceived by Muslims and non-Muslims alike as a distinctive symbol of Islamicness, as shows Mandel (1989), Giannone (2005) or recently Amir-Moazami (2007). Conversion to Islam is also a topic for research (cf., e.g., Hofmann 1997, Wohlrab-Sahr 1999, Baumann 2003), focusing, however, on female conversion to Islam. Schleßmann (2003) looked at conversion of Germans to mystical Islam, and Hüttermann (2002) established an analytical grid for the “artificial milieu centrism” of the same Naqshbandiyya milieu. Some studies address the issue of Islamic instruction in public schools from various perspectives (Kiefer 2005, Mohr 2000 & 2002, Reichmuth et al. 2006). It is surprising in few of the conflicts provoked by mosque building projects, that only a few studies concentrated on this issue: Büchner (2000) and Schmitt (2003)—both notably cultural geographers—analyse some conflicts, and Leggewie/ Joost/Rech (2002) offer a practical guide for conflict resolution in this

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field. Kraft (2002) describes several projects from an aesthetical and architectural perspective. Some prevailing paradigms can be discerned, and Amir-Moazami/Salvatore (2003), Peter (2006), Salvatore/Amir-Moazami (2002), Schiffauer (2006), and Tezcan (2003) already presented them in some detail, stressing also the deficiencies and problems of the existing literature. In the early 1970s, the focus laid on integration (for a limited period of time, obviously) of workers and their assimilation (exemplary, Th omä-Venske 1981). Religion, especially Islam, was seen as an expression of backwardness and as an obstacle for integration. It was nearly common sense, that to become modern required giving up religious orientations and practices. Modernisation meant—and still very often means—secularisation. The recruitment stop in 1973 and the subsequent move of family members of “guest workers” to Germany shifted the interests slightly to the oppressed Muslim women, enhancing the perception of Islam as a pre-modern religion, and to questions of religious instruction for the children. After the Islamic Revolution in Iran and the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, Islamic fundamentalism and radicalism were added to the paradigms for research and analysis and dominated the literature far into the 1990s. Muslim organisations like Millî Görüş or the Caliphate State of Cemaleddin Kaplan were seen as perfect examples of political Islam, without real differentiation between the two. Again, Schiffauer’s remarkable study of the Kaplan movement (Schiffauer 2000) remained an exception. In the context of Islam and modernity, some scholars, e.g. Tibi (2000), demanded a specific “Euro-Islam”, compatible with Enlightenment, universal values and Western way of life. However, this concept appears to a certain degree as normative, and lacks so far empirical evidence, as will be seen in the paper of Şen in this volume. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, empirical studies—following qualitative approaches—gained ground, and the focus shifted to the modernisation of Islam through individualisation. Here, studies on the individual religiosity among Turkish women (Karakoşoğlu-Aydın 2000, Klinkhammer 2000, Nökel 2002) or men (Frese 2002, Tietze 2001) offer a differentiated picture of Muslim life in Germany. Individual Muslims are presented as reflective, rational, but nevertheless pious individuals who seek their places in modernity and German society. That does not mean that they are—as is often supposed—liberal reformers or insular individuals with only their own respective agenda. Most of them are pretty conservative in their religious world views, and they are in their majority closely attached to a group or embedded in a network. This change

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in perspective, however, follows a general trend in the study of religion (cf., e.g., Gabriel 1996). Recently, German politics discovered religion and religious instruction as tools for constructing stable identities and integrating especially Muslims into society. The related discourses lead to a melting of religion and culture as well as to an ethnicising of Islam. Every immigrant of a (supposed) Muslim background has therefore to positioning her- or himself to Islam, being personally a believer or not (cf. Tezcan 2006). Islam becomes the kernel of identity (see, e.g., the report of the International Crisis Group on Islam and identity in Germany 2007). Neglected are so far, following Tezcan (2003), to a large degree the specific theological and religious aspects of Islam in the German Diaspora (as exceptions, Mihçiyazgan 1994 or Schiffauer 1988). The vitality of transnational ties among the second and third generations is according to him a fact, but ignored by the thesis of a decline of being bound to the country of origin. The contributions by Pies, Pütz, Schreiber or Shanneik in this volume give evidence of this vitality. Tezcan also points to the phenomenon of organising Islam along German traditions of association and stresses the fact that this must influence religious communication among the membership in these Muslim associations.

A vivid picture of diversity—the contributions of this volume This volume is divided in seven parts, ranging from the framing of Muslim life worlds (Lebenswelten) to Islamic economies, and addressing social practice, questions of communities and identities as well as culture, media, and gender. Some papers share basic assumptions, others appear to standing more on their own (e.g. Preckel or Schwanitz—both, however, connected to each other via “jihad made in Germany”). Not all papers focus primarily on “Islamic” issues, but deal instead with rather ethnic notions (Kulinna, Pütz, Schreiber, Shanneik). What becomes, however, clearly visible is the diversity of Muslim lifes and Islam in Germany, against any alleged or perceived homogeneity, so prevalent in public discourse. Part 1 examines the framing of Muslim life worlds: What are the normative rules and regulations under which Muslims live in Germany? What are problems, and is religion the reason for them? What about the reli-

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giousness of Muslims, as perceived by them as well as in practice? Are there changes in religious belief and practice between the generations? In the opening paper, Faruk Şen looks for empirical evidence for a “Euro-Islam” in the sense of an Islamic basis for identity which is not in conflict with “Western modernity”, to proof if “Euro-Islam” is just an academic concept without substance. Based on a survey by the Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey (Zentrum für Türkeistudien) in Essen, he can show that religion is still an important part of Turkish-Islamic culture. Two out of three respondents declared to be religious, seven per cent to be strongly religious. The elderly are more religious than the younger. However, religious practices are also carried out by the younger generation as part of their identity. He observes a broadening of services of mosques and associations, as do Tezcan and Kamp in this volume. The survey shows a strong correlation between education and religiousness—supported by other quantitative studies (e.g., Wetzels/Brettfeld 2003), but for some reasons different in the Kiel survey of Eilers/Seitz/Hirschler in this volume—: higher education correlates with lesser religiousness. Age and profession seem also to be important for more modern and liberal views. Islam continues to be an important part of identity, but Şen sees a slight move among the second and third generation towards a modern-liberal orientation. Modernization, however, faces resistance among the elderly and the less educated. Nevertheless, there is no general danger of fundamentalism. According to Şen, it is not yet clear whether these observed developments lead to a distinct “Euro-Islam”. Şen’s understanding of religion and religious practices will probably not be shared by all, so, when he states that one belongs to Islam through sheer belief, or qualifies fasting, donating to the poor or observing the dietary laws as traditional practices, seeing only regular mosque visits and prayers or the pilgrimage as distinctly religious. Th e data concerning the membership in Turkish associations—giving an overwhelming majority for the DİTİB, the Turkish-Islamic Union of the Office for Religious Affairs—was recently corrected by a study of Volkhard Krech (available only online at: http://www.religion-plural.org/). But nevertheless, Şen’s paper gives interesting quantitative empirical evidence for some qualitative observations. Mathias Rohe puts his comprehensive state-of-the-art overview on legal issues in the larger frame of migration history and xenophobia. He addresses all concrete problems of Muslims in Germany—the

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building of mosques, ritual slaughtering, headscarf, religious education in public schools, and the attempts by Muslim organisations to achieve the status of Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts (corporation by public law)—from a German and European legal perspective. Rohe also examines Islamic concepts of Muslim life and legal order in a non-Muslim environment. Here, a positive evaluation of a secularised legal order by Muslims seems possible. For him, most of the existing problems of Muslims in Germany are not rooted in religion, but in education, language skills, a certain degree of xenophobia in German society and tendencies in self-segregation of Muslims. He notes that during the first times of Muslim immigration nobody cared about the beliefs of the immigrants or feared tensions on religious grounds. This has changed remarkably since 9/11. The last paper of Part 1 by Kea Eilers, Clara Seitz, and Konrad Hirschler deals with the religiousness among young Muslims in Germany, based on a survey conducted in the capital of Schleswig-Holstein, Kiel, in North Germany. During the 1970s and 1980s, religiousness was seen as a factor in order to measure the degree of integration (less religious equalling more integrated) or the intensity of political radicalism (i.e., fundamentalism) searching for the compatibility of Muslim organisations with Western democracy. In the 1990s qualitative studies prevail, but the number of quantitative studies increases. Most studies show—like Şen in this volume—a high degree of self-ascription of religiosity among Muslims, combined with a far lower degree of actual religious practice, and also an inverse relationship between school education and the intensity of religiousness (contrary to observations in qualitative studies by Klinkhammer 2000, Nökel 2002 or Jouli in this volume). The two main research questions of Eilers/Seitz/Hirschler are whether the intensity of religiousness of young Muslims decreases with an increasing duration of residence in Germany and if there is a differentiation between the self-ascription of the importance of religion (perceived religiousness) and the question of the actual ritual practice (practiced religiousness). The questionnaire was distributed in different educational institutions and a sport club frequented by Muslim youth, but not in mosques. For more than 85 per cent of the young Muslims, religion is important or very important. The duration of residence in Germany has no strong impact. The family, however, is one of the most important factors for religious socialisation and the intensity of religiousness. Contrary to other studies—like Şen’s in this volume—there

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is in the Kiel-survey only a weak correlation between religiousness and education, probably due to the structure of the sample. Most notably is the observed gap between the perceived and the practiced religiousness. As is also shown in Şen’s paper, younger Muslims in Kiel do not go often to mosques. Interestingly, those interviewees who participate in Qur’an-Schools have a higher educational degree than those who do not participate. They consider religion to a much higher degree as “very important” and practice more frequently religious rituals. Eilers/Seitz/ Hirschler explain this with the observation that religiousness plays an important role in politics of identity, thus contributing to a high rating of perceived religiousness. However, religiousness is a highly contingent, varying and diverse phenomenon, and not homogenous at all. Part 2 turns to social practices of Muslims. Here, the main focus lays on developments in the role of imams (Tezcan, Kamp) and how they meet the demands of both their communities and the non-Muslim majority society. Moreover, the role of Christian-Muslim encounter for social practices is looked at (Eissler), as well as the influence of German foreign policy since the late 19th century on Muslim ideas and practices examined, exemplified by the emergence of “jihad made in Germany” (Schwanitz). Levant Tezcan opens this part by a highly reflexive paper on governmentality, pastoral care and integration. At the core of his interest is the connection between religion and governmental techniques. His paper offers a consistent theoretical frame for the ongoing process of institutionalisation and the changing role and perception of the imam. His starting point is Nietzsche’s notion of the invention of transcendence, administered by the priest. Shmuel N. Eisenstadt’s concept of “multiple modernities” relying on ontological visions connected with religion is via Karl Jasper’s idea of “axial age” linked to this notion. Whereas Nilüfer Göle observes an “alternative modernity” among Islamist movements, especially among women, and describes the role of self-techniques carried by Islamic visions in the production of new cultural patterns (see also Jouili in this volume), Tezcan misses a linkage with the question of institutional transformations. Here, the role of the priest—as pointed at by Nietzsche—is brought into analysis through Foucault’s concept of “pastoral power”. The pastor/shepherd takes care of each sheep and the individuals are obliged to account to the priest. This pastoral power in the European Christian tradition is for Tezcan a cultural dispositif in

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the Foucauldian sense which will be exercised in encounters with new religions such as Islam. An example for this is the importance attributed to the imam in the public debate after 9/11. The imam has to take care of order and to make the community transparent and accountable. Thus, the ascribed pastoral power is immediately linked to the modern security dispositif. Tezcan turns our attention to the mosque association as a unique phenomenon in Islamic history, because a mosque is normally simply a place for praying, without membership. In Germany, the mosque becomes a social, cultural and political unit along ideological lines. Where on the Muslim side there is so far no centre—Tezcan mentions the attempts of three umbrella organisations to form a centre which in March 2007 eventually led to the establishment of the Koordinierungsrat der Muslime in Deutschland KRM, then including the Central Council of Muslims in Germany (Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland), the Islamic Council for the Federal Republic of Germany (Islamrat für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland), DİTİB, and VIKZ—, the request for a central organisation by the political and public discourse cannot be ignored. A denationalised and nationally domesticated Islam as represented by a central organisation is expected to take over the task of integration. Religion becomes therefore an important cultural tool in politics, and the imam a central actor. Imams, however, are also perceived as a risk factor (“preachers of hate”), because they are mainly imported from abroad. To comply with his tasks, the imam should stop hate sermons, learn German, and issue guidelines for young people, thus asserting preventive, controlling and integrating aspects. So, the imam is to guarantee a peaceful community and to represent the community. The migrants of Muslim background are increasingly perceived as homines religiosi, and their behaviour explained by turning to the Qur’an. Every single Muslim becomes responsible in the name of an abstract global Muslim community. The institutional framing for this is taken from the Church model as a separate and autonomous organisation, in contrast to the Islamic tradition of institutionalisation. The demand of the majority society and the interests of the mosque associations are to some degree coincident. This process is embedded in a new tendency to translate all migration issues into cultural matters, leading to assuming religion as the core of culture, due to the public visibility of religious symbols and representatives in the public sphere. For this reason, religion has been promoted as a governmental tool of multicultural society in the context of the modern security dispositif.

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Completing Tezcan’s more theoretical paper, Melanie Kamp offers a thorough analysis of the religious and social role of imams according to their duties, based on fieldwork in Berlin. She compares some aspects of their vocational biography and their self-image with their public image to better understand their religious authority. The public debate about imams assumes their impact on Muslim communities who turn their intention towards Germany and Europe. Kamp interviewed seven imams, three of Turkish and three of Arabic origin, and one German convert. In Berlin exist 70 mosques and associations for 213,000 Muslims, 50 per cent of them Turks, one-third German citizens. As a regional peculiarity in Berlin, public schools recently became a potential source of job opportunities for imams. Mosques are now often multifunctional community centres. Besides leading the prayers, preaching and teaching, imams have to do counselling and social work which is perceived by them as one of the three major tasks. Whereas in DİTİB mosques prepared sermons from Ankara are read, imams in Germany highly value the additional task of admonitory sermons (vaaz), which are not linked to the Friday prayer. Nearly all imams are self-critical with regard to their German language skills considered as insufficient for their various duties, indicating a tendency towards German as the vernacular language in Muslim communities. For the imams who are Azhar graduates (five among the interviewees) this is a source of selfesteem. Generally, the imams feel responsible for the psychological and social well-being as well as for the religious concerns of the believers— this corresponds with the pastoral power described by Tezcan. They are seen as being influential personalities, and they perceive themselves as authorities. Imams are representatives of their mosque associations in the public sphere, and also in Christian-Muslim encounters. The framing of these encounters, recent issues and perspectives are the theme of Friedmann Eissler’s contribution. He examines the “Islamic Charta” published in February 2002 by the Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (ZMD; Central Council of Muslims in Germany) and the EKD-Text 77 “Christian Faith and non-Christian Religions” of August 2003 of the Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland (EKD; Evangelical Church in Germany). The history of Christian-Muslim encounters is marked by the recruitment stop in 1973, when official encounters became frequent. In the early 1980s, the first Christlich-Islamische Gesellschaften (CIG; Christian-Islamic Societies) and some official entities (people in charge of interreligious dialogue in the churches) emerged. The Iraq-Kuwait conflict in 1991 led

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to joined initiatives to pray for peace. The events of 9/11 brought both an obvious alienation between Muslims and non-Muslims and a new interest in Islam. Eissler presents the 21 articles of the Islamic Charta in some detail: Articles 1–9 deal with theological and ethical principles, articles 10–15 address the Diaspora situation, and articles 16–21 present political confessions and a concluding catalogue of demands. As he shows, the Islamic Charta was criticised by Muslims and non-Muslims alike, also pointing to the fact that the English translation differs in central points from the German original. Especially the equality of men and women was at stake, and also the respect for the universality of Human Rights and the local legal order. Here, article 13 of the Islamic Charta states that Western core human rights are not in conflict with Islamic doctrine. It remains unclear whether doctrine means the Sharîʾa or not, or whether Human Rights are perceived as universal or not. Ahmad von Denffer from the Islamic Centre Munich, a member of the Zentralrat, spoke of unacceptable concessions and betrayal of the very basics of Islam. All this stimulated thoughts of a Muslim “double talk”, with a hidden Muslim agenda. Despite the severe criticism, the Islamic Charta has been an important signpost for a Muslim self-understanding in Germany. The EKD-Text 77 made, according to Eissler, the fundamental decision not to reflect on the manifold problems of dialogical practice, but instead to focus on the theological assessment of the Christian faith in relation to other religions. The leading critical distinctions are presented. An ecumenism of religion is rejected and also a common prayer. These positions in the paper, however, have been criticised by several theologians involved in interreligious dialogue. The text, however, is important in settling essential internal questions concerning interreligious dialogue. For Eissler, both texts deal with the dialectics of accommodation and segregation, integration and self-assertion, universal claims and particular limitations. Now, the unsettled questions on both sides are clear. The last paper in the second part by Wolfgang G. Schwanitz addresses a subject so far ignored in German-Muslim relationship, namely the re-invention of jihad by the German Foreign Office to fight the British, French, and Russian in the First World War, and the persistence of this ideology. The Deutsche Orient-Gründerjahre (German Orient founding years) started in 1884 with an intensification of the ecomomic, cultural and military relations to the Middle East. Berlin’s foreign policy in the region until 1914 emphasised maintaining the

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status quo, pertaining a secondary policy with peaceful penetration of the region, and mediating in Oriental conflicts. The main focus on the German foreign policy was Europe. At the end of the 19th century, the archaeologist and diplomat Max von Oppenheim developed a jihad-ideology aimed at mobilising Muslims in a revolution against the British, French and Russian colonialists. In 1914, the German Reich urged the Ottoman Empire to declare a jihad against England, France and Russia. To spread the jihad ideology, the Orient-Nachrichtenbüro (Orient News Department) under Max von Oppenheim was established in the Foreign Office where German scientists and Muslim scholars worked together. Germany invested money and material for pushing forward jihad by propaganda—newspapers, films, leaflets in Arabic, Turkish, French, and Greek—and conspiratorial activities. Hereby, Germans created an ideology of a global religious war. After the German defeat in 1918, the contacts to the Middle East remained vivid, and the living conditions for Muslims in Germany were quite good, allowing even for various journals and newspapers. In Berlin and other places students, intellectuals, politicians and merchants founded clubs and associations in the 1920s. The Lebanese politician Shakib Arslan, for example, established the Oriental Club in 1921. In April 1922, the Islamic Community in Berlin was founded by Abd al-Jabbir Khairi, who constructed the first mosque in Berlin-Wilmersdorf (inaugurated in 1925 and still existing) (on him in more detail see Preckel in this volume). Some Arabs, like the Great Mufti of Jerusalem, Amin al-Husaini, frequented the Nazis, but the Nazis became interested in Muslims only after the outbreak of the Second World War. Max von Oppenheim wrote a new memorandum in favour of jihad, but the German Foreign Office was divided, with the minister von Ribbentrop pro-jihad, and the secretary of state von Weizsäcker against. However, the introduction of an anti-imperial and revolutionary ideology into the Middle East by the Germans had a long lasting impact, from the Muslim Brotherhood and Sayyid Qutb to the Afghan mujahidin and Usama Bin Laden. The Germans also introduced racism in the Arab-Jewish conflict. So, Schwanitz speaks of a particular form of Islam, invented by the Germans, which he calls Euro-Islam. A reform of this type of Euro-Islam is absolutely necessary. In Part 3 issues of community formation and identities are in particular of interest. In the first paper, Nikola Tietze picks up again the Islamic Charta of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany, but from the perspective of Muslims’ collective self-description and the institutional

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recognition of Islam. Recognition, she tells us, is a social process at two levels: At the first level, the self-description by Muslims—how they describe and constitute themselves as a social group—and the ascription by the non-Muslim majority—how Muslims are identified by the dominant socio-political actors in Germany—, interacting to define the framework of public debate and institutional inclusion of Islam. This means that at a second level, Muslims are not only the victims or objects of rules and laws, but they also intervene in a process of negotiation. First, Tietze reconstructs in a historical perspective the constitution and identification of Muslims as a social group. Second, she describes the socio-political and institutional inclusion of Muslims. Here, the first focus lays at the Islamic Charta that formulated a self-understanding that other Islamic organisations could not ignore. So, in February 2005 the Central Council issued a common statement with the Islamrat (Islamic Council for the Federal Republic of Germany). Third, Tietze analyses German court decisions involving questions of Islamic practice, as evidence of how the majority structures institutional recognition for Muslims. The construction of religion as identity and culture—instead of religion as a profession and practice of faith—defi nes a far-reaching kind of difference, because it implies for Muslims as a group boundaries in every area of life, not limited to issues of religious belief and practice. The difference of the group, so Tietze, becomes an exclusive mode of justification that includes equality only as a collective category. Identity can then only be conceptualised within the group, and not as sameness in life contexts and social spheres defined by anything other than religion. “Islamic identity” becomes thus the core of self-description, and Muslims must constantly reaffirm this core through a discourse of authenticity. The German culturalised concept of religion is a central element of controversies over the institutionalisation of Islam. From a majority perspective, culturalising Islam is a means of perceiving Muslims as a group of others. Muslims become thus a minority with certain rights, but also the obligation to subordinate itself to the majority. The importance of religion for constructing boundaries is heightened; this hardly reflects the reality of religious practice in German society today. For Tietze, this form of inclusion mechanism carries Christian connotations, reminding us of Tezcan’s “pastoral power”. As a consequence, religious pluralism in Germany is hierarchically regulated: the majority tolerates its religious minorities. With regard to both the Islamic Charta and the court decisions, it becomes visible that Islam opens up a mul-

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titude of references that can interact with institutionalised normative expectations. At the core of public debates about Islam and Muslim communities is the question of Islamic instruction in public schools. This is a constant demand by Muslims, so far—with the exception of Berlin due to a specific legal situation—not met by the German länder due to the fact the Muslim associations are not recognised as Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts (corporation by public law), the legal requirement according to article 7 of the German Grundgesetz (Constitution) for religious instruction as a confessional subject in public schools. In her paper Margrete Søvik presents, first, the legal, pedagogical and political aspects of public religious instruction and the history of the debates since the 1970s. Second, she examines more closely the case of the land North-RhineWestphalia. The aspiration for public religious instruction has been a mobilising force behind the building of Islamic federations and umbrella organisations. However, Muslim organisations do not necessarily fit into the predefined space and functioning of public religion. During the 1980s, the German länder—in charge of education—opted for interim solutions: religious instruction was given as part of native language classes, organised by the consulates or by the land, officially non-confessional. In North-Rhine-Westphalia a pedagogical programme for Muslim children in Germany was introduced in 1979, developed by German scholars and the State Institute of School and Education, and used throughout the 1980s and 1990s. Debates on Islam in Europe—as being shown already in this volume by, e.g., Rohe or Tezcan—focus the separation between religion, law, and politics, being at the core of the Enlightenment process. Religion, however, remains important to notions of civility and social cohesion. Opening up the public sphere to Muslim agents on an equal footing with the churches goes beyond the question of representation and touches deep-seated notions of religion’s space. The social utility of religion is explicitly linked to its “authentic” expression and unfolds only if allowed to prosper freely without state intervention. The reluctance to recognise Muslim associations as legitimate public agents does not mean that Islam is not seen as having a function in public life. But how to adjust Islam to the predefined space and role of religion? According to Søvik, the ideal integration of Islam appears to be in the shape of a particular civic ethic, embracing liberal virtues while drawing on religion as a source of personal integrity and social responsibility. North-Rhine-Westphalia,

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like most other länder, tried a reform from above to circumvent the alleged social and political “immaturity” of Muslim organisations, and to push forward the idea of reforming teaching methods and pedagogical perspectives required for Islam, so that Islamic instruction become part of public education, an idea gaining more and more acceptance. The transmitted Islamic morality is intended to lead to a sense of security and self-esteem and, thus, to create good citizens. The contribution by Martin Sökefeld turns to a minority among the Muslim minority, namely the Alevis. Here, it is highly debated—by Alevis, Muslims, and scholars alike—, whether Alevites are a Muslim community or not. This is a religious as well as a political debate, linked to the relationships of Alevis with Islamic groups, to their positioning in the debate on Islam and immigration, and to the problem of recognition of Alevism in Turkey. Sökefeld gives a dense description of Alevism and the history of Alevis in the Ottoman Empire and Turkey. While enjoying all individual rights as citizens in modern Turkey, Alevis are not recognised as a religious group. After a first phase of labor migration to Germany, most Alevis came in two phases of politically-induced migration, related to political upheavals in Turkey and the Kurdish struggle and its repression. From the mid-1970s, many Alevis became politically active in the Turkish left in Germany. But as Alevis, they were hardly visible in Germany until the late 1980s. The break with the Alevi tradition of takiya (dissimulation of one’s religion) by the organisers of a “Alevi Culture Week” in Hamburg in October 1989 gave rise to an Alevi movement struggling for recognition in both Germany and Turkey. However, the politics of recognition is highly context-specific, as is richly illustrated by Sökefeld. In Germany, Alevis try to distinguish Alevism from the negative image of Islam and to emphasise its difference from Islam (Alevism as modern, democratic, in favour of Human and Women’s Rights, better integrated, etc.), hereby redefining Alevism. In Turkey, they struggle to be recognised in their particularity within Islam. At the end of his paper, Sökefeld explicitly stresses that the inclusion—or exclusion—of Alevism within Islam is a matter of faith and a political question. So he gives no statement on this issue, but aims instead at presenting an analysis of the debate involved. The last paper in this part 3 by Claudia Preckel looks at another minority, i.e. the South-Asian Muslims in Germany. Her contribution is the first attempt to explore a so far neglected fi eld. She tries to demonstrate the closeness of Indo-German relations and the importance of

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South-Asian Muslims in the wider Muslim community in Germany. In short biographies, Preckel also traces the diversity of this group, from scholarly movements to philosophers, from actors to freedom fighters. She starts before the First World War with the philosopher and poet Sir Muhammad Iqbal (d. 1938), the “intellectual father” of Pakistan, who studied in Heidelberg and Munich and received a doctorate there in 1907. The jihad made in Germany, as analysed by Schwanitz in this volume, also appealed to Indian Muslims seeking independence from British rule, and the Germans supported Indian freedom fighters, recruited among Indian and Afghan students. These activities, including publications, continued during the inter-war period, involving also religion. Some Indians, like Inayatullah Khan Mashriqi, later the founder of the Khaksar movement with its Nazi symbolism, were fascinated by Adolf Hitler whom he met already in 1926 by chance; they hold each other in high esteem, it seems. During the Second World War, Indian students had a difficult time in Germany. On the one hand, the German Foreign Office tried to motivate them to fight the British, on the other, Indians were denounced by Nazi racism. However, the German Wehrmacht formed an Indian Legion, also known as Tiger Legion, recruiting Indian civilians living in Germany and Indian prisoners of war. After the Second World War, Islamic scholarly movements from South Asia emerged in Germany, and Preckel presents them extensively. The Ahmadiyya movement is the oldest and of great importance, starting its missionary activities already in the 1920. It is named after Mirza Ghulam Ahmad Qadiyani (d. 1908), who is considered by the Qadiyani branch of the Ahmadiyya as a prophet—this group is considered by many Muslims as heretic. The Qadiyanis have their German headquarters in Frankfurt. The Lahore branch, which considers Mirza Ghulam Ahmad simply as a renewer, is based in Berlin. The Ahmadiyya is very active in publications and in constructing mosques. The fiercest and most violent opponent of the Ahmadiyya is the Khatm-e Nubuwwat Movement, which is banned in Germany, but presumably still active. Preckel concludes this section by presenting the missionary movement Tablighi Jamaat, which is sometimes seen as the first step to fundamentalism and radical Islam. Sections on South Asian life in German media and the internet and on some prominent people end her paper. The cultural expressions of people with a Turkish or Arab background are mostly neglected in the context of studies on Islam and Muslims in Germany and the formation of identities, despite the importance of

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cultural symbols and images for these processes. Three contributions in Part 4 shed light on filmmaking (Shafik), literature (Shanneik), and music (Wurm). The first paper in this part by Viola Shafik analyses Turkish-German filmmaking. Her starting question is whether the Turkish community may become part of German culture or if she is a distinct and marginal cultural appearance. For Shafik, cultural identity involves issues of cultural hegemony, migration, Diaspora and hybridity. The cinematic works do not reflect ‘real’ life conditions of Turks in Germany. Instead, they have to be seen as heterogeneous multivocal products of common Turkish-German, Turkish-Turkish and German-German discursive negotiations, evolving around some pivotal discourses of underdevelopment and gender-inequality, because the core of German narratives is underdevelopment or backwardness that is to be transformed into modernity. Elisabeth Beck-Gernsheim (2004: 51) notes the two powerful images of the ‘poor’ foreign (oppressed) woman and the ‘poor’ foreign (uprooted) child. The oppressed woman is at best illustrated by a Turkish woman with headscarf, as an invisible, passive, ignorant figure, a victim first of her husband and second of work conditions in capitalist society. In Turkey, auteur filmmakers present a totally different image of active, self-defined female characters. The Turkish-German filmmakers Fatih Akin and Thomas Arslan focus instead on the social marginality and the liminal existence of men. The ‘poor’ foreign child lives between two worlds, uprooted, badly educated, with no sense of belonging and thus predestined to fall into the trap of criminality and social marginality. Feridoun Zaimoglu and Jakob Arjoun, in the cinematic adaptions of their novels, celebrate the bastard existence of the Kanake—a swearword turned into a self-conferred name—and male machismo. Both are not detached from popular culture and mainstream cinema. They see their characters as sitting on all chairs, instead of being between two worlds. The films of Thomas Arslan, at the contrary, do not celebrate the bastard existence. For him, the foreign youth’s border existence almost necessarily leads to defeat. Shafik analysis several films, among them Fatih Akin’s celebrated Crashing the Wall (Gegen die Wand, 2004). This film is located in Hamburg and Istanbul and tells of a return to the so-called homeland. It is a juxtaposition of images and ways of life in Germany and Turkey. Drug abuse in Hamburg by the main male character and in Istanbul by the female creates a continuity disregarding spatial differences and visualises a strong “glocality”. The multi patchwork identity of second gener-

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ation immigrants becomes visible. The idea of return is only a metaphor of cultural difference with which they mark the multiple facets of their actual Germany-based identity rather than an actual wish to return, so Shafik. It is a cinema of inclusive ‘otherness’, an otherness of the changing same. In her paper, Yafa Shanneik examines the literary production of Arab authors in Germany. She remarks with astonishment that debates on the integration of Muslim migrants have hardly noticed the importance of this literature, even more so, given that most of it is produced in the German language and that the language of the host country is an important part of the integration and assimilation. However, migrants have also introduced cultural characteristics. To answer the question how distinctive features of Arab culture are manifested in issues these authors write about and in the style they use, Shanneik analyses two novels by the Palestinian writers Halima Alaiyan and Salim Alafenisch, supported by interviews she conducted with both of them. Complementary to their fictional and entertaining character, both novels depict Arab women and discuss their social and legal status in Arab societies. In a first step, Shanneik compares minority literature by Arab authors in different European countries and notes in comparison with Arab authors in Britain or the Netherlands several commonalities and shared characteristics. In Germany, minority literature had increased by the 1980s. This literary genre has been labelled “guest-worker”, “migration”, “migrant”, “minority”, or “crossing-boundaries” literature. At the first meeting of German and migrant authors in 1985, Rafik Shami, born in Syria, spoke of a “specifically German minority literature”. Some call it “Euro-Arab literature”. Salim Alafenisch considers himself as “a wanderer between different cultures” and sees his moral duty to inform the German readers about Arab-Islamic society and to contribute through telling stories to a better understanding of different cultures and lifestyles. In both novels, the historical, cultural and political context of the conventional image of the Arabian Orient is critically analysed. Widespread Western stereotypes and prejudices regarding the oppressed Arab women are questioned. With regard to Germany, they look at interpersonal relations and the different legal, social, economic and media aspects of life in Germany. Here, the experienced dichotomy—home versus abroad—becomes visible. The last paper of this part 4 by Maria Wurm looks at Turkish popular music and asks if this means the entertainment of a parallel society.

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She discovers no connections between Turkish pop music in Germany and so-called parallel societies (Parallelgesellschaften). Turkish youths who listen to this kind of music do not see themselves as being part of a “Turkish pop culture”. They do not want to dissociate from society, or to provoke. Instead, Turkish music is one cultural resource among others the youths use in order to design a self-image as migrant youths in Germany and to locate themselves in a society they do not feel accepted by— despite being fluent in German or getting high educational degrees—but nevertheless live in. In Part 5 the focus still lays on cultural production and its use, but shifts towards various aspects of media and media use. Judith Pies’ paper opens this part with an empirical study on media use among young Arabs, conducted with interviews in Mainz. She is interested in the relationship between media use and the integration of immigrants, thus taking up a classical question. Furthermore, she asks for media use as an indicator of cultural identity and how young people give meaning to media and its contents and to what extent they share these meanings. Media use is considered as a cultural practice, and cultural identity can then be expressed through shared strategies of interpreting and giving meaning to media and its contents. Pies underlines that three shared interpretations are striking: First, the search for orientation is a strong motive to watch German TV entertainment. The young Arabs are looking for guidelines to integrate into the German society and trying to maintain their position as a minority in it. They also want to meet new concepts of life to comparing and reviewing them. Second, ‘Heimat’ (homeland, here meaning the place of belonging) and Islam are dominant subjects. They use Arab media to keep up with developments in their native countries. This seems to be a reaction to the feeling of not being welcome or accepted as Muslims in Germany. Third, they share the criticism of the negative reporting on Islam and on the IsraelPalestine conflict in German media, and use both Arab and German media for comparisons. They feel personally attacked by the negative images produced by the German media. Therefore, it is no wonder that al-Jazeera is higher in the interviewees’ confidence than German news programs. With regard to these findings, Pies proposes to view young Arabs living in Germany as a kind of interpreting community. The way they use media indicates their cultural identity. But it is not so much the language or their shared Arab origin the reason for their shared interpretations.

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Instead, their status as migrants and/or Muslims influences their media reception. Gender, age and educational background play also a role. The young Arabs do not belong to one single interpreting community, but to several changing and overlapping ones. They all try to participate in societal debates, search for orientation in German society, and are critical towards media in general and German news in particular. Th eir integration occurs through conflict communication (Weßler 2002). The following contribution by Sabine Schiffer on Islam in German media complements Pies’ paper through a shift in perspective. Islam is rarely a topic on its own in German mass media, but covered with events drawing sufficient media attention. Thus, Islam is more and more equated with a “problem”. Media offer us access to issues we have no personal access to. However, there exists the problem that media tend to develop stereotypes. The Israel-Palestine conflict, 9/11 or Beslan are all mentioned in relation to Islam. Media coverage reveals and conceals, and is in danger to become manipulated by specific group interests. Islam is already categorised in fixed schemata, so that media do not perceive and transmit positive developments in the Islamic world. The headscarf might serve as an example: Women with headscarf are perceived as oppressed, without they are considered successful and modern. Successful women with headscarf are ignored. Events in contradiction to the schemata are declared to be exceptions from the rule, or a Trojan horse, like Tariq Ramadan, the famous Muslim intellectual. Repeated words and pictures form the image of Islam, e.g. Islamic terror or Muslim extremist. Alternative media are therefore necessary, like the project www.qantara.de. With Christoph Schumann’s paper, the focus turns to the Turkish press in Germany. Any ethnic press can be regarded as a sub-public sphere which is connected to two major national public spheres. It fulfils certain economic, societal and political functions with regard to the ethnic community. But gives it a voice to ethnic Turks in German affairs, and does it allow for Germans to speak to the Turkish community? The prevailing integration paradigm assumes an incorporation or assimilation into the host society. In this perspective, ethnic press is perceived as creating segregation or ghettoisation. In Germany, Turkish press was first introduced as an import product via air mail in 1971 (Hürriyet, Milliyet, Tercüman). In 1972 already, Hürriyet opened a printing plant in Neu-Isenburg near Frankfurt. Later it adapted to the specific needs of the Turkish community as a forum for activists and as a public actor in itself, with articles on Europe and

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Germany and on issues of the Turkish community in Germany. The responsibilities, however, for content and editorial policies remained in Istanbul. The political fragmentation in Turkey is reproduced in Germany, too, and the Turkish press here engages in debates along the various religious, political and ethnic orientations, offering broad diversity. The Turkish press, however, helped since the 1970s the Turkish immigrants to keep in contact with the developments in Turkey. Nevertheless, the flow of information functions only in one way, and the readers in Turkey learn nothing about Turkish Diaspora. With regard to the German public, Turkish newspapers are hardly noticed by German media or politicians, due to the dominant use of Turkish. But if German politicians or bureaucrats want to address the Turkish community, they use interviews with the Turkish press, qualified by Schumann as “paternalistic monologues”. The ideological fragmentation of the Turkish mediascape frustrates the emergence of a single sub-public sphere for all ethnic Turks. The actual living conditions, the problems and questions of Turkish migrants in Germany are rarely addressed. The exclusive use of Turkish in the publications will more and more hinder the inclusion of younger generations in the readership. Therefore, the future of the Turkish ethnic press in Germany seems insecure. In Part 6, the attention returns to individual actors, here to gender issues. The first paper by Jeanette Jouili analyses processes of re-fashioning the self through religious knowledge. Based on fieldwork in Cologne among Turkish and a few Arab women, socialised in Germany and with higher education, she asks how Muslim women become pious in the German Diaspora. In general, an Islamic revival among second generation Muslims in Germany, but also elsewhere in Europe, is observable. The acquisition of religious knowledge is part of a re-Islamisation process in terms of “intellectualisation” of Islam. This intellectualisation happens either individually through a self-socialisation process or more recently through the growing influence of theologians, conference speakers and preachers. Jouli emphasises that the main focus still lay on the changing discourse of Muslim women provoked by this knowledge, but not so much on the implications of Islamic knowledge for the formation of the pious self. Muslim women use different means of instructing themselves and these means of knowledge transmission constitute a distinct Islamic public characterised by its German context. Hereby, particular Islamic subjects are being formed. Religious knowledge not only forms instructed

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Muslim women, but provides the basis for becoming and acting as an “ethical Islamic subject” (Saba Mahmood). Jouili speaks here of selfrefashioning or self-reform that happens not in an isolated, individualistic mode, but inside of a specific Islamic public sphere which can be seen as a sort of “Islamic counter public sphere” with regard to the general public sphere in Germany. However, this is not an authoritarian space where these Islamic virtues are imposed. The theology and the attitudes are anti-liberal, but not anti-modern. Instead, an alternate modernity in the sense of Nilüfer Göle is striven for, in which a “rising introspection and concern for the self are the leitmotifs” (Salvatore 1998: 109). The aim is the constitution of a virtuous Muslim community within the German Diaspora. Gender justice then is Islamically defined and goes well along with wearing a headscarf. The process of transforming the inner self is also part of identity politics where the performance and visibility of the body becomes the means in the struggle for recognition. The Muslim refashioned self lives in a double tension between the larger social—and non-Muslim—environment and the Islamic community. The second paper by Verena Schreiber addresses the connectedness of gender and ethnicity in biographies of female entrepreneurs of Turkish background. Entrepreneurial activities of immigrants or people with migration background have become an important part of German economy and more women are setting up their businesses. Of the approximately 60,000 Turkish entrepreneurs in Germany one fifth are women. Not only elements of ethnicity but also gender aspects affect the entrepreneurial activities of these women; however, not in the sense of a gender specific behaviour that is found in some kind of ‘female nature’. Instead, Schreiber follows a (de)constructive approach and describes gender and ethnicity not as given but as a result of social constructions which produce and reproduce permanently gender (“doing gender”) and ethnicity in everyday life. Furthermore, she refers to studies of “Trans-Difference”, understood as “being-in-between” and describing the mutual superposition of socially constructed affiliations. Three biographical cases of female entrepreneurs of Turkish migration background illustrate how discourses of ethnicity and gender are intertwined in entrepreneurial activities. The women are producers and users of a symbolic discourse, making use of a “strategic transculturalism” and playing with ascriptions and stereotypes. Schreiber shows in some detail how boundaries between man and woman, German and Turk are constructed by the women and reproduced discursively with entrepreneurial success, depending on the respective context. Female

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actors encounter here a specific ascription of “femininity” and “masculinity” that initiates a complex management process of multiple designs of gender. The seventh and last part of the present volume continues the line of the contribution of Verena Schreiber and focuses on transcultural business activities, ethno-marketing and Islamic financing transactions. Robert Pütz opens this part by taking up Schreiber’s notion of the strategic potential of “transculturality” for entrepreneurial activities of Turks in Germany. Based on fieldwork in Berlin, Pütz examines three issues after a short historical review of Turkish migration to Germany: What are the reasons and conditions for business start-ups by Turkish immigrants and/or their descendants, how do they develop and what macro analytical explanations for this can be given? How can the relation between ethnicity and entrepreneurship be conceptualised? What role does “ethnicity” play in the entrepreneur’s action? Legal conditions, mainly the legal status of residence, experienced discrimination on the labour market or in housing, the higher rate of unemployment and general the conditions on the labour market are the main reasons for immigrants of Turkish background to set up their own business and to become entrepreneurs. Being self-employed is a survival strategy. In most cases, Turkish entrepreneurs seek niches for their economic activities. Families run the majority of the companies and shops, be it with members of the core family or with relatives. Ethnic networks—people from the same village, town, or region—are regularly mobilised and used. Thus, economic activities and relations are closely connected with the social ones. Transculturality is a daily practice, used strategically for success. In the second paper of Part 7, Matthias Kulinna changes the perspective and analyses how German enterprises target Turks as specific consumers and customers. In the United States, this is called target group marketing, in Germany one speaks of ethnomarketing, applied here to people who are constructed as “Turks” or “German-Turks”. Kulinna uses a constructivist theoretical approach for researching ethnic construction. He describes the socio-economic and scientific context of ethnic marketing in Germany and the United States, before presenting his empirical findings. The leading questions are: How do the marketing departments of companies and their agents create their target groups as ‘Turkish’? How do they construct and utilise ethnicity?

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Many different ethnic attributions for “German-Turks” are circulating in German society bringing about the ultimate ill fate for ethnic marketers. The substantial emptiness of the construction of “being German-Turkish” makes it difficult to create an attractive yet uncontroversial form of ethnic marketing. But ethnomarketing in Germany is nevertheless quite successful, due to the “feeling of not being accepted in Germany”, widespread among immigrants of Turkish origin. Ethnomarketing can help to compensate for this feeling, because in most cases it values those people. Understanding this mechanism—and not believing in natural ethnic distinctions—it is not difficult, according to Kulinna, to successfully practice ethnomarketing in Germany without applying any stupid or racial ethnic construction. Part 7—and the whole volume—concludes with Kilian Bälz’ remarks on the enforcement of Islamic financial transactions in European courts. This issue is important for practitioners in the field of structuring and drafting of Islamic financial transactions, because Islamic financing techniques are no longer confined to the Middle East and South Asia, but practised for example in London and Geneva, by now the centres of Islamic finance worldwide. Furthermore, the globalisation of Islamic financing transactions encourages respective litigation. Bälz examines in a first part two more recent English cases, before addressing in a second part the issues discussed by the English courts from the perspective of German law, hereby complementing the Common law perspective with that of a civil law tradition. In a third part, he discusses practical questions of how to draft Sharîʾa compliant agreements, which can also be enforced in a European court. His focus lays on so-called murabaha agreements, a resale with a stated profit which allows banks to circumvent interest (riba), forbidden in Islamic law. Bälz shows that English law courts will enforce a murabaha agreement on the basis of a literal interpretation of its wordings and cannot be expected to enter into any discussion relating to Sharî’a law, because English law require that reference is made to a specifi c “black letter” rule. Reference to the Sharîʾa as such is thus too vague. However, if a murabaha agreement is properly drafted, an incorporation of non-English law is generally possible. The same holds true for Germany. Here, it is possible to refer to a certain set of rules or standards making them part of the agreement, even if the rules as such would not qualify as law in the positivist sense. It is also possible to stipulate in the contract to submit the dispute to arbitration and to safeguard that the arbitrators are experts in Islamic law and, more important, in Islamic banking

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practices. German courts are more likely to explore Sharîʾa concepts than English courts. In any case, it is recommendable to be as precise as possible in defining what is meant by a specific reference to the Sharî’a, and who has the right to define substantially the Islamic legal rules referred to.

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Tibi, Bassam. 2000. Der Islam in Deutschland. Muslime in Deutschland. Stuttgart, München. Deutsche Verlagsanstalt. Tietze, Nikola. 2001. Islamische Identitäten. Formen muslimischer Religiosität junger Männer in Deutschland und Frankreich. Hamburg: Hamburger Edition HIS. Weßler, Hartmut. 2002. Multiple Differenzierung und kommunikative Integration— Symbolische Gemeinschaften und Medien. In Integration und Medien. Edited by Kurt Imhof, Otfried Jarren and Roger Blum. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag: 56–76. Wetzels, Peter/Brettfeld, Katrin. 2003. Auge um Auge, Zahn um Zahn? Migration, Religion und Gewalt junger Menschen. Eine empirisch-kriminologische Analyse der Bedeutung persönlicher Religiosität für Gewalterfahrungen,—einstellungen und—handeln muslimischer junger Migranten im Vergleich zu Jugendlichen anderer religiöser Bekenntnisse. Münster: LIT. Wohlrab-Sahr, Monika. 1999. Konversion zum Islam in Deutschland und den USA. Frankfurt/Main, New York: Campus. Zentrum für Türkeistudien. 1995a. Türkische Muslime in NRW (Endbericht zur Studie “Dialog mit einer neu etablierten religiösen Minderheit in NRW”, türkische Muslime und deutsche Christen im Gespräch unter besonderer Berücksichtigung einer Bestandsaufnahme des christlich-islamischen Dialogs und der türkisch-islamischen Dachorganisation). 2., überarb. Aufl., Düsseldorf: Ministerium für Arbeit, Gesundheit, und Soziales des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen, Juni 1995. ——. 1995b. Islamische Organisationen der türkischen, marokkanischen, tunesischen und bosnischen Minderheiten in Hessen, o.O.: o.V., Mai 1995 (im Auftrag des Büros für Einwanderer und Flüchtlinge im Hessischen Ministerium für Umwelt, Energie, Jugend, Familie und Gesundheit)

PART I

FRAMING OF MUSLIM LIFE WORLDS LEBENSWELTEN

EUROISLAM: SOME EMPIRICAL EVIDENCES Faruk Şen

1. “Clash of Civilizations” or “Euro-Islam”? Samuel P. Huntington’s book The Clash of Civilizations, written in the mid-1990s and covering a broad spectrum, has had various effects and is still causing much debate (Huntington, 1996). Under the impact not only of the events of 9–11 but also of the Indian-Pakistani and IsraeliPalestinian conflicts, the book has regained attention. With religiouscultural borders being set and political antagonisms mounting in the international political arena, a so-called “alliance against terrorism” emerged that was not based mainly on cultural or religious factors. Huntington’s scenario, apart from the questions he raised or his explanation and its plausibility, describes the extreme poles in the interpretation of cultural conflicts. Cultural clashes occur between modern Western environments and alternative cultural systems which defend themselves from the Western system. Consequently, these other original systems with their different values try to forge new routes of development for themselves. In the past few years, the opposite position to Huntington’s theory has developed. In brief, it contends that the emphasis on cultural, religious and ethnic peculiarity comes from groups in the global society that have not been able to partake in the positive effects of globalization.1

1 See Inglehard, Roland (1995): Changing Values, Economic Development and Political Change. In: International Social Science Journal: 379–403. In a worldwide study, Inglehard found that: (1) the cultural changes which have been occurring in all world regions follow a similar pattern; and (2) the speed at which the cultural changes are occurring and the economic developments which are taking place are correlated. According to his results, the patterns which can be observed in cultural changes are not random. Moreover, in every society an increase in economic performance has fostered a tendency to move away from traditional values along with greater acceptance of the state. These results underline the significance of the above-described debate, and of the idea of a modern Islam as a long-term sustainable social development.

34

faruk Şen 2. Between Huntington and World Society

Both these extreme positions are far from reality. To be more precise, individuals can create a framework for intercultural understanding and integration in a society through explicit discussions and mutual acceptance. This encompasses collective dispositions and identities along with individual factors and societal fragmentation. Based on this theory, Bassam Tibi’s notion of “Euro-Islam” gains much weight as well as support.2 At this point, the question is: What is the nature of an acceptance of Islam which simultaneously can act as a basis for identity but not collide with “Western modernity,” and under what conditions can such an acceptance of Islam be developed in the Western countries? The most important question of all is whether there is empirical evidence that such an acceptance of Islam has substance, or whether Euro-Islam is just a concept created by academics. This paper aims to explore the last question in light of changes in the acceptance of Islam affecting the Muslims in Germany. Are these types of attitudes present, or have they merely passed over the host country? The latter is not impossible; the communication between immigrants and natives—both Muslims and Christians—in close living conditions is not always ideal. According to Matthes, this difficulty stems from deep socio-historical factors in Europe: “the ability to process strangeness or foreignness into behavioural forms and translate the experience does not seem to be keeping pace with the increasing experience of foreignness.”3 He argues that the European principle of culture and the territorial differentiation of “foreign” and “Self ” are rooted in the deepest layers of everyday life, affecting everyday expectations of the world under the new conditions. Thus, the current European world has lost something it used to possess, namely the understandings and norms that facilitated coexistence between foreigners and natives.4

2 See Tibi, Bassam (1991): Der Islam und das Problem der kulturellen Bewältigung sozialen Wandels. Frankfurt am Main; Tibi, Bassam (2000): Fundamentalismus im Islam: Eine Gefahr für den Weltfrieden? Darmstadt. 3 “Die Fähigkeit, die Erfahrung von Fremdheit zu verarbeiten und in Verhaltensformen zu übersetzen, scheint mit der Vermehrung dieser Erfahrung nicht Schritt zu halten.” See Matthes, Joachim: Wie steht es um die interkulturelle Kompetenz der Sozialwissenschaft? In: Michael Bommes (Hg.): Transnationalismus und Kulturvergleich (IMIS—Beiträge 15/2000): 13. 4 “Das europäische Prinzip der kulturellen und territorialen Sortierung von Fremdem und Eigenem hat sich bis in die ‘tiefsten’ Schichten des Alltagslebens und des Alltags-

euro-islam: some empirical evidences

35

The debate on Euro-Islam, then, concerns the basic grounds of coexistence and is interpreted as reflecting the failure of integration of the Muslims in Germany. Islam is portrayed as the underlying reason for the German public’s fears of fundamentalism and of the marginalization of the basic political and social values of the majority population (ZFT, 1999). However, the chances and risks of living together are linked to the critical elements of ethno-religious identity, various forms and contexts of Islam as a way of life, and the effects of integration and fragmentation.

3. Islam in Germany In the German public eye and in the relevant literature, the main reasons for problems of Muslims’ integration are cultural and religious differences. Often, Islam and Muslims in host countries are compared to the countries in the world where the religion is practiced in fundamentalist fashion. This has increased particularly since 9–11. However, it is neglected that in many Islamic countries there is a separation between state and religion, as has been the case in Turkey since 1923. Although there has been Muslim immigration to Turkey for forty years, the knowledge of Islam in German society is very limited. Even the notion that all Turks believe in and practice Islam is incorrect. Muslims differentiate themselves in the way they practice their religion as Christians differentiate themselves. Muslims, too, have different forms of rules and regulations as to how they practice their religion, and this varies both in degree of orthodoxy and in strength of belief. Islam does not, however, have comparable hierarchical or organizational structures to Christianity and Christian churches. What all the forms of Islam do share are: the Koran, the five pillars, and the heritage of Prophet Mohammed as interpreted (sunna and hadith) by Muslim scholars. There is no such thing as formal membership or formal entrance rituals like christening and confirmation in Christianity. One belongs to Islam through sheer belief. However, Islam does not

wissens hinein in die Vorstellungs- und Handlungswelt der Europäer eingelassen. Im Zuge dieser Entwicklung hat die neuzeitliche europäische Welt etwas verloren, worüber sie zuvor durchaus verfügte: ein Verständigungs- und Regelwerk für die Koexistenz mit Fremdem im ‘eigenen Haus,’ in räumlicher Mischung.” Ibid.

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faruk Şen

differentiate between the sacred and the profane and it plays a more central role in a believer’s daily life. Because of the latter factor, the religion has greatly influenced the identity and lifestyle of Turkish Muslims. 1. The Organizational Structure of Islam in Germany The Islamic community in Germany has no official rights as a religious community, which would allow them to open schools or to organize social activities that are sponsored or financially supported by the German government. Therefore, for Muslims to pursue their interests in Germany the various representatives of the organizations that are registered as Einzelverbände (single associations), Dachverbände (roof organizations) or Spitzenverbände (“peak” or head organizations) must collaborate with each other. Collectively they defend the Muslims against the majority, but among themselves there are misunderstandings and disputes. However, these organizations are not the classical type that one finds in Germany. Instead, these organizations root in the traditions of Islamic foundations, which offer services regardless of membership. Currently, about 2,400 mosque communities exist in Germany. The majority of these belong to Turkish-Muslim organizations, mainly because of the infrastructural advantage that they have (i.e. an educated imam, the availability of written material, and help with bureaucratic problems). There are a number of unions which do not belong to a larger group or organization. It is estimated that about 15 percent of the Sunni Muslims are organized. There is no compulsory membership of these organizations, and families can use the services and take part in the leisure activities they offer without being members. 2. The Arrangements of the Mosque Unions The mosque unions fulfil a wide spectrum of duties from political and cultural to religious. Islam in Germany is Turkish-dominated because Turkish immigrants form the largest minority group. Neither the relatively big community of the Alevi Turks nor the minority Shiite Muslims are represented in the larger unions. However, the Alevi Turks have formed their own union and are trying to establish a second one. Until the 1980s, the religious unions were strongly oriented to fulfilling the needs of the first generation of immigrants. In addition, most unions were oriented to Turkey, on which their worldwide and religious interests centred. The aim was to create a comfortable situation

euro-islam: some empirical evidences

37

for the immigrants in non-Muslim Germany and provide them space to practice their religion as well as assistance with any religion-related questions. During the 1980s, the mosque unions began to assume other duties such as social and transnational issues. Nowadays the services these groups offer are based on the understanding that Turkish immigrants are in Germany to stay. In addition, most of the unions have adopted political positions while becoming less radical. Nearly all the groups show willingness for dialogue with German institutions and promote integration politics while opposing fundamentalist trends. Generally the unions offer not only Koran lessons but also religious education and spiritual guidance as needed. These include support and assistance with funerals, marriages, circumcisions and pilgrimage to Mecca. They also offer continuing-education courses, recreational activities, social advice and organize sport, cultural and informational events which cover a wide range of subjects. Two Spitzenverbände (head organizations) are trying to dominate the others by seeking to represent the whole spectrum of unions. These are the Islamrat für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Islamic Council for the Republic of Germany) and the Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (Central Council of Muslims in Germany). The former is considered a more conservative organization. For the past few years, these two unions have been co-operating. In addition, other unions are trying to establish themselves on this level but their membership is uncertain in number and unstable. Table 1: Turkish-Islamic Organizations in Germany Organization

Aim and profile

Relations with Turkey

DİTİB (Turkish Islamic Union Organization for Religion)

Supports secular stance of Turkish state, under the supervision of the Turkish religious council; imams sent from Turkey. The creation of a proper order and an Islamic state in Turkey through the constitution. It is regarded as strongly Islamic with strong emphasis on preserving the Turkish culture in Germany.

Linked to National steering committee for religious affairs in Turkey

IGMG (Islamische Gemeinschaft Millî Görüs, e.V., Islamic Community, National View Union)

Formerly linked to Virtue Party (FP)

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faruk Şen

Table (cont.) Organization

Aim and profile

Relations with Turkey

VIKZ (Verband der islamischen Kulturzentren e.V., “Süleymancis,” Union of the Islamic Culture)

The establishment of a traditional orthodox Islam in the framework of a secular state system, conservative-Islamic.

Süleymanci movement

ICCB (Verband der Islamischen Vereine und Gemeinden e.V., “Kaplancis,” Union of Islamic Groups and Communities)

The establishment of a caliphate-state, strongly fundamentalist (has been banned).

Separation from IGMG, formerly links to the Virtue Party

Jama’at un-Nur Köln e.V., NurculukMovement

The establishment of a Nurculuk movement traditional orthodox Islam in the framework of a secular state system, religious reform movement.

ADÜTDF (Föderation der TürkischDemokratischen Idealistenvereine in Europa e.V., “Graue Wölfe,” Promotion of Turkish Democratic Idealism in Europe, “Grey Wolves”)

Turkish-Islamic synthesis, Nationalist Movement nationalist, devoted to Party (MHP) establishing a great Turkish nation, very politically oriented

ATIB (Union der Combination of Islamic and Separation from Türkisch-IslamistiTurkish nationalism, strong ADÜTDF schen Kulturvereine emphasis on Islam. in Europa e.V., Union of Turkish Culture Community in Europe) AABF (Föderation der Aliviten Gemeinden in Europa e.V., Federation of the Alevi Turks Union in Europe)

Favor sustaining the secular Alevi Turks world order, the promotion of Alevism among the Alevi Turks in Germany to protect against “Sunnization,” a secular legal state.

euro-islam: some empirical evidences

1

0%

7,0

64,6

10%

20%

Very religious

30%

40% Religious

39

25,5

50%

60%

Not Religious

70%

80%

3,3

90%

100%

Not at all religious

Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

Figure 1: Degree of Religious Belief (percentage).

3. The Role of Religion in Everyday Life According to a survey carried out by the Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey in October 2000, various religious influences affect the daily lives of Turkish immigrants in Germany. The survey questioned two thousand immigrants of Turkish origin on their degree of religious belief, religious orientation and the organizational structure of the Muslim union in Germany to which they belong. Differences between the generations of immigrants emerged. The majority of Turkish immigrants in Germany, of whom 93 percent are Muslims (88 percent of these Sunni, 11 percent Alevi), defi ne themselves as religious. Two-thirds describe themselves as religious and 7 percent as strongly religious. A quarter of the immigrants say that they are unreligious and 3 percent describe themselves as not religious at all. The older generation tends to be more religious than the younger. Whether this is linked to general changes in values or to the life-cycle

40

faruk Şen

phenomenon is not clear at this stage. Related to age, there is also a connection between length of residence and religiosity: The longer the subjects have lived in Germany, the more religious they feel. In other words, being in a non-Muslim environment does not appear to weaken bonds to the religious heritage. How does the religion affect everyday life? What significance does it have for these Muslims? Religious practices are also carried out by the younger generation, even though most describe themselves as not very religious. This is an indication that the religious rituals and customs also have a cultural effect and are not solely related to religion. Those in the younger generation do not see themselves as religious, have developed strong ties to Germany and do not consider returning to Turkey. Yet they holds onto aspects of the religion because it is part of their identity. In particular, traditional practices like fasting, donating to the poor, taking part in Eid al-Adha and observing the dietary laws are generally not considered religious matters. However, regular mosque visits and prayer, and pilgrimage to Mecca, are seen as distinctly religious. Table 2: Frequently* Performed Religious Acts According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics (Percentage, Multiple Answers) Age

Fast

Daily prayer

Friday prayer

Holy feast prayer

Donation

18–29 30–45 46–60 60 +

77.4 76.8 83.4 82.5

20.8 32.5 54.3 65.5

19.8 26.1 43.1 61.7

29.6 36.1 49.7 66.1

65.7 83.5 86.6 92.6

Total

78.7

35.9

30.3

39.1

79.5

Age

Regular visit to mosque

Pilgrimage

Observing Taking part dietary in Eid laws al-Adha

18–29 30–45 46–60 60 +

13.0 16.3 38.4 50.0

54.7 59.5 71.3 68.3

88.9 88.1 90.0 89.2

82.4 75.4 82.5 84.2

Total

22.4

61.3

88.7

79.5

* Combined category “always” and “often.” Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

euro-islam: some empirical evidences Girls and boys should not be mixed in sport lessons and school trips

11,9

A Muslim woman should wear a head scarf in public

13,7

I would not have a Problem if my daughter would marry a Non Muslim

18,2

I would not have a Problem if son would marry a Non Muslim

18,6

0%

10%

6,8

64,5

14,9

13,5

25,2

18,4

Agree fully

30%

Agree

50%

Do not agree

14,5

34,2

25,5

40%

1,9

34,7

23,5

15,9

20%

41

6,5

31,2

60%

70%

Fully reject

6,3

80%

90%

100%

No comment

Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

Figure 2: Evaluation of Religious-Conservative and Modern Statements (percentage).

4. Religious Orientation Research does not indicate clearly to what extent religion, fundamentalism or clarification of orientation one is confronted with in migrant society. According to Heitmeyer, around 30–50 percent of the younger Muslim generation show signs of Islamic fundamentalism in their behaviour (Heitmeyer, 1997). Öztoprak, however, finds that there is not much difference regarding the hierarchical structure of values between the German and Turkish youth. Mainly among the Turkish youth who live in the close-knit Berlin community, there is a distinctive conservatism regarding values and religious orientation (Öztoprak, 1997). To gauge the extent to which young Muslim immigrants of Turkish origin consider themselves to be religious-conservative or modern, a questionnaire with a list of four questions was prepared regarding

42

faruk Şen

interreligious marriage, mixed sport lessons and women wearing headscarves in public. The subjects showed a rather liberal attitude towards the latter two questions regarding co-educational sports lessons and women wearing headscarves in public. However, most did not accept the idea of their children marrying non-Muslims. Although the subjects generally took views which can be considered modern rather than highly religious, once again there are differences between the first and second generations. The latter takes a more open stance towards religion. Nevertheless, for many of them religion is a substantial part of the Turkish-Islamic culture. Educational level also strongly influences attitudes towards religion. The higher the education level, the more people tend towards modern views. However, age and migration also play a role, and all these factors need to be seen as a whole. Education also affects job status and, hence, perceptions. Workers tend to be more conservative about religion, whereas professionals and entrepreneurs tend to have more modern views. Two conclusions emerge from these results. Despite the continuation of Muslim identity in the second and third generations of Turks in Germany, they are moving towards a modern-liberal orientation. However, as Heitmeyer highlights, there is also a dangerous tendency to fundamentalisn among the youth. At the same time, the Muslim identity is deeply affected by educational level, implying that it is also influenced by economic and social situation. 5. Religiosity of Organizations How does the acceptance of Islam influence the religious organizations among the various generations? A survey carried out in October 2000 questioned the usage and the position towards the Islamic organizations. The majority of those questioned (55 percent) do visit a certain mosque to pray or attend festivals, but only 65 percent of these are registered as formal members. That results in 36 percent of the total Turkish Muslim population being a formal member of a mosque.

euro-islam: some empirical evidences

43

Table 3: Evaluation of Religious Items (Median)* According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics

Age 18–29 30–45 46–60 60 +

Gender Headscarf Son-inseparation law

Daughter- Summary in-law index

1.51 1.65 1.79 1.91

Reason for migration Guest worker/ 1.90 labourer (Gastarbeiter) Asylum 1.18 Family 1.62 reunification Education 1.41 Born in 1.40 Germany Total

1.61

1.90 2.08 2.21 2.36

2.63 2.87 2.87 2.98

2.59 2.80 2.79 2.89

1.98 2.16 2.30 2.36

2.29

2.86

2.77

2.29

1.67 2.10

2.67 2.92

2.67 2.85

2.05 2.20

1.71 1.68

2.46 2.41

2.41 2.36

1.84 1.81

1.99

2.77

2.71

2.09

* Mid-point on scale of 1 = not at all religious-conservative to 4 = very religiousconservative. Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey. 70 64,1 60 50 40

35,9

30 20 10 0 Member

No Member

Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

Figure 3: Membership of a Mosque Organization (percentage).

44

faruk Şen Table 4: Membership of Mosque Organizations According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics (Split Percentage)

Age 18–29 30–45 46–60 60 + Reason for migration Guest worker/labourer (Gastarbeiter) Asylum Family re-unification Education Born in Germany

Member

All questioned

20.8 42.9 28.6 7.7

30.2 41.6 22.4 5.9

32.6

24.1

0.3 55.1 0.7 9.9

1.8 53.1 1.9 16.7

Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

In the 18–29 age group, a lower percentage were members of mosque organizations. For the older subjects, the converse was true; indeed, guest workers had the highest proportion of members among all immigrants. Those born in Germany are seldomly members. The majority of mosque-organization members who were questioned (71 percent) were members of organizations belonging to DİTİB. This is a total of 26 percent of the questioned. Worth mentioning is the mosqueorganization membership of the Millî Görüş union, which is around 8 percent. Of all the questioned, only 3 percent are organized here as members. Around 5 percent of the mosque-organization members and 2 percent belong to the conservative-orthodox VIKZ. The AABF organizes 2 percent of the members and 0.6 percent of all Turkish Muslims. The majority of DİTİB members consider themselves religious, and the members are mainly men who have been resident in Germany for a very long time and those who came to Germany as labourers. IGMG is the union for those who consider themselves strongly religious. More members of this union are women, younger and German-born. For example, 11 percent of the 18–29 age group who are organized Muslims are IGMG members, a total of 3 percent of Turkish migrants in this age range. IGMG takes a strongly conservative political stance. VIKZ, which espouses orthodox Islam but without a political stance, is very

euro-islam: some empirical evidences

45 72,1

DİTİB IGMG

8,3

VIKZ

4,5

ATIB

2,5

No Roof Association

1,9

CEM-Foundation

1,9

AABF

1,7

ADÜTDF 0,7 Jama’at un-Nur 0,4 ICCB 0,3 ANF 0,1 3,3

Other 0

10

20

30

40

50

60

70

80

Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

Figure 4: Membership of Roof Associations of Mosque Organizations (percentage); for the explanation of the various unions, see also Table 1 on pp. 37–38.

male-dominated and has a disproportionate number of members aged 30–45 and 60 and over. 6. No General Danger of Fundamentalism The above outcomes show the difficulty in generalizing the results regarding the danger of fundamentalism among the second and third generations. The fact that the younger people have a more modernliberal orientation to religion indicates that they are less likely to be members of religious organizations. The minority that can be classified as conservative-religious mainly consists of members of doctrinaire mosque organizations. Whether the above findings imply a danger of fundamentalism is debatable. It would not be a general trend, but rather would involve those youth who do not appear to have strong prospects.

46

faruk Şen Table 5: Members of Selected Roof Associations and Total Membership According to Socio-Demographic Characteristics (Split Percentage—Median) Roof association

Members

Total All members Muslims

DİTİB

IGMG

VIKZ

86.6 13.4

92.2 7.8

94.3 5.7

84.0 16.0

2.4

2.6

2.6

2.4

Gender Male Female

54.7 45.3

50.8 49.2

57.1 42.9

53.5 46.5

48.6 51.4

Age 18–29 30–45 46–60 60 + Average age

19.7 40.6 31.6 8.1 41.8

28.6 54.0 17.5

22.9 48.6 11.4 17.1 39.8

21.8 42.7 27.8 7.7 40.7

30.2 41.6 22.4 5.9 38.1

11.8 26.5 50.0 11.8 22.0

6.0 28.5 54.8 10.7 22.9

7.7 28.6 52.8 9.6 22.1

Religious orientation Religious Not religious Index of religious perspective*

35.5

Length of residence in Germany (years) 4–9 4.4 13.8 10–20 27.9 36.9 21–30 56.3 40.0 30 + 11.4 9.2 Average length of 23.4 20.2 residence in years

72.0 28.0 2.15

Reason for migration Guestworker (Gastarbeiter) Asylum Family reunification Education Born in Germany

33.9

18.8

28.6

32.3

24.1

0.2 53.9 0.9 9.7

— 65.6 — 14.1

— 57.1 — 11.4

0.4 54.5 0.6 10.6

1.8 53.1 1.9 16.7

Ties to country Turkey Germany Both countries

50.9 13.6 33.2

35.9 20.3 43.8

48.6 11.4 40.0

48.8 15.2 33.8

40.4 19.0 35.4

* Summary Index of attitudes towards religious statements on scale of 1 = not at all religious-conservative to 4 = very religious-conservative. Source: Foundation Centre for Studies on Turkey.

euro-islam: some empirical evidences

47

4. Conclusion: Is Euro-Islam an Empirical Fact? The above results indicate that Euro-Islam is a substantial entity. It is important to note that the virtually coerced modernization of the Muslim population in Germany has resulted neither in a solidification of traditional religious understanding nor in an abandonment of Islam. But Modernization faces resistance among the elderly and the less educated. Actively encouraging a European, pluralistic Islam among the Muslim immigrants in Germany would bring many benefits including better political integration.5 However, Islam in other EU countries shows various differences which are linked to the countries of origin. Whether future developments will lead to a new and authentic form of Islam, maybe a common Euro-Islam among Muslims in Europe, or whether this will remain a normative setting is not yet clear at this early stage.

References Heitmeyer, Wilhelm et al. (1997): Verlockender Fundamentalismus. Frankfurt am Main. Hunter, Shireen (Ed.) (2002): Islam, Europe’s Second Religion: The New Social, Cultural, and Political Landscape. Westport, CT and London. Huntington, Samuel P. (1996): The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York. Inglehard, Ronald (1995): Changing values, economic development and political change. In: International Social Science Journal: 379–403. Maréchal, Brigitte (coord.) (2002): L’Islam et les musulmans dans l’Europe élargie: Radioscopie (A Guidebook on Islam and Muslims in the Wide Contemporary Europe). Louvain-La-Neuve. Ministerium für Arbeit, Gesundheit und Soziales des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen (Hg.) (1997): Türkische Muslime in Nordrhein-Westfalen. Endbericht zur Studie “Dialog mit einer neu etablierten religiösen Minderheit in NRW, türkische Muslime und deutsche Christen im Gespräch unter besonderer Berücksichtigung einer Bestandsaufnahme des christlich-islamischen Dialogs und der türkisch-islamischen Dachorganisationen”, 3. völlig überarbeitete Neuauflage, erstellt vom Zentrum für Türkeistudien. Düsseldorf. Öztoprak, Ümit (1997): Wertorientierungen türkischer Jugendlicher im Generationenund Kulturvergleich. In: Reulecke, Jürgen (Hg.): Spagat mit Kopftuch.Hamburg: 418–454.

5 See also Şen, Faruk and Halm, Dirk (2000): Ethnisch-religiöse Differenz, Integration und Desintegration: Zur gesellschaftspolitischen Bedeutung des islamischen Religionsunterrichts in Deutschland. In: Bildung und Erziehung. (4): 397–409.

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Schmied, Martina (1999): Familienkonflikte zwischen Scharia und bürgerlichem Recht. Konfliktlösungsmodell im Vorfeld der Justiz am Beispiel Österreichs. Frankfurt am Main, Berlin, Bern, Brüssel, New York, Wien. Şen, Faruk u. Aydın, Hayrettin (2002): Islam in Deutschland. München. Şen, Faruk u. Halm, Dirk (2000): Ethnisch-religiöse Differenz, Integration und Desintegration. Zur gesellschaftspolitischen Bedeutung des islamischen Religionsunterrichts in Deutschland. In: Bildung und Erziehung. (4): 397–409. Stiftung Zentrum für Türkeistudien (2003): Türkische Migration in Österreich. Demographische Daten und wirtschaftliche Fakten, Essen. Strobl, Anna (2002): Austria. In: Maréchal, Brigitte (coord.): L’Islam et les musulmans dans l’Europe élargie: Radioscopie (A Guidebook on Islam and Muslims in the Wide Contemporary Europe). Louvain-la-Neuve: 13–19. Strobl, Anna (1997): Islam in Österreich. Eine religionssoziologische Untersuchung. Frankfurt am Main. Tibi, Bassam (1991): Der Islam und das Problem der kulturellen Bewältigung sozialen Wandels. Frankfurt/Main. Tibi, Bassam (2000): Fundamentalismus im Islam. Eine Gefahr für den Weltfrieden?. Darmstadt. Tibi, Bassam (2003): Im Schatten Allahs. Der Islam und die Menschenrechte. München. Zentrum für Türkeistudien ZFT (1999): Bestandsaufnahme der Potentiale und Strukturen von Selbstorganisationen von Migrantinnen und Migranten türkischer, kurdischer, bosnischer und maghrebinischer Herkunft in Nordrhein-Westfalen. In: Ministerium für Arbeit, Soziales und Stadtentwicklung, Kultur und Sport des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen (Hg.): Selbstorganisationen von Migrantinnen und Migranten in Nordrhein-Westfalen. Wissenschaftliche Bestandsaufnahme. Düsseldorf: 75–127.

ISLAMIC NORMS IN GERMANY AND EUROPE Mathias Rohe

1. Introduction The widespread and stable presence of Muslims in Germany and vast parts of Europe is a given fact. Most of these Muslims have an immigration background, although many of them have been born in Europe and more and more are obtaining the citizenship of the country they are living in. At the present time there is an estimated number of more than 3 million Muslim inhabitants—nearly one million will German citizenship—, in comparison to a total of 82 million.1 This is one of the largest Muslim populations within the European Union aside from France (about 5 million) and Britain (about 1.6 million). The majority of Muslims (about 2.2 million) presently living in Germany are of Turkish origin. Since the 60s of the past century, hundreds of thousands of so-called Gastarbeiter (guest workers) were attracted to work in Germany, many of them Turkish nationals. Therefore in sum, Islamic life in Germany is very much of a Turkish character. Besides that, there was a continuous immigration of well-educated people from the Middle East (physicians, engineers etc., mainly from Syria, Lebanon, Iran and Afghanistan), but of a limited number. A third motivation of Muslim immigration to the country was the search for asylum. Their countries of origin are mainly to be found in the Middle East, the Indian subcontinent and Northern Africa; since the wars in the Balkans, many refugees have fled from Bosnia, Albania, Macedonia and Kosovo. In addition to that, there are Muslim merchants, students and scientists living in the country for a shorter or longer period. Among the Muslims in Germany, there is a majority of Sunni-orientated persons, but also significant groups of Twelver-shiʾis (of Iranian, Lebanese and Iraqi origin) which may reach 150,000 persons as well as an estimated number of 500,000 Alevis, mostly from Turkey, not to

1 For recent data on Muslim life in Germany cf. Deutscher Bundestag (German Federal Parliament), Stand der rechtlichen Gleichstellung des Islam in Deutschland, BTDrucksache 16/5033 (18.04.2007)

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forget some 30,000 Ahmadis from Pakistan, the oldest organised Muslim group in Germany. As everywhere in the world, their opinions and beliefs range from a very devout to a mere cultural link to Islam; Sufism is widespread, especially among the Turks. Most of the immigrants initially planned to stay in Germany only for a couple of years, to earn some money for a suitable existence in the home-country or to find temporary refuge until the political situation in their country of origin would improve. German legislators and administration tended to share these expectations. Therefore Muslims—except for the initially relatively small number of those seeking German citizenship—behaved and were treated as temporary guests. Consequently neither of the parties involved showed much interest in creating stable and durable legal and social conditions for a continuous integration. After 30 years of a significant Muslim presence in Germany, things have altered fundamentally. Muslims realized that their initial intention to return to the country of origin sooner or later turned out to be a mere illusion. The same is true for the approach of the German administration, which by and large followed a policy of mere provisional solutions. Even if some of the elder immigrants don’t feel too comfortable in German society, they are nevertheless treated as strangers in their former home country (in Turkey so-called Almancılar), or they stay in order to keep close contact with their children who insist on staying in Germany, or for reasons of adequate medical treatment which is not available in the country of origin. Legislators and administration now have to cope with a stable and determined group of Muslims as a part of German society. Firstly, one has to keep in mind that the major problems relating to the lives of Muslims are not to be found in their beliefs as such or their religious needs. The central problems are concentrated in the issues such as the lack competence in the German language, a lack of higher education and a comparatively high degree of unemployment. Therefore, in my opinion, the debate on immigration and problems related to it on the one hand and the practice of Islam in Europe on the other should be separated viewed as two separate issues. Obviously, migration is not restricted to issues concerning labour, education or political asylum. Countries with immigration populations have to face the challenges of a wide range of modes of behaviour, self-understanding, beliefs and values among various groups of immigrants. Certainly social and cultural differences have been an integral part of European societies for a long time, and a large number of immigrants highly appreciate the legal and social framework of these societies in general. This is equally true for Muslim

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immigrants. The current perception of Muslims being a homogenous group of people with a strong religious affiliation is simply wrong. Nevertheless, an increasing number of Muslims is eager to achieve more certainty in defining their position as European Muslims. A problem Muslims are facing, especially since 9/11, is a certain “Islamophobia”2 or in general a suspicion held against foreigners who are supposedly threatening the ruling culture of the land—despite the fact that this culture intrinsically consists of a far ranging degree of pluralism. On the other hand, there are undoubtedly significant problems for European societies resulting from the small but dangerous number of Muslim extremist activities and some larger tendencies towards a harsh antiWestern attitude which may lead to a forced policy of self-segregation.3 Thus, the crucial question is to self-define Muslim identity—including the practical fulfillment of Islamic rules for persons and groups wishing to do so—within the framework of the European legal order and societal needs (Rohe 2004a). It has to be made clear in advance that the European standards of Human Rights, democracy and the rule of law cannot be tampered with. When it comes to the application of “foreign” norms, we have to differentiate between religious and legal issues. The former are regulated by the European and national constitutional provisions. It is mainly in the sphere of religious rules—concerning the relationship between God and human beings (ʿibādāt) and the non-legal aspects of the relationship between human beings (muʿāmalāt)—where a European fiqh (Islamic “law”) is possibly developing (Rohe 2007: 18).4 With respect to the application of legal rules, the conflict between possibly contradictory rules of the law of the land and the law of religious/cultural origin has to be resolved.

2 Cf. Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung (Ed.), Arbeitspapier/Dokumentation, Was halten die Deutschen vom Islam, St. Augustin May 2003. The main results of this representative poll are the facts that Islamophobia is mainly to be found among people living in eastern Germany, among people of a low educational level, among laborers and among retired and elder persons (over 60 years old) (p. 13); nevertheless, the great majority is ready to accept Muslim life in the country to a remarkable degree (summary, p. 15), especially those having personal contact with Muslims. 3 Cf. the contributions in Berlin, Senatsverwaltung für Inneres (Ed.), Islamismus, Berlin 2005, and the findings in recent studies by the Austrian Ministry of Interior; cf. Rohe, Executive Summary, in BM.I., Perspektiven und Herausforderungen in der Integration muslimischer Mitbürgerlnnen in Österreich, Wein Mai 2006, 1–52. 4 Excellent studies of present developments are presented by Shadid and van Koningsveld (2003: 149) and by Waardenburg (2003: 241, 308 and 336).

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2. Religious freedom and the application of Islamic religious provisions 2.1

Introduction

Applying religious provisions is fundamentally different from applying legal norms (see below C.). This is due to the fact that in most European states religious freedom is far reaching. European constitutions, as in Art. 9 of the ECHR, guarantee that people will not be deprived of the basic requirements for complying with the demands of their religion. No Muslim will be prevented by the state from adhering to the ‘five pillars’ of Islam, for example. Everybody may consult renowned Muslims or Muslim institutions for advice in religious matters (Rohe 2004b: 173), which opens up broad space for actively practicing one’s religion privately as well as in public. Religious freedom in this sense includes all manners of religion, not only those of the majority of the population or the established religions. Furthermore, according to these provisions, religion is not restricted to the private sphere; its manifestation in the public sphere is protected as well. Nevertheless, there are some differences in the application between several European countries. This is due to a different conviction as to how far the distance between the state’s activities and those of the religions should be. France and Switzerland, for example, have chosen a strict separation between state and religion. Thus it is not allowed for officials or even for pupils in France, according to recent legislation, to wear ostentatious religious symbols while attending or working in schools, for example (for an overview cf. Rohe/Elster 2006: 1–51). The situation in Germany is somewhat different. The most important provision to regulate religious affairs is Art. 4, Sections 1 and 2, of the German Constitution.5 This article—as well as Art. 9 of the ECHR, which is less far-reaching in granting rights—is not limited to private religious conviction. It also grants the public manifestation of belief and the state is obliged to insure that this right is not unduly limited. Of course there are legal limits to rights as such, including religious ones. Nobody is allowed to threaten others on religious grounds, for example.

5 The wording is as follows: Art. 4 [Freedom of faith, conscience, and creed] (1) Freedom of faith and conscience, and freedom to profess a religious or philosophical creed, shall be inviolable. (2) The undisturbed practice of religion shall be guaranteed.

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Nevertheless, the German legal system guarantees a far-reaching freedom of religion. This freedom is, according to the unanimous opinion of legal experts and the German government and administration, not restricted to established religions like Christianity and Judaism, but also applies to Islam. Furthermore, Art. 3, Sect. 3, of the German Constitution prescribes that no-one may be discriminated against, or given preferential treatment, on the grounds of their religious belief. Thus, the secular legal order in Europe does not reject religion; it is not at all anti-religious (“lā-dīnī”) as it is sometimes falsely interpreted (Bielefeldt 2003: 60). On the contrary, it opens a broad space for religious beliefs and ways of life. The fact of the matter is that the state itself has to be neutral and is prevented from interference in religious affairs. The most important result of this legal secularism is the equality under law of all religions and the freedom of the individual not to adhere to any religious grouping and the freedom to change one’s religious affiliation at will (Bielefeldt 2003: 15). According to a unanimous understanding in Europe, this neutrality is a prerequisite of true religious freedom which cannot be dispensed with. A prominent French Muslim accordingly calls this system to be ‘positive neutrality’ (i.e. towards religions) (Bencheikh 1998: 57). Some examples6 concerning the German legal situation shall illustrate that. 2.2 Mosques and prayer More than 2,500 mosques exist in Germany. Most of them are installed within former factory buildings which were available at a reasonable price and situated near to the living-quarters of many of the believers. But there are also examples of very representative mosques in several cities, with prayer-rooms allowing more than 1,000 faithful to enter. Some of them have minarets, and in some cities the ad –ān and the use of loud-speakers is allowed for certain prayers, e.g. the prayer on Friday noon (Kraft 2002; Leggewie et al. 2002; Schmitt 2003). The construction of places of worship is privileged under German law of construction due to the constitutional guarantees of religious freedom. In rare cases there were judicial procedures initiated to clarify whether minarets are allowed and if so, to what height. It is not too

6 For other issues, such as wearing headscarves in the Public Service cf. Selbmann (2003: 199, 207).

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surprising that easily visible minarets could cause some irritation depending on the local circumstances. Some people consider the erection of minarets to be a symbolic attack on the predominant Christian culture. Such suspicions are very often formulated not by practising Christians but by people who maintain loose ties to religion in general, but in some cases also by small Christian fundamentalist and anti-Islamic sects like the so-called ‘christliche Mitte’ (Christian Centre) or, ‘deus vult’. According to German laws dealing with planning and construction, the shape of places of worship has to fit into the given surroundings; despite the generally privileged status of erecting such buildings. Nevertheless, the Administrative Court of Appeal of Koblenz decided in a case concerning the erection of a minaret that the law is not intended as a “protection of the cultural status quo”.7 Times are changing, and as Muslims now are represent a significant number of inhabitants, society as a whole will have to accept this fact. Notwithstanding this favourable legal position in general, Muslims would be well advised not to enforce their rights through the judiciary before trying patiently to convince the public of their peaceful intentions in building mosques and cultural centres. Myself a (part-time) judge at the Court of Appeal of Nuremberg, my experience has shown that a court decision in application of the law results in one of the parties feeling that his cause has been treated unfairly, at least in part. Thus such a decision often does not lead to a true and stable ‘peace’ between the parties involved. The party whose claim was dismissed often looks for new grounds to continue the battle, which is a hindrance to running a house of prayer or a cultural centre. In these kind of cases settlements out of court are the much more preferable solution; such settlements can possibly be found in preliminary discussions with the administration involved as well as with the public in general. In recent times tensions have increased. It is obvious that serious concerns among citizens are used by some right-wing and fundamentalist groups and a few elderly publicists seemingly searching publicity. These debates demonstrate the need for more transparency on the side of several Muslim organizations as well as for informing society as a whole about the constitutional guarantee of freedom of religion.

7

OVG Koblenz NVwZ 2001, 933.

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Halal-Slaughtering

In a landmark decision, the Federal Constitutional Court decided on January 15th 20028 that the freedom of religion includes the right of Muslims to slaughter animals according to their imperative religious commands. This includes forms of slaughtering without pre-stunning of the animals, which is generally forbidden by the Law on the Protection of Animals. According to Para. 4a of this law, a religious community may apply for a licence to carry out the slaughtering according to such imperative commands. It should be mentioned that the Jewish community was granted the licence to slaughtering without pre-stunning to meet their religious imperative until the takeover of the Nazigovernment in 1933 and were again granted the licence upon the defeat of the Nazis in 1945. Concerning Muslims, there were two problems to be solved. Firstly, some courts didn’t consider the Muslim applicants as a ‘religious community’ in a legal sense. This was due to a—legally wrong—understanding of a religious community as having of necessity a structure similar to Christian faiths. Muslims, who historically have not set up such comparable structures were thus refused the licence to exercise obvious religious rights for such a superficial reason. The Constitutional Court therefore held that a group of persons with common beliefs organized in forms whatsoever fulfil the prerequisites of the law in that respect. Secondly, the question was raised whether there are in fact imperative rules in Islam commanding the slaughter of animals without pre-stunning. According to a fatwa issued by the late mufti of Egypt in the 1980s and others,9 the methods of slaughtering common in Europe would be acceptable for Muslims. Therefore, rules of slaughtering without prestunning were rejected on the grounds that they were not imperative.10 This approach, however, was not consistent with the demands of the state’s neutrality towards religions. The state and its courts are not entitled to decide in the case of several contradictory religious doctrines which of them have to be held as being “true” and therefore binding. It is up to the believers themselves to decide whom to follow. For this reason

8

BVerfG NJW 2002, 663. In this sense statements of the mufti of Egypt and president of the al Azhar university dated 25.2.1982 and the Islamic World League in Jiddah 1989 and other authorities; cf. OVG Hamburg NVwZ 1994, 592, 595f. 10 Cf. BVerwG BVerwGE 99, 1; see also BVerwG NJW 2001, 1225. 9

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the Constitutional Court pointed out that it will be sufficient for obtaining the above-mentioned licence if there are reasonable grounds for the required method of slaughtering to be found in religion. In my opinion this was the most crucial point to the judgement with far-reaching consequences for the status of Muslims in Germany as a whole: For the first time it was made clear that it is solely upon the Muslims in Germany to decide on their creed and needs. The intention of the law to protect animals as far as possible was not neglected in this decision: Only persons who are proved capable of slaughtering animals in a decent manner like well-skilled butchers are likely to obtain a licence to do so. The main federal organizations of Muslims in Germany then created a joint commission to work out a paper on the details and to cooperate with the relevant bodies of administration. Nevertheless, there is an ongoing and to a large extent very emotional discussion on this judgement.11 The protection of animals—a very important issue among vast numbers of citizens—is considered to be ignored due to what some people see as merely “mediaeval religious purposes”. It didn’t even help that the Constitutional Court itself stressed the lack of evidence that an expert slaughtering without pre-stunning would cause considerable greater pain to animals in comparison to the current methods of slaughtering, not to mention the really cruel transport of animals to slaughterhouses throughout Europe. It should also be mentioned that there is an interesting discussion on the need of slaughtering without pre-stunning among Muslims themselves (Rohe 2001a: 187). In the meantime, the big political parties in Germany agreed on changing the Constitution by an amendment which would elevate the protection of animals to a constitutional aim.12 It is not by accident that this initiative was started half a year before the federal elections. Since then, some administrations have apparently tried to avoid the application of the court’s rules—which are legally binding—by administrative means. The Federal Administrative Court has held in 200613 that the constitutional amendment did not change the legal situation. Therefore, Jews and Muslims are still entitled to apply for the respective permissions for slaugh-

11 Cf. “Lyrik für Wähler”—Tierschutz, Grundgesetz und die Union, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ) 27.03.2002, p. 6. 12 Cf. “Tierschutz im Grundgesetz”, FAZ 18.05.2002, 2; for details see Rohe, Das Schächt-Urteil des Bundesverfassungsgerichts vom 15. Januar 2002, österreichisches Archiv für recht & religion 2002, p. 78. 13 BVerwG (23.11.06) NVwZ 2007, p. 461.

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tering without pre-stunning. Besides organizations for the protection of animals, some extremist nationalists used this conflict for defaming the judiciary to ‘support the claims of immigrants (including Jews living in Germany since more than 1000 years?) against the ethic standards of Germans in their home country’.14 2.4

Right of self-organization

First of all, it should be mentioned that German law does not provide for a system of legal ‘recognition’ of religious communities in general. Each grouping has the right to choose the form of organization it desires, be it informal or legally formal like associations under the legal provisions on civil associations (Paras. 21ff. German Civil Code). On this basis, they are granted legal rights (Rohe 2001b: 233ff.; Fetzer/Soper 2005). The same is true for establishing foundations under private law (Paras 80ff. Civil Code). Furthermore, the German Constitution of 1949 contains several articles which are adopted from the previous ‘Weimar’ Constitution 1919 (Art. 140 of the Constitution 1949) regulating a special form of organization for religious communities called ‘Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts’ (corporation by public law). The religious communities existing at the time of the enactment of the Constitution—several Christian faiths—automatically obtained this status. Others may apply for it, provided they guarantee continuity by their by-laws and the number of their members. Jurisdiction in these issues lies with the federal states. According to a decision of the conference of the state ministers of interior in 1954, the necessary stability of the community has to be proven over a period of 30 years. To the present, the Jewish community reached this status. No Muslim community has succeeded in this to date. This is certainly due to the fact that it was not expected that the presence of large groups of Muslims would become a permanent installation in Germany until recently. The organisational form of a corporation by public law provides a number of far-reaching rights, such as the right to levy taxes from members of the community and to organize a parish, the right to employ people under a belief-orientated labour-law, the placement of property under public property law which grants tax-reductions and the exemption of other taxes and costs, the right to nominate members to broad-

14

Cf. “Bundesverwaltungsgericht erlaubt Schächten von Tieren”: http://www.jnbuvo.de/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=170&//ltemid=35 (19.12.07).

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casting companies, etc. Logically, such far-reaching rights require clear structures of organization including transparent procedures for decision making and a reliable body or bodies which authentically decide about doctrine and order (Vöcking 1993: 100, 103; Weber 2003: 87ff.).15 Until now, most of the Muslim organisations in Germany have fallen short of fulfilling all these prerequisites. Nevertheless, in recent years there is a development of formal association and unification, now partly crossing the ethnic borders especially between Turks and others. Current attempts of religious unification in ‘German’ organizations are obviously counteracted by the exercise of political influence of several countries of origin. Of course there are general legal limits for the activities of organizations including religious ones. In recent times two extremist Muslim organizations, respectively their activities (Khilafet Devleti and Hizb al Tahrir), were forbidden by the Federal Ministry of Interior on the basis of allegations of having committed serious crimes or of having worked illegally against peaceful relations between peoples. Other organizations are under the supervision of the intelligence services. 2.5

Social security

Freedom of religion has its effects even on the law of social security. Courts have held that in the case of financial need, social security funds have to cover the costs of a boy’s circumcision,16 for the ritual washing of the body of a deceased Muslim17 or for the burial of the deceased at a Muslim cemetery in the state of origin including the costs of transport if there is no Muslim cemetery in Germany available.18 On the other hand, the Administrative Court of Mainz dismissed the claim of a Muslim woman wearing a niqāb (which leaves only the eyes visible) for social support. The reason was that this special kind of clothing would prevent her from finding employment, and that she didn’t produce any explanation for the necessity of it.19 Furthermore, German law of social security is treating polygamous marriages20 to be legally valid provided that the marriage contracts are 15

For details cf. BVerwG 23.02.2005 (6 C 2.04), NJW 2005, pp. 2101. OVG Lüneburg FEVS 44, pp. 465 ss. 17 VG Berlin, NVwZ 1994, p. 617. 18 See OVG Hamburg NJW 1992, pp. 3118, 3119. 19 VG Mainz 26.02.2003 (Az. 1 L 98/03.MZ)—not published. 20 To my opinion, the law of personal status is not a part of religion, although in Islam the sources of religious and legal norms may coincide. 16

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valid under the law applicable to the formation of these contracts (of course, this kind of marriage fundamentally contradicts German and European21 legal standards, therefore it cannot be contracted legally valid in Europe).22 The reason is that it would not help the second wife or further wives who may have lived in such a marriage for a long time to deprive them of their marital rights such as financial support, etc. In this sense, Para. 34, Sect. 2 SGB I (Social Code I) which contains provisions on social security systems regulates the per capita-division of pensions among widows who were living in a polygamous marriage.23 On the other hand, a second marriage valid according to the spouses’ law of origin has to be considered as an equivalent to a re-marriage after the death of the spouse; therefore the surviving husband who entered into the second marriage is not entitled to receive a widower‘s pension according to Para. 46 SGB VI (Social Code VI).24 However, German law differentiates between mainly private aspects of marriage—granting the wives their legal titles concerning support or inheritance from their husband—and predominantly public ones, especially those relating to immigration law. The latter would not provide more than the first wife with marital privileges within its scope of application, e.g. concerning residence permits.25 2.6

Religious education in schools

Islamic religious education is proving to be a key issue for the future of Muslims in Germany. Religious education in public schools is guaranteed according to Art. 7 Sections 1–3 of the German Constitution.26 It is

21 Perhaps there will be new developments on the basis of laws regulating registered partnerships. According to a recent report from the Netherlands, a male partner succeeded in registering partnerships with two female partners, cf. “Mann wird “Partner” zweier Frauen”, FAZ 05.10.2005, p. 9. It is highly recommendable to adjust these laws to European standards agreed upon since centuries. 22 Cf. LG Frankfurt a.M. FamRZ 1976, p. 217; LG Osnabrück NJW-RR 1998, p. 582; AG Bremen StAZ 1991, pp. 232, 233; Staatsanwaltschaft bei dem LG Muenchen I IPRspr. 1996 No. 62; VGH Kassel NVwZ-RR 1999, pp. 274, 275. 23 The English solution differs fundamentally from the German one. None of the widows is accepted to be one legally, cf. Court of Appeal in Bibi v. Chief Adjudication Officer [1998] 1 FLR 375. 24 Hessisches LSG 29.06.2004 (L 2 RA 429/03), not published. 25 Cf. OVG Koblenz 12.03.2004 (10 A 11717/03). 26 The wording is as follows: (1) The entire school system shall be under the supervision of the state.

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worth mentioning that teachers and teaching materials are paid by the governments of the federal states. 2.6.1 Article 7 [School education] Up to the present, various attempts have been made to provide religious education for Muslim pupils, but in a broader range this has only been put to practice for pupils of Turkish origin. Some states have established Turkish mother-tongue classes in co-operation with the Turkish government which provides the curricula as well as the teachers. Islamic instruction—which sometimes seems to be more nationalist than religious—is a part of the classes. These classes are losing their importance due to the fact that most of the pupils will not return to Turkey—except for holidays—and therefore are not interested in Turkish lessons anymore. Moreover, these lessons do not comply with Art. 7 of the Constitution, since according to this provision it is the religious communities themselves who have to work out the curricula under the mere supervision of the state to grant their compliance with the rules of law and the needs of contemporary pedagogics. The State is bound to religious neutrality and is therefore not entitled to decide on issues of religious truth. Furthermore, all pupils of a mother-tongue other than Turkish are excluded from this kind of Islamic education in schools. In my city of Erlangen, their number comes up to nearly 50 percent of all Muslim pupils in primary schools. Therefore, other—constitutional—solutions have to be worked out. The main problem is to find a stable and reliable partner of cooperation who will be then required to formulate the curricula and to appoint the teachers. It should be noted that there is no need to unify all the different groups of Muslims like Sunnis, Shiʾis, Alevis or Ahmadis—every group is entitled to apply for its own education provided that there is a sufficient number of pupils to take part in classes of religious education. The same is true for Christian religious education, which is divided into Protestant, Catholic and other classes. There is no need to form an above-mentioned corporation by public law, according (2) Parents and guardians shall have the right to decide whether children shall receive religious instruction. (3) Religious instruction shall form part of the regular curriculum in state schools, with the exception of non-denominational schools. Without prejudice to the state’s right of supervision, religious instruction shall be given in accordance with the tenets of the religious community concerned. Teachers may not be obliged against their will to give religious instruction.

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to a nearly unanimous opinion among legal experts concerned (Link 1995: 496, 500; Heckel 1999: 741, 752).27 An organization in the form of a registered private association according to the Civil code (Paras. 21ff.) would be sufficient. The same would be the case in matters of appointing personnel for religious welfare in hospitals, in prisons or in the military forces. Some of the difficulties in this field28 may be illustrated by an example. There are initiatives to invent a special form of Islamic instruction in public schools in the state of North Rhine-Westphalia. The government tried to work out a curriculum in accordance with relevant Muslim groups. The negotiations ended in a series of experimental classes in several cities. To the government’s surprise, a large number of Muslim groups and individuals protested against these attempts. The reason might be found in the government’s failure to correctly estimate the influence of the groups involved, respectively not involved, in the project. Besides that, many Muslims very understandably disapprove the government’s attempt to work out a curriculum for Islamic instruction with the help of political parties, Christian representatives and even trade union officials. It has to be learned from this that it is upon Muslims alone to work out such a curriculum, which certainly has to be in accordance with pedagogical needs and the law of the land. For such reasons, the states of Bavaria, Baden-Wuerttemberg and Lower Saxony established ‘round tables’ to discuss the important issues with all the relevant Muslim groups and personalities available and with the guarantee that no further steps will be taken without their consent. In close cooperation with the relevant local Muslim organization—and therefore in accordance with the constitutional provisions—a first experimental class of Islamic education started in Erlangen in the fall of 2003;29 others are to follow. This model—as well as those in Lower Saxony and BadenWuerttemberg—appears to be more successful, as even educational

27

Cf. VG Düsseldorf NVwZ-RR 2000, 789, 791. For more detailed information cf. the contributions in Bock (Ed.), Islamischer Religionsunterricht? 2nd ed. Tübingen 2007, and the doctoral thesis of Myrian Dietrich, Islamischer Religionsunterricht. Rechtliche Perspektiven. Frankfurt a.M. 2006. Cf. also Anger, Islam in der Schule, Berlin 2003; Emenet, Verfassungsrechtliche Probleme einer islamischen Religionskunde an öffentlichen Schulen, München et al. 2003; Spriewald, Rechtsfragen im Zusammenhang mit der Einführung von islamischem Religionsunterricht als ordentliches Lehrfach an deutschen Schulen, Berlin 2003. 29 Cf. “Mohammed statt Jesus—Erlanger Schule testet islamischen Religionsunterricht”, Süddeutsche Zeitung 7.2.2003. 28

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studies for teachers of Islamic faith has been established at my university of Erlangen-Nuernberg, the first in Germany to do so. Others in Muenster, Frankfurt/Main and Osnabrueck have followed. It should not be forgotten that there is a certain concern among Muslims and non-Muslims about the existing alternative of private Quranic schools,some of which are run by persons or groups of an obvious extremist or anti-Western viewpoint.30 For this reason, a system of reliable cooperation between the Muslim communities and the states which puts Islam into the curricula of ‘normal’ school-education appears to be the only viable option for the future. Teaching in the German language by teachers who are aware of their pupils’ backgrounds and living conditions is imperative. The pupils are in urgent need of skills which will enable them to communicate with others on their beliefs as well as on their personality in general. 2.7 Religious freedom and penal law With regard to penal law, the scope of considering religious issues to be relevant is naturally very limited. The function of penal law lies in drawing up as few regulations as possible without neglecting those which are indispensable for a peaceful society, and to punish those who offend these regulations by dealing out harsh punishments up to lifetime sentences. Nevertheless, religious needs are recognized even in this respect in singular cases. The most important topic for Muslims as well as for Jews is the legal treatment of male circumcision. Although considered as bodily harm, it is justified and therefore exempt from punishment because there is an obvious religious requirement to carry out this procedure which at the same time is of minor impairment to the boy concerned. The opposite is true, of course, for female circumcision, which is not a genuine Islamic practice, but which is found in several regions of the Islamic world, namely in East Africa and Egypt, and which regrettably is practised secretly also in Germany among certain immigrants. It has to be severely punished, but other than in France,31 no case has been dealt with in court so far, supposedly due to a ‘wall of silence’ among the persons involved.

30 31

Cf. VG Stade InfAuslR 1983, 117. Cf. “Urteil mit symbolischer Wirkung”, FAZ 18.2.1999, 13.

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Religious freedom and Employment law

In general most of the employees among Muslim community don’t face problems concerning their legal status of employment. For the minority among them, people who pray regularly, acceptable solutions can be found in most cases (for legal details cf. Hoevels, Niloufar, Islam und Arbeitsrecht, Koeln et al. 2003). To my knowledge, many of them either pray during the regular breaks or concentrate their prayers in the mornings and evenings. On Fridays, employers often grant breaks for the joint prayer in mosques or allow their employees to finish their work earlier. For the feasts of ʿĪd al-fitr and ʿId al-ad_hā, usually vacation time can be used. If there is an inevitable need of presence during prayer or ʿId times, Muslim employees in general would accept that, relying in this case on the Islamic principle of ‘darūra’ which allows them to prefer the minor evil over the major one. Therefore, the last case reported concerning employment law and the duties of prayer or the ‘Īd-feasts dates from 1964.32 In the meanwhile, obviously fitting solutions were found. Another problem has still to be solved which concerns Muslim female employees wearing the veil (headscarf). In a number of cases, especially if these women have functions in dealing with the public (e.g. in department stores, offices etc.), employers forbade them to wear the headscarf during working times. In a recent case in the state of Hessen, a Muslim clerk working in a department store in the countryside was given notice to terminate the contract due to her refusal to work unveiled. There was a generally accepted rule within the company that everybody had to wear ‘decent’ clothes which would not give offence to customers. The employer stated that he himself did not care about the veil, but that there was some evidence that the mainly conservative customers would not accept being served by a veiled clerk and would certainly change to competing department store. The appeal of the employee against the notice was dismissed by the Labour Court of Appeal of Hessen on the same grounds.33 There was considerable and in part understandable irritation among Muslims concerning this decision. But it has to be taken into consideration in such cases that it is the state alone which grants religious freedom according to the Constitution. In the field of private law, however, the constitutional rights exert a so-called ‘indirect’ influence on the 32 33

LAG Düsseldorf JZ 1964, 258. LAG Hessen 21.06.2001, NJW 2001, 3650.

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rules of law. This means that they have to be taken into consideration without being enforced in a similarly direct and far-reaching manner as it is the case in conflicts between individuals and the state. In these private cases there are two constitutional rights in conflict: the freedom of religion in favour of the employee and the freedom of personality which implies setting up and terminating contractual relations according to personal interest. Nevertheless, the Federal Labour Court finally accepted the appellant’s claim.34 It stressed the great importance of religious freedom which cannot be ruled out by mere suppositions of possible economic disadvantages to the detriment of the employer. Even in case of proven disadvantages, the employer would first have to consider whether the employee could be occupied in a less sensitive space before being entitled to terminate the contract. Furthermore, in a movement of anti-discriminatory legislation, the European Union promulgated a directive on employment law to forbid discriminatory measures on religious grounds.35 This directive is strongly supported by Muslims in Germany. I recommend the Muslims not to be too optimistic about the possible results. I am afraid that employers who continue to refuse to employ veiled women will find ways to avoid employing them, respectively to end their contracts for other, legally ‘acceptable’, reasons. Others could hesitate to accept any applications from Muslim women, unveiled or veiled, to avoid any kind of problems in the future (of course without publicly declaring that). In my opinion, the true solution of this problem is not to be found within the sphere of law. As long as the headscarf is regarded as an instrument of suppression of women and of religious fundamentalism contrary to the values of the German democratic and humanitarian legal order by large parts of German society as a whole including a considerable number of Muslims, the problems will last.

3. The application of Islamic legal provisions As it was mentioned above, in the sphere of applying foreign legal rules, the conflict between possibly contradictory rules of the law of the land 34

BAG NJW 2003, 1685. Council Directive 2000/78/EC of 27 November 2000 establishing a general framework for equal treatment in employment and occupation, OJ L 303, 2.12.2000, p. 16. For details and critics cf. Rohe (2004c: 217). 35

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and the law of religious/cultural origin has to be resolved. In the field of law, most of the existing legal orders have a territorial basis: everyone within the territory of a specific state has to abide by the same laws. Only the state can decide whether and to what extent foreign law can be applied and enforced on its territory. Thus the legal system is not ‘multi-cultural’ as far as it concerns the decisive exercise of legal power. Therefore, the application of foreign legal provisions—including Islamic ones—is an exceptional case. However, this does not mean that foreign legal principles and cultural influences are ignored. Nevertheless, the constitutional principles of the inviolability of human dignity, democracy, the rule of law with the binding force of all state power, separation of powers, majority rule and minority protection, as well as the essential elements of constitutional civil rights, such as the equality of the sexes, freedom of opinion, religious freedom and protection of marriage and family etc., are among the basic principles which cannot be dispensed with. Within this framework, foreign legal provisions can be formally applied on three different legal levels. Besides that, the state has no control on informal ways of application as long as its bodies are not called upon by one of the parties involved. 1. Private International Law (the rules regulating the conflict of laws in matters concerning civil36 law) is a possible level of direct application of Islamic legal rules. In the area of civil law, the welfare of autonomouslyacting private persons is of prime importance. If someone has organized his/her life in accordance with a certain legal system, this deserves protection when the person crosses the border. However, it is also within the interest of the legal community that in certain matters the same law should be applicable to everyone resident in a particular country. This would be especially the case in matters touching the roots of legal and societal common sense, like the legal relations between the sexes or between adherents of different religions. The question as to whether foreign or national substantial law should be applied must therefore be determined, and this is done by Private International Law provisions (conflict of laws), which weigh up the relevant interests. As it comes to the areas of family law and the law of succession, the application of legal norms in European countries is often determined on 36 Of course, in the sphere of public law and especially of penal law, foreign law is not applicable. Public law regulates the activities of the sovereign himself; and penal law has to define rules which are necessary to grant a minimum consensus of common behaviour in the relevant society.

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the basis of nationality of the persons involved rather than by their domicile (for further details cf. Rohe 2003a: pp. 46). Other than in Canada or in the US,37 European courts are therefore often obliged to apply Islamic legal rules. In this respect it may generally be stated that Islamic law until today has a strong position especially within these areas. This can be explained by the fact that Islamic law in this area has a multiplicity of regulations derived from authoritative sources (Qurʾān and sunna). Furthermore, a powerful lobby obviously tries to preserve this area as a stronghold due to religious convictions as well as for reasons of income and the exercise of power (which was very similar in Europe in former times). The Tunisian lawyer Ali Mezghani states that “[i]n Islamic countries, it is difficult to deny that family law is the site of conservation.”38 This is true despite the fact that in several Islamic countries reforms have taken place and still are in progress (cf. Rohe 2001: 53, 112).39 However, the application of such provisions must comply with the rules of public policy. If the application of legislation influenced by Islamic law would lead to a result that is obviously incompatible with, for example, the main principles of German law, including constitutional civil rights, the provisions in question cannot be applied. The main conflicts between “Islamic” and European legal thinking in family law concern the constitutional (and human) rights such as equality of the sexes and of religious beliefs and the freedom of religion including the right not to believe. Conflicts mainly arise from provisions reflecting classical Islamic law, which preserve a strict separation between the sexes with respect to their social roles and tasks as well as the far-reaching legal segregation of religions under the supremacy of Islam (for details cf. Rohe 2003: 46). 2. A further area of—indirect—application opens up within the framework of the so-called ‘optional’ civil law. Private autonomy is the core value of the liberal European Civil law orders. Thus, in matters exclusively concerning the private interests of the parties involved, these parties are entitled to create and to arrange their legal relations

37 Cf. Foblets/Overbeeke, Islam in Belgium, in: Potz/Wieshaider (Eds.), Islam and the European Union, Leuven/Paris/Dudley 2004, pp. 1, 25; Rude-Antoine, La coexistence des systèmes juridiques différents en France: l’exemple du droit familial, in: Kahn (ed.), L’étranger et le droit de la famille, Paris 2001, pp. 147, 161. 38 Mezghani, Le juge français et les institutions du droit musulman, J.D.I. 2003, pp. 721, 722. 39 For recent interesting developments in the Maghrib cf. Nelle, Neue familienrechtliche Entwicklungen im Maghreb, StAZ 2004, p. 253.

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according to their preferences. Legal rules regulating such matters are “optional” within a certain framework. As an example, we may note the fact that various methods of investment are offered which do not violate the Islamic prohibition of usury (‘riba’, which according to traditional views means the general prohibition of accepting and paying interest (Saeed 1996; Iqbal 2001; Rohe 2005: 103, 107). Concerning project financing, Islamic legal institutions like the murabaha or the mudaraba can be used (Klarmann 2003; Bälz 2004: 117). These are certain forms of partnerships intending to attract capital owners to participate instead of merely giving credit, the latter bearing the risk of contradicting the riba-rules. Commerce and trade have already responded to the economic/legal needs of traditional Muslims. German and Swiss banks, for instance, have issued ‘Islamic’ shares for investment purposes, that is to say share packages that avoid companies whose business involves gambling, alcohol, tobacco, interest-yielding credit, insurance or the sex industry, which are illegitimate under Islamic law (cf. Venardos 2005: 70). In the UK a special concept of ‘Islamic mortgages’ was developed, which allows Muslims willing to purchase chattel to avoid conflicts with provisions concerning riba (when paying interest on ‘normal’ mortgages) (Asaria 2003: 6). The ‘Islamic’ mortgage consists of two separate transactions aimed at one single result. Until recently each transaction was subject to taxation. Now a reform took place of which the key issue was to abolish the double ‘stamp duty’, because it prevented Muslims from economically successfully engaging in real property due to the formal system of taxation without a sufficient substantial reason. Even the German state of Sachsen-Anhalt has recently placed an Islamic bond (‘sukuk’,40 100m Euros for the start), based on a Dutch foundation.41 For traditionallyorientated Muslims, the offer of such forms of investment in Europe is of considerable importance. To my knowledge many of them have lost huge sums of money in the past to doubtful organisations from the Islamic world bearing a ‘religious’ veil, or to similar organisations based in Europe.42 40 It is based on a combination of leasing contracts concerning the state’s real property; cf. “Finanzmarkt: Islam-Anleihe aus Magdeburg”, Die Bank 01.01.2004. 41 Cf. “Sachsen-Anhalt bereitet erste islamische Anleihe vor”, FAZ 06.11.2003, p. 31; “Anlegen mit Allahs Segen”, Handelsblatt 14.07.2004, p. 29. 42 Cf. the recent reports on doubtful investments in Turkey supported by certain organisations in “Neuer Markt auf Türkisch”, SPIEGEL ONLINE 29.01.2004 (cited 29.01.2004 available http://www.spiegel.de/0,1518,283591,00.html).

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In the field of Matrimonial Law, tendencies of implementing Islamic norms into optional law can also be identified in Germany in connection with matrimonial contracts.43 Thus, in Germany contractual conditions regulating the payment of the ‘Islamic’ dowery (‘mahr’ or ‘sadaq’ ) are possible and generally accepted by the Courts.44 Other contractual regulations, especially those discriminating against women, could be void according to Para. 138 German Civil Code on the protection of good morals.45 There are no court decisions on such issues so far published or known. However, to my knowledge some German notaries refuse to assist in formulating wills46 containing the classical Islamic regulation on half-shares for female heirs. 3. In addition to general rules of Private International law and optional civil law, a few European states introduced Islamic legal provisions concerning family and succession matters to be applied to the Muslim population. In Britain, Muslim institutions may apply to be entitled to register marriages. Furthermore, according to the Divorce (Religious marriages) Act 2002, courts are enabled to require the dissolution of a religious marriage before granting a civil divorce.47 The Adoption and Children’s Act 2002 amended the Children’s Act 1989 by provisions (sect. 14A ff.) introducing a “special guardianship” as a legal means of parental responsibility besides adoption which is forbidden by Islamic law.48 In Spain, since 1992 Islamic rules regulating the contracting of marriages can be applied to Muslims.49 In order to ensure the necessary legal security there are compulsory provisions for the registration of these marriages.50 This kind of legal segregation is very much limited, concerning mere formal regulations without any relevant material quality. Interestingly, also in Spain the legislator has amended Art. 107 43

Cf. Rohe, n. 36, pp. 125 s., 130. Cf. BGH NJW 1999, p. 574; OLG Celle FamRZ 1998, pp. 374. 45 § 138 sect. 1: “A legal transaction which offends good morals is void.”; cf. Rohe (2003b: 35, 51). 46 The validity of wills does not depend on such assistance according to German law of succession. 47 Cf. Lord Nazir Ahmad, n. 26, p. 72; Khaliq, Islam and the European Union: Report on the United Kingdom, in: Potz/Wieshaider (Eds.), n. 34, pp. 219, 246 ss. 48 Cf. Qurʾan surah 33, 4. s; art. “tabanni” in: wizārat al-awqāf, al-mawsūʿat al-fiqhīya vol. 10, Kuwayt 1987; for present legal orders in the Islamic world cf. D. Pearl/W. Menski (1998: 10–25 49 Cf. Mantecón, L’Islam en Espagne, in: Potz/Wieshaider (eds.) (n. 37), pp. 109, 130 ss. 50 Cf. Article 59 Código Civil in conjunction with the administrative provision of the general directorate of the Civil Registry and the Notary from 10 February 1993. 44

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Código Civil regulating the right to divorce. The amendment enables women resident in Spain to get divorced even if the law of origin or of their matrimonial home prevents them from doing so. The legislator has stated expressly that this amendment was to resolve problems to this respect especially regarding Muslim women.51 Within the European Union, only in Greece do the Muslims of Turkish origin still live under traditional Shariʿa rules for historical reasons,52 while the Turkish Republic has continuously reformed its civil laws and since 2002 introduced the legal equality of sexes in family law. This can hardly serve as a model for Europe. Despite widespread tendencies in the Islamic world aimed at improving women’s status, many legal orders in this region are still far from the legal standard of equality of sexes achieved in Europe. It would simply be unacceptable to implement such rules into the existing systems. Nevertheless, in Britain the Union of Muslim Organisations of UK and Eire has formulated a resolution demanding the establishment of a separate Muslim family and inheritance law automatically applicable to all Muslims in Britain (Poulter 1993: 147). The underlying idea might be found in the legal situation on the Indian subcontinent—being the prevailing region of origin of Muslims in Britain—which was and still is ruled by a system of religious separation in matters of family law (Levy 2000: 180; Poulter 1993: 148; Ahmad53 2005: 71–74). The same is true for most of the Islamic states in past and present. But introducing religiously or ethnically orientated multiple legal systems into Europe does not represent a realistic or even desirable option (cf. Rohe, n. pp. 409). Such systems may be helpful and historically even exemplary in the past, if they granted rights and freedoms for minorities, which would otherwise have been lost. However, this will always result in problems in the form of an inter-religious conflict over laws as can be seen outside Europe. Besides that, freedom of religion contains the freedom to change one’s religion or not to belong to any religion. This freedom would be unduly constrained by forcing people into a legal regime defined by religion. Furthermore, there is no uniform Islamic legal system of substantial

51 BOE 30–09–2003, Ley Orgánica 11/2003, de 29 de septiembre, de medidas concretas en materia de seguridad ciudadana, violencia doméstica e integración social de los extranjeros, 4. 52 Cf. Tsitselikis, The Legal Status of Islam in Greece, in Rohe (guest Ed.), Die Welt des Islams 44/3 (2005) pp. 402. 53 Refering to the respective demands of the UMO and the Muslim Council of Britain.

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rules to be identified. The Turkish Republic completely abolished the Shariʿa rules a long time ago. Most of the people of Turkish origin—the majority of Muslims in Germany, Austria and Switzerland and a strong group among Muslims in other European countries—would heavily reject the re-introduction of such rules in European countries. The same is true for France. Instead of that, Muslims are entitled to create legal relations according to their religious intentions within the framework of optional civil law. 4. Within the scope of private autonomy, the parties concerned are free to create legal relations within the limits of public policy and to agree on the ways and results of non-judicial dispute resolution. In matters of family law, relatives will often be consulted first. When it comes to Muslim immigrants, various research projects in Europe in recent years clearly demonstrate that considerable groups of them maintain the structures of family life current in their countries of origin.54 Some of them are reluctant to use the legal remedies provided by the law of the state they are domiciled in because they believe that they are bound to legal orders different from the law of the land. Others are simply unaware of the fact that in certain matters including family law (e.g. with respect to contracting marriages and divorce), the formal legal rules of the state of domicile have to be observed; otherwise the intentions and acts of the parties involved are not legally enforceable. Thus, a marriage contracted solely according to traditional Islamic rules may be socially accepted within the community, but it deprives the spouses from legally enforceable rights in the state of domicile with respect to support or inheritance usually connected to marriages. On the other hand, these women cannot obtain a divorce in state courts because they are not regarded as being married according to the law of the land. Therefore they seek ‘internal’ solutions within their community (cf. Shah-Kazemi 2001: 47). Besides that, some religious extremists and traditionalists openly argue that Muslims should not accept the legal norms and judgments of ‘infidels’. They should instead establish their own bodies of dispute resolution and elect their own judges.55 Would then extra-judicial dispute resolution

54 Cf. Badawi, n. Simonet, L’étranger entre deux droits : les facteurs d’adhésion des populations étrangères aux systèmes judiciaire et juridique français, in : Kahn (Ed.), n. 34, pp. 118, 139 ss.; Rude-Antoine, n. 34, pp. 161. 55 Cf. Ibn Baz/Uthaymeen, Muslim Minorities—Fatawa Regarding Muslims Living as Minorities, Hounslow 1998, esp. pp. 71; The Fiqh Council of the Muslim World League

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create a viable solution for weighing the relevant interests of the parties involved in a manner consistent with the community’s standards as well as with the indispensable principles of the law of the land? In general, there is a remarkable shift towards means and bodies of extra-judicial (alternative) dispute resolution (ADR) in many countries. The advantages of this kind of dispute resolution are obvious. The necessary confidence in persons resolving conflicts and in the quality of their decisions may increase when they are explicitly and unanimously chosen by the parties involved. In addition to that, adr may provide a relatively quick and cheap dispute resolution. Specific reasons for adr with respect to religious or other minorities with an immigration background were already mentioned. Muslims adhering to the rules of traditional Muslim family law would possibly feel ‘respected’ by society as a whole. The key prerequisites for a successful and fair ADR are an agreement of the parties involved to prefer adr voluntarily and for common reasons, and qualified arbitrators or mediators applying norms which equally consider the legitimate interests of each party. The question remains if the mere existence of such an agreement is sufficient. Certainly, within the scope of private autonomy agreements between adult and mentally healthy persons are supposed to be valid and fair unless there is any specific evidence to the contrary. However, in the context of migration and societal segregation, formal freedom to agree or not to agree can be factually restricted to only one option, if the relevant party has to expect substantial disadvantages in social life in case of choosing the “wrong” option. Thus, if such factual pressure on the weaker party is not a merely theoretical threat, the official recognition of communitarian bodies for adr and their decisions could prevent the weaker party from the protection granted by the law of the land and enforced by official courts. Formal equality under conditions of material inequality usually leads

on its 16. session in Mecca, reported in “A message from Muslim scholars to Muslim Minorities in the West”, Daawah No. 4 1422 A.H./Feb. 2002, 8, 11. See also the comments of the Muslim lawyer Khaled Abou El Fadl, Speaking in God’s Name. Islamic Law, Authority and Women, Oxford 2001, 269 s.; pp. 170: “I confess that I find the virtual slavery imposed on women by the C.R.L.O. (the Saudi-Arabian Permanent Council for Scientific Research and Legal Opinions, M. Rohe) and like-minded special agents to be painfully offensive and unworthy of Sharī‘ah. To claim that woman visiting her husband’s grave, a woman raising her voice in prayer, a woman driving a car, or a woman traveling unaccompanied by a male is bound to create intolerable seductions, strikes me as morally problematic. If men are morally so weak, why should women suffer?”

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to the preservation of inequality. As mentioned above, despite various reforms in several Islamic states Islamic Law of personal status does not grant equal rights for females and non-Muslims. We should certainly reject the simplifying picture of Muslim women being suppressed and powerless victims in general. The German Supreme Court56 has clearly stated that there is no room for the presumption of Turkish wives living in a “typical Muslim marriage” to be deprived of autonomous decisionmaking in daily life. Nevertheless, remaining problems, often caused by cultural motivation, are obvious and openly discussed among Muslims themselves. The commissioner for women’s affairs of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany has stated in an interview: 57 “Islam is not in need of a commissioner for women’s affairs. It is not Islam which suppresses women, but men. And therefore Muslim women are indeed in need of a commissioner for women’s affairs.” In addition to that, it has to be noted that Shariʾa and “Islamic family law” is far from being a clear and consistent body of rules. Different legal schools and opinions in the past and different legislations in the present Islamic world clearly demonstrate a wide range of substantially varying rules and solutions. For example, according to Tunisian Private International Law, the application of Moroccan rules of Family law (before the reforms of 2003) contradicts the Tunisian public order, notwithstanding the fact that both countries claim to have founded their Codes of Personal Status on Shariʾa rules. In a broader sense, Taj Hashmi, a member of the Muslim Canadian Congress, has expressed his concern that adopting Sharia law “may legitimize the excesses of Sharia committed elsewhere in the Muslim World”, and that Shariʾa in its present form is “neither Islamic nor Canadian in character and spirit”. On the other hand, the suggested application of a “watered down version of Muslim personal law”58 would lead to the question of why not apply the law of the land and individually use its (Muslim personal law) scope and means of private autonomy. As it relates to the present situation in Europe, an extraordinary example of law influenced by Islam is England, where an ‘angrezi shariat’ (English Shari‘a) is obviously developing (Pearl/Menski 1998: ch. 56

BGH NJW 1999, 135. “Verschleiert, aber selbstbewußt”, FAZ v. 27.02.2001, S. 14. 58 An expression used by Syed Mumtaz Ali, the main promoter of the establishment of an Islamic arbitration board in Ontario/Canada in an interview on February 2, 2005 (cf. “Sharia for Canada”, cited 15.09.2005; available http://www.abc.net.au/rn/talks/8.30/ relrpt/stories/s1334120.htm). For details cf. Rohe, Muslimische Identität und Recht in Kanada, to appear in Rabels Zeitschrift 2008. 57

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3–81). This seems to be due to the fact that many Muslims in Britain still have strong family relations to their respective native countries on the Indian subcontinent governed by religiously orientated laws in matters of personal status (Shah-Kazemi 2001; Rohe 2003c: 409, 415). In some cases mainly concerning family relations, they seek socially acceptable solutions for legal problems within the Muslim community by the aid of accepted mediators. The Islamic Sharia Councils in England which were established between 1980/82 seem to be examples for such a kind of mediation (Pearl/Menski 1998: 3–96; King 1995: 75; Shah-Kazemi). The Councils do not have an official function, but they are occupied especially with mediation in the area of the law of personal status. There are frequently cases in which a Muslim wife has obtained an English divorce which she now wants confirmed according to ‘Islamic Law’ by the pronouncement of talaq (divorce) by the husband, which leads to the general acceptance of the decision in the social environment within or outside the country. Similarly, very often husbands refuse to divorce although the wife wishes to do so while being reluctant to start divorce proceedings in the civil courts.59 Even if the matter does not go to the civil court, the Council’s decision may become important; it is not legally enforceable in England, but it seems to be recognised in the country of origin as well as within the religious community (Pearl/Menski 1998: 3–100). Convincing the husband to pay the mahr (dower) constitutes a further possible task for the Council. The decisions of the Council appear to be based on a relatively reform-oriented approach to the legal sources, but maintain the traditional framework of Islamic law, including the unequal treatment of sexes and religions in general. Thus, the English legal system does not remain untouched by such proceedings: In some Islamic states there is a possibility for wives to obtain a divorce in court on the basis of the khulʿ, which is a contractual or statutory right (Rohe 2001: 193; Pearl/Menski 1998: 3–100). The wife, however, must then pay back the dower which will very often have been intended to serve as an old age pension. This somehow rewards the husband’s persistence in refusing a divorce, which is not acceptable according to the standard of the law of the land. Certainly, the individual personal status is a solely ‘private matter’. Nevertheless, the institutions of the law of personal status and especially the balance of rights and duties among the persons involved do not only affect society as a whole, but reflect basic common

59

Cf. Lewis (1994: 119) regarding the circumstances in Bradford.

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convictions of this society concerning probably the most important part of social life. Therefore it is upon the local legislator to establish an order of personal status which fulfils the most prominent task of legal orders by granting peace in society. Thus, on one hand extra-judicial dispute resolution can serve as an instrument to achieve socially accepted solutions within a community living in far-reaching segregation from society as a whole. On the other hand, members of this community who refuse to use the community’s special bodies for conflict resolution may easily face reproaches of undermining the community’s position, to be a ‘bad’ member. Accepting such communitarian bodies would thus lead to an ongoing cultural segregation and to a ‘culturalization’ of individuals seeking their individual ways within broader society. It is remarkable in this context that the Central Council of Muslims in Germany declared in its charter on Muslim life in German society on February 20, 2002 (“Islamic Charta”)60 that Muslims are content with the harmonic system of secularity and religious freedom provided by the Constitution. According to Art. 13 of the charter, ”Th e command of Islamic law to observe the local legal order includes the acceptance of the German statutes governing marriage and inheritance, and civil as well as criminal procedure.” In the Swiss canton of Zurich, the Union of Islamic Organisations in Zürich61 has expressly stated in its Basic Declaration that the Union does not intend to create an Islamic state in Switzerland, nor does it place Islamic law above Swiss legislation (Sec. 1). The Union also expressly appreciates Swiss law of marriage and inheritance (Sec. 5.). Similarly, the renowned French imam Larbi Kechat has stated that “Nous sommes en harmonie avec le cadre des lois, nous n’imposons pas une loi parallèle.” (Kechat 1997: 183, 189). According to experiences in Belgium as well, the vast majority of Muslim women living between the rules of Muslim family law and women’s rights claims the protection of Belgian substantial law.62 One of the few voices publicly demanding the introduction of Islamic law and Muslim arbitration in Germany is the extremist founder of an Islamic centre in Berlin. In a book on “The Rules of Personal Status of

60 An English version is available at
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Muslims in the West” (al-Rāfiʿī 2001; Rohe 2005: 98, 105), he constantly declares Non-Muslims to be infidels and rejects German legal rules and judgments as “rules of infidelity”.63 Consequently, he urges Muslims in Germany to maintain the rules of traditional Islamic family law. He even argues that the traditional punishment for adultery—flogging or stoning to death—should be applied to Muslim women in Germany (!) who are married to Non-Muslims, even if they are unaware of the ‘applicability’ of these rules in their cases.64 He denounces the German system of social security as evil, because it grants wives independence from their husband’s maintenance payments and thus enables them to ‘disobey’ their husbands.65 The danger of empowering such persons by officially accepting them as arbitrators and opening ways for them to funds is obvious. Except in the UK, the European way of dispute resolution among Muslims is not communitarian, but the ‘common’ way of either formal judicial or simply informal dispute resolution.

4. Conclusion In sum, most of the existing problems of Muslims in the German and European societies are not rooted in religion, but in education, language skills, a certain degree of xenophobia among groups of society and tendencies of self-segregation. During the times of immigration of the first generation, hardly anybody cared about the beliefs of the immigrants, nor did anybody fear tensions on religious grounds. The quarrels which broke out later seem to me to be quite a normal phenomenon which should not be exaggerated: When sharing claims among members of society in a new way, everybody tries to get the best part of it. The legal and social integration of Muslims in a mainly non-Muslim society is not exempt from this observation.

63

Op. cit., n. p. 618. Op. cit., n. p. 394. Cf. also the results of an essay competition among Muslims in Britain on issues concerning penal law (Abdullah Mohammed in: The Federation of Students Islamic Societies, Essays on Islam, Essay Competition, Winning Entries 1995, Leicester 1995, 14, 37): The winner is quoting a Muslim author saying that Europeans are afraid of the application of Islamic penal norms (ordering harsh corporal punishments which are contrary to Human Rights) because they are of a criminal nature and wish to commit “unjustifiable” crimes. 65 Op. cit., n. p. 79. 64

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European legal orders are facing the challenges of Muslim presence in Europe with a mix of elements between the two poles of assimilation and segregation. 1. Aspects of assimilation/integration a) The legal order territorially applicable in the country of immigration finally decides conflicts under its own rules and those of the immigrant’s ‘native’ order. This is a model of assimilation/integration on the basis of secular legal orders bound by constitutional principles with respect to the protection of Human Rights, democracy and the rule of law. b) The model of legal assimilation intrinsically implies legal protection of all citizens and residents, especially the protection of human rights including freedom of religion against state interference, but to a certain extent also actively granting participation in society. This represents a system of individual rights rather than a system of personality (legal segregation according to the adherence to a certain religious community) with respect to the application of religious rules. 2. Aspects of segregation/ acculturation a) With respect to ‘international’ concepts of living, in the field of Private International Law (Conflict of Laws), especially in family law and law of succession the “native” legal rules can be applied within the limits of public policy, which is a model of partial segregation. Given the fact that most of the immigrants to Germany and Europe intend to stay permanently in their new home country, legislation should consider this new residence to be the most appropriate connecting factor for the application of substantial law in civil matters rather than the state of origin. b) Important parts of substantial private law (e.g. contract law including matrimonial contracts) are granting freedom of legal self-determination according to individual preferences. c) In some areas of law, a number of European legal orders integrate former ‘foreign’ legal identities, which is a model of partial integration by legal segregation (e.g. ‘Islamic marriage’ rules in Spain, ‘Islamic mortgages’ in the UK, separate legal rules in Greece for Muslims in Thrace in family and succession matters).

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As concerns the self-definition of Muslims adherent to Islamic norms in Europe, there are two main aspects to be kept in mind. First, there is no body of legal or religious rules laid down in laws or canons of religious obligations, but rather a system of identifying rules which are then applied to certain cases and situations. Even in the field of law, a large proportion of rules in both the traditional Sunni and Shiʿi schools are founded upon secondary legal findings such as interpretation and conclusions on the base of human reasoning. The statement that only God himself can be the legislator, which has been formulated by many academic lawyers, is thus very restricted in practice. From the early times of Islam, human beings interpreted the divine statutes and developed norms of application. It may be cautiously said that there is not a single binding provision in Islamic law which can be applied without such interpretation, and interpretations can change as human beings and their living conditions do (Seddik 1998: 99). The plurality of opinions within Islamic law is evidence for this. Furthermore, for more than 100 years and often in older times, extensive efforts have been made to create a broad forum for the application of independent legal reasoning (iğtihād ) (Ramadan 1999: 82, 93). This has allowed a certain reserve of flexibility which is necessary for legal practice to be accumulated so that an adequate response can be made to the situation of the Muslims in the Diaspora. I would like to quote a European Muslim here: “ (. . .) we had very vital, very alive, very evolving jurisprudential activities up to the fourth century of Islam. Then suddenly the community was declared to go brain dead. No longer are we allowed to develop our ideas. For it became doctrine that everyone must follow one of the present current schools. I believe that our crisis starts from this point.” (Badawi 1995: 73). Second, Islamic norms are not necessarily considered to be valid and binding at every time and place, but are subject to interpretation whether and to which extent they have to be applied in time and space. Some, for example, only applied to the wives of the prophet of Islam, Muhammad; others are aimed at the Non-Muslim population of the Arabian Peninsula in the first century A.H. Only a relatively small number of rules are taken to be binding at all times and at all and any places. These rules are mostly concerning the individual relation between God and man, the core of belief itself—the so-called five pillars of Islam. But even in this field, Muslims have found and developed interpretations which allow them to arrange their living conditions in a society which is predominantly non-Muslim (e.g. in the field of delaying or contracting

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the obligatory prayers). Furthermore, these rules are not enforceable in this world and therefore restricted to rule the relations between God and man. Concerning Muslim presence outside the ‘Islamic world’, in the past many Muslim lawyers advised against long stays abroad (outside the dār al-Islām), fearing that this could prevent Muslims from fulfilling their religious duties (cf. Ibn Rušd 1907: 286; even stricter statements in alQayrawānī 1994: 486; Khoury 1985: 128; Miller 2000: 258). This fear is obviously due to historical events and experiences during the Reconquista (cf. only Dressendörfer 1971), the crusades and later hostile encounters between Christian European and Islamic powers. It is not by accident that the concept of the fundamental distinction between two opposite houses (dār al-Islām, house of Islam, and dār al-harb, house of war) was mainly elaborated in these times. Similar points of view can still be found today among very traditional, sometimes extremely antiWestern lawyers.66 The central point always seems to be the fear that the Islamic world may be weakened by migration. However, this obviously does not correspond with our present reality: according to a new survey 1/3 of all Muslims live outside Islamic states, many of them by their own choice.67 Nevertheless, with respect to the legal rules of Islam it has been broadly accepted since the Middle Ages that they cannot be applied outside ‘Islamic’ territory and that Muslims are obliged to either respect the law of the land or to leave the country and to return to countries ruled by Muslims. This view is based on the third category between dār al-Islām and dār al-harb, the so-called ʿdār al-ʿahdʾ (“house of a (peace) treaty”).68 Still, this concept is based on the fundamental distinction between opposite camps. Thus, it may serve as a fundament for a peaceful co-existence in a diaspora situation, since it obliges Muslims to adhere to the law of the land as an equivalent for being granted personal security and protec66 See Ibn Baz/Uthaymeen, Muslim Minorities—Fatawa Regarding Muslims Living as Minorities, Hounslow 1998, especially pp. 71; The Fiqh Council of the Muslim World League on its 16th session in Mecca, reported in “A message from Muslim scholars to Muslim Minorities in the West”, Daawah No. 4 1422 A.H./Feb. 2002, pp. 8, 11. 67 M. Ali Kettani, Muslim Minorities in the World Today, London 1986, p. 18; also see Abedin, Muslim Minority Communities in the World Today, Islamochristiana 16 (1990), pp. 1. 68 Cf. article “dār al-ʿahd”, in: Wizārat al-awqāf wa al-šuʾūn al-islāmīya (Ed.), Almawsū‘at al-fiqhīya Vol. 20, 2nd ed. Kuwait 1990; Khālid ‘Abd al-Qādir, Fiqh al-aqallīyāt al-muslima, Tarābulus 1419/1998, pp. 59 as well as the references in Encyclopaedia of Islam II, Leiden 1991under dar al-sulh (Macdonald).

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tion by the state of residence. However, it is doubtful whether the selfdefinition of a “diaspora” and the development of a separate order for a more or less homogeneous Muslim minority (“fiqh al-aqallīyāt” ) would be very helpful for actively being part of and contributing to society as a whole. Therefore, the majority of Muslim thinkers are seeking new approaches to defining Islamic life as a part of the given legal and societal conditions of life in Europe. They reject the former division between dār al-Islām and dār al-harb, saying that in our days earth is simply “one house” for mankind as a whole, and that every Muslim is entitled to live in any part of the world and is responsible for the sake of the society he/ she is living in. They stress that that there is no support for the classical view, neither in the Qurʾān nor in the sunna, and that it is no more than an invention of the classical lawyers (Zakaria 1989: 54; Oubrou 2003; 193, 197).69 Instead of that, intense international co-operation and common legal rules and values are creating completely different conditions that do not allow a concept of general hostility, as developed in the past in Europe and in the Islamic world alike, to be maintained. According to them, the entire world nowadays constitutes one single camp (“dār wāhida”), one all-embracing “dār al-ʿahd ”.70 This new approach opens a broad space for the harmonization of the European legal framework with Islamic life in Europe. In this sense the task in Europe would be to define rules for Muslims here in accordance with the indispensable values of democracy, Human Rights and the rule of law governing European legal orders. Within the framework of these orders, Muslims have to be enabled to practice their belief not only in a theoretical position, but in daily life. The adversaries of this kind of constitutional orders are to be found among Muslim

69 “Graz Declaration” of a conference of leaders of Islamic centers and Imams in Europe in Graz/Austria, June 13th–15th, 2003: “The medieval distinction between the two opposites “dar al-Islam” and “dar al-harb” has to be objected, too. It is based neither in the Qurʾan nor in the sunna, and has no relevance whatsoever nowadays, being a historical phenomenon which has been outdated for a very long time” (translated from the German version by the author). Th e declaration is published on the homepage of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany, ; also see the references in Shadid/Van Koningsveld, Religious Freedom and the Position of Islam in Western Europe, Kampen 1995, 3.2. 70 On the ISESCO-conference in Frankfurt am Main/Germany on September 29 and 30, 2003 on “Dialogue among Civilizations: Diversity within complementarity” the Muslim participants from all over the Islamic world and Europe unanimously agreed on this concept.

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extremist groups like Khilavet Devleti, Hizb al-Tahrir or Murabitun as well as among right or left-wing radicals, extremist feminists,71 Christian fundamentalists and simple racists (who are sometimes to be found unified in strange alliances). Insofar all Europeans should remember that freedom of religion and therefore religious pluralism is an integral part of the liberal European constitutions, and that everybody who is willing to respect the rule of the land should enjoy this freedom.

References Al-Qayrawānī. 1994. Kitāb al-ğihād min kitāb al-nawādir wa al-ziyāda. Edited by von Bredow. Stuttgart. Al-Rāfiʿī, Sālim Ibn ʿAbd al-Ghanī. 2001. Ahkām al-ahwāl al-šakhsīya li-l-muslimīn fī al-gharb. Riyadh. Asaria, Iqbal. 2003. Islamic home finance arrives on UK’s high streets. In Muslim News 25 July. No. 171: 6. Badawi. 1995. In King (ed.). God’s Law versus State Law. London. Bälz. 2004. A Murabaha Transaction in an English Court. In Islamic Law and Society 11. Bencheikh, Soheib. 1998. Marianne et le Prophète—L’Islam dans la France laïque. Paris. Bielefeldt, Heiner. 2003. Muslime im säkularen Rechtsstaat. Bielefeld. Dressendörfer. 1971. Islam unter der Inquisition. Die Morisco-Prozesse in Toledo 1575– 1610. Wiesbaden. Fetzer, Soper. 2005. Muslims and the State in Britain, France, and Germany. Cambridge. Heckel. 1999. Religionsunterricht für Muslime? In JZ. Ibn Rušd. 1325/1907. Al-muqaddimat al-mumahhida. Vol. 2. Iqbal. 2001. Islamic Banking and Finance. Leicester. Kechat, Larbi. 1997. Le coran a été relevé au VIIe siècle: dans le contexte socioculturel de l’époque, entretien réalisé par Guy Gauthier. In Panoramiques 29 (2). Khoury. 1985. Islamische Minderheiten in der Diaspora. Mainz. Klarmann. 2003. Islamic Project Finance. Zürich. Kraft. 2002. Islamische Sakralarchitektur in Deutschland. Münster: LIT. Leggewie et al. 2002. Der Weg zur Moschee. Eine Handreichung für die Praxis. Bad Homburg v.d.Höhe. Levy. 2000. The Multiculturalism of Fear. Oxford. Lewis, Ph. 1994. Islamic Britain. London. Link. 1995. In Listl /Pirson (eds.). HdbStKirchR Bd. II. 2nd ed. Lord Ahmad, Nazir. 2005. Notes on the Judicial Situation of Muslims in the United Kingdom. In Schneiders/Kaddor (eds.). Muslime im Rechtsstaat. Münster. Miller. 2000. Muslim Minorities and the Obligation to Emigrate to Islamic Territory. In Islamic Law and Society 7. Oubrou. 2003. Die “Minderheits-Scharia” in Frankreich: Reflexionen zu einer rechtlichen Integration des Islam. In Escudier et al. (eds.). Der Islam in Europa. Der Umgang mit dem Islam in Frankreich und Deutschland. Göttingen.

71 Cf. the defamatory campaign of A. Schwarzer, ‘Alice Schwarzers Kanal’, to be called upon under http://www.zr2.jura.uni-erlangen.de/schwarzers%20kanal.shtml

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Pearl, D.; W. Menski. 1998. Muslim Family Law. London: 3rd ed. Poulter. 1993. The Claim to a Separate Islamic System of Personal Law for British Muslims. In Mallat/Connors (eds.). Islamic Family Law. London. Ramadan, T. 1999. To be a European Muslim. Leicester. Rohe, Mathias. 2001a. Der Islam—Alltagskonflikte und Lösungen. Freiburg: 2nd Edition. ——. 2001b. Islam und deutsche Rechtsordnung—Möglichkeiten und Grenzen der Bildung islamischer Religionsgemeinschaften in Deutschland. In Landeszentrale für politische Bildung Baden-Württemberg (ed.). Islam in Deutschland. Der Bürger im Staat 51 (4). ——. 2001c. Die Reform des ägyptischen Familienrechts. In StAZ. ——. 2003a. Islamic Law in German Courts. In Hawwa (1). ——. 2003b. Islam und deutsches Zivilrecht. In Ebert/Hanstein (eds.). Beiträge zum Islamischen Recht II. ——. 2003c. Religiös gespaltenes Zivilrecht in Deutschland und Europa? In De Wall/ Germann (eds.). Festschrift Link. Tübingen. ——. 2004a. Shariʾa in Europe. Die Welt des Islams—International Journal for the Study of Modern Islam 44 (3). ——. 2004b. The Formation of a European Shari‘a. In Muslims in Europe. Münster. ——. 2004c. Schutz vor Diskriminierung aus religiösen Gründen im Europäischen Arbeitsrecht—Segen oder Fluch? In Krause/Veelken/Vieweg (eds.). Gedächtnisschrift für Wolfgang Blomeyer. Berlin. ——. 2005a. Islamisches Wirtschaften aus rechtlicher Sicht. In Herrmann/Voigt (eds.). Globalisierung und Ethik. Heidelberg. ——. 2005b. Islamisten und Schariʾa. In Senatsverwaltung für Inneres (ed.). Islamismus. Berlin. ——. 2007. Muslim Minorities and the Law in Europe—Chances and Challenges, New Delhi. —— /Elster. 2006. Zur öffentlich-rechtlichen Situation von Muslimen in ausgewählten europäischen Ländern, in: Österreich, Bundesministerium des Inneren, Perspektiven und Herausforderungen in der Integration muslimischer MitbürgerInnen in Österreich, Wien. Saeed. 1996. Islamic Banking and Interest. A Study of the Prohibition of Riba and its Contemporary Interpretation. Leiden. Schmitt. 2003. Moscheen in Deutschland. Konflikte um ihre Errichtung und Nutzung. Flensburg. Seddik, Youssef. 1998. Avon-nous jamais lu le Coran? In Esprit 239 (1). Selbmann. 2003. Developments in German Case Law Regarding the Freedom of Religion. In European Yearbook of Minority Issues 3. Shadid; van Koningsveld. 2003. Religious Authorities of Muslims in the West. In Intercultural Relations and Religious Authorities: Muslims in the European Union. Leuven. Shah-Kazemi. 2001. Untying the Knot. Muslim Women, Divorce and the Sharia. London. Venardos. 2005. Islamic Banking and Finance. New Jersey. Vöcking. 1993. Organisations as attempts at integration of Muslims in Germany. In Speelman et al. (eds.). Muslims and Christians in Europe. Essays in honour of Jan Slomp. Kampen. Waardenburg. 2003. Muslims and Others. Berlin. Weber, Hermann. 2003. Muslimische Gemeinschaften der Körperschaften des öffentlichen Rechts, in: Oebbeke (Ed.), Muslimische Gemeinschaften im deutschen Recht, Frankfurt a.M. Zakaria, Rafiq. 1989. Is Islam Secular? In Aligarh 54.

RELIGIOUSNESS AMONG YOUNG MUSLIMS IN GERMANY Kea Eilers, Clara Seitz, Konrad Hirschler

Religious practices and the debates surrounding them are among the most prominent issues in the perception of Muslim populations in Germany. A number of subjects such as the permissibility of the headscarf for state schoolteachers or the legality of slaughtering according to Islamic customs have entered with force the public sphere in recent years. The crucial question in these debates has been to what degree such religious practices will be able to enter the set of cultural practices, which are accepted as being conform to mainstream values. It is within these often vigorous debates that the intensity and content of Muslim religiousness has formed an important underlying strand. In a first part, the present article sets out to survey the state of research on this issue. In a second part the results of a survey on the subject of religiousness among young Muslims in the northern German town of Kiel will be discussed.

1. Literature Review Religiousness in the German context has been studied from different venues. Research on this issue during the 1970s and 1980s was a rather rare phenomenon and focused generally on religiousness as a factor in order to measure the degree of integration or the intensity of political radicalism.1 The relationship between religiousness and integration, whereas religiousness was mainly seen as a hindrance to integration, 2 played especially a salient role in the field of pedagogical studies. The relationship between religiousness and political radicalism dealt particularly with Muslim organizations, their aims and the question to what degree their outlooks might be compatible with Western forms of

1 Tietze, Nikola. 2003. Muslimische Religiosität in Deutschland: Welche Perspektiven hat die Forschung? Berliner Debatte Initial 14:197–207, here 197. 2 As a typical example cf. Elsas, Christoph. 1980. Einflüsse der islamischen Religion auf die Integrationsfähigkeit der ausländischen Arbeitnehmer und ihrer Familienangehörigen. Berlin.

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democracy. Although such issues have continued to attract attention,3 especially as the compatibility has turned out to be a widely discussed subject in European countries, the focus of the field has widened considerably during the 1990s. The 1990s did not only bring forth a qualitative change, but also a decisive quantitative rise of studies concerned with the issue of religiousness. Whereas Leggewie still deplored in 1993 that “the empirical sociology of religion lets us down” with regard to more detailed information on Muslim religiousness in European countries,4 the field has developed since then. The bulk of these studies has adopted qualitative approaches,5 often with the aim to delineate the various forms and styles of expressing Muslim religiousness.6 The rise of these qualitative studies has been paralleled by quantitative ones, which offer indeed the first beginnings of an ‘empirical sociology’ of Islam in Western Europe.7 3

Cf. Heitmeyer, W., J. Müller, and H. Schröder. 1997. Verlockender Fundamentalismus. Türkische Jugendliche in Deutschland. Frankfurt a. M. 4 Leggewie, Claus. 1993. Alhambra: Der Islam im Westen. Reinbek, 52. 5 Tellingly, the review article of Tietze (2003), which proposes further directions of research on this issue is confined to qualitative research. 6 Most importantly: Schiffauer, Werner. 1988. Migration and Religiousness. In: Thomas Gerholm and Yngve Georg Lithman (eds.). The New Islamic Presence in Western Europe. London/New York, 146–158; Schiffauer, Werner. 1991. Die Migranten aus Subay. Türken in Deutschland: eine Ethnographie. Stuttgart; Sandt, Fred-Ole. 1996. Religiosität von Jugendlichen in der multikulturellen Gesellschaft. Münster; Karakaşoğlu, Yasemin. 2000. Muslimische Religiosität und Erziehungsvorstellungen. Eine empirische Untersuchung zu Orientierungen bei türkischen Lehramts- und Pädagogik-Studentinnen in Deutschland. Frankfurt a.M.; Klinkhammer, Gritt. 2000. Moderne Formen islamischer Lebensführung. Eine qualitativ-empirische Untersuchung zur Religiosität sunnitisch geprägter Türkinnen in Deutschland, Marburg; Tietze, Nikola. 2001. Islamische Identitäten: Formen muslimischer Religiosität in Deutschland und Frankreich. Hamburg; Kelek, Neclá. 2002. Islam im Alltag: Islamische Religiosität und ihre Bedeutung in der Lebenswelt von Schülerinnen und Schülern türkischer Herkunft. Münster; Nökel, Sigrid. 2002. Die Töchter der Gastarbeiter und der Islam. Zur Soziologie alltagsweltlicher Anerkennungspolitiken. Eine Fallstudie. Bielefeld. 7 Most importantly: Heitmeyer et al. (1997); Fuchs-Heinritz, Werner. 2000. Religion. In: Deutsche Shell (ed.). Jugend 2000. 2 vols. Opladen, vol. 1:157–180; Weidacher, Alois (ed.). 2000. In Deutschland zu Hause: Politische Orientierungen griechischer, italienischer, türkischer und deutscher junger Erwachsener im Vergleich. Opladen; Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, Ulrich v. 2001. Türken in Deutschland: Einstellungen zu Staat und Gesellschaft, unpubl. working paper, Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung 53/2001. Sankt Augustin; Wetzels, Peter and Katrin Brettfeld. 2003. Auge um Auge, Zahn um Zahn? Migration, Religion und Gewalt junger Menschen. Eine empirisch kriminologische Analyse der Bedeutung persönlicher Religiosität für Gewalterfahrungen, -einstellungen und -handeln muslimischer junger Migranten im Vergleich zu Jugendlichen anderer religiöser Bekenntnisse. Münster; Meng, Frank. 2004. Islam(ist)ische Orientierungen und gesellschaftliche Integration in der zweiten Migrantengeneration. Bremen; Worbs, Susanne and Friedrich Heckmann. 2004 2. Islam in Deutschland: Aufarbeitung des gegenwärtigen Forschungsstandes und Auswertung

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However, the results of both approaches do not offer a picture of German Muslim populations in general but are rather focused on specific sub-groups. Firstly, in terms of age, they tend to concentrate on young Muslims up to an age of about 30 so that we have hardly any information on degrees and forms of religiousness among elder Muslim populations. Secondly, ‘Muslim’ is mostly understood as quasi-synonym with ‘Turkish’8 or ‘of Turkish descent/background’, so that important sections of the Muslim populations in Germany, specifically those of ex-Yugoslavian and Arab background, are excluded.9 A further methodologically relevant aspect of quantitative studies is that they often include the Alevis in the sample of ‘Muslim’ and/or ‘Turkish’ youngsters without taking account of their differing conceptions of belief and ritual.10 This last point must have influenced the results considerably as Alevis form a substantial group among Muslims in Germany.11 Furthermore, they tend to ascribe—as those studies have shown which did indeed differentiate between Sunnis and Alevis—to their religion a lower subjective importance.12 1.1 Quantitative Studies The quantitative research conducted on the German case during the past years regarding Muslim religiousness has shown that religion plays

eines Datensatzes zur zweiten Migrantengeneration. In: Bundesministerium des Innern (ed.). Islamismus. Berlin, 133–220. 8 The further question of ethnic variation within this group, most importantly the considerable Kurdish minority, is not approached at all in the studies. Consequently, the term ‘Turkish’ is used in the following with reference to the Turkish nation-state without implying any ethnic connotations. 9 For example: Schiffauer (1988); Heitmeyer et al. (1997); Fuchs-Heinritz (2000); Klinkhammer (2000); Weidacher (2000); Tietze (2001); Wilamowitz-Moellendorf (2001); Kelek (2002); Meng (2004). Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003) include Muslims of all other backgrounds, Nökel (2002) those of Arab, and Worbs/Heckmann (20042) those of ex-Yugoslavian background. 10 For example: Heitmeyer et al. (1997); Fuchs-Heinritz (2000); Weidacher (2000); Wilamowitz-Moellendorf (2001); Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003); Meng (2004). 11 Heitmeyer et al. (1997), 46: 13%; Worbs/Heckmann (2004), 142: 11.5%; Meng (2004), 98: 11.3%. According to REMID (Religionswissenschaftlicher Medien- und Informationsdienst e.V. Marburg, <www.remid.de>) about 340,000 of the 3.3 Mio. Muslims in Germany and about 15% of the Turkish population are Alevis. 12 Worbs/Heckmann (2004), 163/4: Alevis are relatively rarely in the group of strongly religious Muslims, but over-proportionally to be found in the group of the least religious respondents.

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a salient role in the self-description of the Muslim young population. In the Wetzels/Brettfeld-survey conducted in 2000 in four major German towns and a rural district among more than 10,000 pupils (age average ~15 years), 73.1% of the Muslim respondents answered that religion was ‘very important’ or ‘important’ in their daily life. Among the Christian respondents in contrast only 17.2% ascribed such a high relevance to religion. Similarly, the survey showed that the Muslim sample had a distinctively lower proportion of respondents stating that religion is ‘unimportant’ or ‘entirely unimportant’ in their daily life (7.3%) compared to Christian participants in the survey (49.7%).13 Significantly, differences among the Muslim respondents existed regarding the self-description among those Muslims of Turkish and those of ex-Yugoslavian descent. Whereas in the former group 76.8% answered ‘very important’ or ‘important’, in the later group the proportion of these answers was with 61.3% considerably lower.14 This rare differentiation within the Muslim populations shows the future need to take into account such variables. Other quantitative studies work out a similar strong emphasis placed on religion by Muslim respondents. In the Weidacher-survey less than 25% of the German respondents, but more than 60% of the Turkish respondents considered religion to be ‘important’ or ‘rather important’15 and in the Shell Youth-survey 27% of the German, but only 6% of the Turkish respondents stated that they had no religious affiliation or are areligious.16 Finally, the Heitmeyer-survey shows that 67.8% of the Muslim participants ascribed an ‘important’ or ‘very important’ significance and only 5.2% none importance at all to the Islamic faith.17 This relative salience of religion in one’s self-description remains also visible when

13 Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 73/4. The survey was conducted in the towns of Hamburg, Hanover, Munich and Leipzig, in addition to the district (Landkreis) Friesland among 11,819 pupils with an age average of 15.3 years. The question under discussion was only put to the two-third of the respondents who described themselves as belonging to a religious group. 14 Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 75/6. The same trend has been remarked upon by Worbs/ Heckmann (20042), 164. 15 Weidacher (2000), 125. The survey was conducted in 1997 on approximately 6,000 young adults aged between 18 and 25. It included 2,504 young adults of Greek, Italian and Turkish nationality living in former Western Germany (FRG) and 3,500 young adults of German nationality living in Western and Eastern Germany (former GDR). 16 Fuchs-Heinritz (2000), 158, 173. In this study it is not clear whether the terms ‘German’ and ‘Turkish’ are differentiated on the basis of nationality, self-definition or external ascription, e.g. on the basis of the name. 17 Heitmeyer et al. (1997), 120. The survey was conducted in 1995 on pupils aged between 15 and 21.

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comparing the Muslim populations with non-Muslim groups of migrant background. The former group has a higher proportion of respondents ascribing a high relevance to religion compared to migrants of Christian and Jewish background. Nevertheless, the difference is here less distinct compared to Christian populations without a background of recent migration.18 For instance, while more than 60% of the Turkish respondents considered religion in the Weidacher-survey to be ‘important’ or ‘rather important’, this number decreases to 50% among those of Greek and about 40% among those of Italian descent.19 Taking into account religious rituals it becomes visible that the high importance ascribed to religion is not necessarily reflected in the actual religious practice. Muslim young adults certainly still have the highest proportion of those praying and attending services.20 In the same vein they tend to fast in vast majority at least one day during Ramadan and two-third attended basic religious instruction in the mosque for a more or less extended period.21 However, when put into relation with the above-discussed self-ascription of religion in daily life, it becomes visible that the Muslim young adults show the weakest correlation between this factor and the actual religious practice.22 This relative low importance of ritual practices has been also remarked upon by a number of qualitative studies discussed below, which show the young adults’ various understandings of how to practice one’s religion.23 A final result emerging from quantitative studies is the inverse relationship between school education and the intensity of religiousness. About 75% of the young Muslim adults without any school degree consider the religious sphere of life to be ‘(rather) important’ for them. Among those holding the High School Diploma (Abitur) only about 45% shared this high significance ascribed to the religious sphere.24 This correlation between school education and religiousness is inverse for other groups. Especially among Christians without a recent history of migration, a higher level of education goes generally hand in hand with

18

Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 90–2. Only Worbs/Heckmann (20042), 144, remark a slightly higher church attendance among Christian respondents of ex-Yugoslavian background compared to mosque attendance among Muslims. 19 Weidacher (2000), 125. 20 Fuchs-Heinritz (2000), 163–5. 21 Heitmeyer et al. (1997), 117/8. 22 Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 78–80, discuss by way of example the frequency of praying. 23 E.g. Sandt (1996), 249–251; Kelek (2002), 182. 24 Weidacher (2000), 126.

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a higher degree of religiousness.25 The same difference is visible with regard to social status and religiousness: While among Muslims low social status correlates with stronger religiousness, the relationship is inverse for other groups.26 The above results on self-ascription and practice among Muslim young adults represent more or less the starting point of empirical research in Germany on the Muslim community’s religiousness. However, the short history of this research interest renders comments on long term trends rather difficult27 and no clear picture emerges from those studies which have ventured into this field: While one author notes a ‘distinct process of secularization’,28 another study refers—rather vaguely—to the contrary trend of an intensification of Muslim religiousness in Germany.29 Thus, due to the absence of an established empirical tradition in this field, any statements have to be taken with a pinch of salt. 1.2 Qualitative Studies The above results have outlined the ‘external’ side of religiousness, i.e. the quantifiable aspects. These findings have to be complemented by qualitative studies, which have reflected upon the high variety of forms this religiousness has taken, the diverging functions it fulfils and the often contradictory ends to which it is put. The following results derive from studies, which do not claim representative character. However, they are essential in order to shed light on what the category ‘religiousness’ might actually signify in different contexts. Similarly to the preceding section it must first be noted that the most important studies include a rather limited section of the Muslim populations in Germany: Again

25

Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 108–111. Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 101/2. 27 The yearly survey by the Zentrum für Türkeistudien (Centre for Turkey Studies) conducted since 1999 among migrants of Turkish descent might yield interesting results in the future. 28 Meng (2004), 107/8. 29 Heitmeyer et al. (1997), 11. 26

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the focus is nearly exclusively on young Muslims30 generally of Turkish descent,31 specifically well-educated women.32 The principal points emerging from these studies are threefold. Firstly, the younger generation does not merely adopt its parents’ understanding and form of religion, but, on the contrary, tends to actively reshape it. Thus, the high importance ascribed to religion by young Muslims is not necessarily a continuation of practices, which had been prevalent in their family background. Often it is rather an active re-reading of such practices, which takes place in a radically different social and cultural environment. This reinterpretation generally happens in subtle ways, so to avoid a break with the parents’ belief-systems, but an unchanged adaptation is rarely observed.33 Such changes of traditional values often concern the ritual obligations. These are decreasingly accepted as given, but rather rationalized in accordance with ‘modern’ readings of their function and/or subjected to a more individualized praxis.34 This changed interpretation and practice of rituals often entails a critique of the parents’ generation. Especially the ‘re-islamized’ minority among the Muslim populations expresses a vehement rejection of what is described as the ‘local tradition’ to which the parents purportedly refer.35 The second principal point is that religiousness plays a considerable positive role in self-defining the individual’s position within society. This contrasts sharply with the assumption of studies dating from the 1970s and 1980s. Here, religiousness—especially Muslim religiousness—was mainly seen as a problem, in the sense of excluding the individual from ‘modern Western’ society. A recent study of young ‘re-islamized’ women has shown their religiousness’ crucial role for politics of identity. In this 30 Sandt (1996); Karakaşoğlu (2000); Klinkhammer (2000); Tietze (2001); Kelek (2002); Nökel (2002).The most noticeable exception is Schiffauer (1988). 31 Schiffauer (1988); Karakaşoğlu (2000); Klinkhammer (2000); Tietze (2001) (Turkish in the case studies referring to Germany, North-African in those referring to France); Kelek (2002). Sandt (1996) does not offer any detailed information on his sample. The most notable exception is Nökel (2002), who includes women of Arab descent. 32 Karakaşoğlu (2000); Klinkhammer (2000); Nökel (2002). 33 Klinkhammer (2000), 266. 34 Schiffauer (1991), 351–61; Sandt (1996), 250; Klinkhammer (2000), 259–266; Kelek (2002), 189. 35 Nökel, Sigrid. 2000. Migration, Islamisierung und Identitätspolitiken: Zur Bedeutung der Religiosität junger Frauen in Deutschland. In: Ingrid Lukatis, Regina Sommer, and Christof Wolf (eds.). Religion und Geschlechterverhältnis. Opladen, 261–270, here 262, 266.

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context religiousness functions as a symbolic resource, especially in social conflicts, which transforms the self in the framework of a social repositioning. This strategy is partly based on accentuating difference by activating and displaying Muslim religiousness. Nevertheless, it has to be understood as one of many variant possibilities to claim and/or foster one’s inclusion into society.36 This emphasis on one’s ‘Muslimness’ is not limited to the case of well-educated women, who are able to manage artfully the resources at hand. A study on marginalized young men has shown that here a similar strategy is pursued to position oneself within society. This self-identification as a Muslim seems to be, especially in the German context, an often-tapped resource. Due to the salient role ascribed to religion in German public life, to act on the basis of religious affiliation promises the individual’s recognition as a partner. Although he might be different, he can be dealt with at least on the ground of established societal patterns. Within this framework the playful handling of alterity and identity, of which religiousness represents only one possible aspect, allows young men to participate actively in society.37 This point is closely connected to the final and most important issue emerging from qualitative studies: the variety of what religiousness actually means in different individual and societal contexts. This focus on plurality is also result of the changed perception of the relationship between culture and the individual in recent decades. Rather than seeing the individual as adhering to a fixed category, carrying out obligations and applying norms the focus is increasingly on ‘the capacity of socially embedded actors to appropriate, reproduce, and, potentially, to innovate upon received cultural categories and conditions of action in accordance with their personal and collective ideals, interests, and commitments’.38 Consequently, the concrete forms, contents and aims of ‘Muslimness’ show such a contingent variety that an external definition of the group’s boundaries would prove rather fruitless and the only possibility is to rely on the individual actors’ self-definition as Muslims. The differing self-definitions, due to strongly dissimilar readings of what Islam means, constitute precisely one ‘modern’ aspect of religiousness.

36

Nökel (2002), 263–285. Tietze (2001), 221, 240. 38 Emirbayer, M./J. Goodwin. 1994. Network Analysis, Culture, and the Problem of Agency. American Journal of Sociology 99 (11): 1411–54, here 1442–3. 37

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The individual now claims the authority to narrate his/her religiousness in terms of his/her biography and/or rationality.39 Those studies, which have elaborated on the different forms, types, and styles of religiousness as well as their varying meanings, can exemplify this final point. A survey among well-educated women aged between 20 and 31 has considered religiousness in the framework of the interplay between the individual’s descent and her religious affiliation on the one hand and the social position on the other. The women displayed three main forms of Islamic life styles in order to negotiate their position within society.40 The Traditionalizing Style is based largely on the continuation of the family’s tradition and does not constitute a conscious decision for Islam. A tendency to detach oneself from the parental ‘popular/local’ customs is visible, but this is neither perceived as a decisive break in the biography nor is it accompanied by an intellectual turn towards Islamic sources. Religion, which is largely confined to the ‘private’ sphere of family and household, is dealt with pragmatically in order to resolve potential conflicts in the ‘public’ spheres. The Universalizing Style, in contrast, seeks to define universal ethical or spiritual values, which render Islam and other religions compatible. This style is characterized by the low importance ascribed to ritual obligations. The Exclusivist Style is the most explicit mode of departing from the practices of the parental generation. The way of life is here presented as a conscious decision of turning to ‘true’ Islam. This detachment from the parental ‘popular/local’ customs is accompanied by an intellectualized turn towards Islamic sources. The realm of the religion is widened to all aspects of life. Nökel discusses this last style in more detail and labels the participants in her study, also well-educated young women under 30, as “Neo-Muslima”.41 In the process of defining a cultural identity these women have recourse to their parents’ belief systems. However, they elevate these to a cultural system at eye-level with mainstream society via a methodical and rationalized conduct of life. These ‘re-islamized’ women project Islam as a counter-culture and seek to mark this distinction by their appearance (e.g. head-scarf ). Such a stance invokes association with disintegration from mainstream

39 On modernity and religiosity, cf. Klinkhammer (2000), 45ff. The processual changes to which religion is subjected during the migration process from a village community to urban migrant life is the central aspect of Schiffauer (1991). 40 Klinkhammer (2000), 283–88. 41 Nökel (2000) und (2002).

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society and the formation of encapsulated micro-societies (‘Parallelgesellschaften’), as alluded to in some quantitative studies.42 However, Nökel convincingly shows—with reference to Bourdieu’s approach—that this stance must be set into the framework of a symbolic conflict between social groups where distinction plays a crucial role. These women participate via highly individualized ways in societal processes of negotiation by having recourse to their specific cultural capital. Tietze supports this thesis of religiousness as a possible driving factor behind inclusion into society in her study on socially disfavored young men. She interprets the contingent self-definitions of these young men in terms of difference and identity as their attempt to enter into dialog with mainstream society. It must be underlined—in order to avoid an ‘over-islamization’ of this group—that their religiousness is in this regard only one among many possible elements for their construction of subjectivity. However, it is specifically the dynamic relationship between difference and identity, in which they themselves define the form and content of their ‘Muslimness’,43 which allows them to participate actively in society.

2. The Kiel Survey Against this background of research on religiousness in the German context, we have conducted in late 2004/early 2005 a field survey in the northern German harbor town of Kiel, a formerly strongly industrialized harbor town with a considerable Muslim migrant community among its 230,000 inhabitants. In order to allow comparability with the bulk of the existing studies, the range of the survey was limited to young (i.e. 10 to 30 year old) Muslims living in and around Kiel, a group which totals approximately 3,700 persons.44

42

Most salient in this regard is Heitmeyer et al. (1997). Cf. Tietze (2001), 56–85, for a further differentiation of the forms of religiosity. 44 According to the 2003 census of the Regulatory Agency Kiel (Bürger- and Ordnungsamt) about 10,000 persons with foreign nationality originating from mainly Muslim countries are living in Kiel. (Landeshauptstadt Kiel. 2004. Kieler Zahlen 2003. (Statistical Report 181). Kiel, 34.) According to REMID in the year 2003 about 20% of the Muslims in Germany were German citizens (<www.remid.de/remid_info_zahlen. htm> [cited 23 May 2005]), which gives a total of about 12,000 to 12,500 Muslims in Kiel. Taking into account the statistics of the Regulatory Agency Kiel concerning the age structure of the town’s German and foreign populations (Landeshauptstadt Kiel (2004), 43

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2.1 Methodological aspects The first principal question of the survey was an hitherto poorly researched aspect of Muslim religiousness, namely whether an ascertainable correlation between intensity of religiousness and duration of residence in Germany exists, especially whether the intensity of religiousness of young Muslims decreases with an increasing duration of residence in Germany. Closely related was the question to which degree religiousness is influenced by the number of generations an individual’s family has lived in Germany. A second strand of our survey was the differentiation between the self-ascription of the importance of one’s religion (perceived religiousness) and the question of the actual ritual practice (practiced religiousness). The survey’s initial hypothesis was that differences in the intensity of practiced and perceived religiousness can be ascertained depending on the duration of residence: the longer the residence, the less the intensity of religiousness. In the same vein, a similar relation was assumed to exist between the intensity of religiousness and the number of generations the interviewee’s family has lived in Germany. Our standardized questionnaire contained 17 questions separated into three parts: personal data (e.g. age, origin and education), intensity of perceived religiousness and practiced religiousness. To get as representative data as possible for the chosen age group, we distributed the questionnaires in different educational institutions, such as primary schools, secondary schools (including all of the three different school forms Hauptschule, Realschule and Gymnasium), vocational schools and university, as well as a sports club frequented mainly by teenagers of Muslim background. Mosques were not used as distributors in order not to falsify the results by focusing on the section of the Muslim population, which undoubtedly emphasizes strongly its religiousness.45

22ff.) the share of the population to be analyzed (i.e. Muslims aged 10 to 30, living in Kiel) was estimated to about 3,670 persons. 45 The survey was conducted in December 2004 and January 2005. The 575 questionnaires were handed out after oral or written explanation. The interviewees chose voluntarily to participate in the survey. 308 appraisable questionnaires were returned.

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2.2 Personal Data The results of the questionnaires show several characteristics concerning the personal data of the participants, which have to be highlighted. Firstly, with regard to age structure (Table 1 Age) the group of the 10 to 15 year old participants is dominating. This group makes up 47.5% of all interviewees. This can be explained by the strong participation in secondary schools (especially Hauptschule and Realschule).46 The 20 to 25 year olds have only a 9.2% share of the analyzed group. Secondly, the majority of the participants (63.6%) considered themselves to be of Turkish background as shown in Table 2 (Origins). This corresponds with the federal average of this group within the Muslim populations of Germany.47 Nevertheless, this large share stands against 19.2% who described their background as Middle Eastern, 2% as North African and 15.3% as descending from ‘other’ countries. This relative importance of participants of non-Turkish descent shows the methodological problems of studies focusing exclusively on Muslim religiousness as a phenomenon within the Turkish migrant community. The large share of the interviewees answering with ‘others’ descended mainly from the Balkans and Russian territories with a Muslim population, such as Chechnya.48 Thirdly, the large share of 54.6% among the respondents who defined their denomination as Sunni (Table 3 Denomination) cannot surprise regarding the large share of interviewees of Turkish origin who belong in majority to the Hanafi School. REMID estimates that a two-third share of the Muslims living in Germany belong to this group.49 The small proportion of only 4.2% who consider themselves to belong to Shiite Islam also fits the federal average. Significant is rather the dispro-

46 67.2% of the interviewees state that they strive for or have already achieved a secondary school or junior high school certificate (Hauptschule and Realschule). 47 According to REMID about 3.3 Mio Muslims are living in Germany. Among them are about 730,000 Muslims with German passports (<www.remid.de/remid_info_ zahlen.htm> [cited 23 May 2005]). The Federal Statistical Office (Bundesamt für Statistik) estimates the number of Turks living in Germany in 2003 at 1.9 Mio (<www.destatis. de> [cited 20 February 2005]) 58% of the whole Muslim population in Germany is Turkish. In Kiel itself citizens with Turkish nationality make up a share of about 32.1% of all foreign citizens, the largest group originating from one single state (Landeshauptstadt Kiel (2004), 33). 48 Additionally, this group may contain further participants of Middle Eastern background who—due to the term’s vagueness—could not identify with it. 49 <www.remid.de/remid_info_zahlen.htm> [cited 23 May 2005]

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Table 1: Age.

portionate high share of the categories ‘others’ (16.9%) and ‘no answer’ (24.4%), which is in our view mainly caused by two factors: Firstly, a significant number of those with Turkish background belong to the denomination of Alevis. Secondly, the terms ‘Islam’ or ‘Muslim’ were all too often added by hand to the category ‘others’, which clearly shows an unwillingness to employ denominational terms in order to qualify one’s own religion further. This might derive from unawareness towards the question of denominational plurality or, on the contrary, from a ‘reislamized’ stance, which stresses strongly the idea of unity and considers with distrust ‘traditional’ cleavages within Muslim populations.50 The results of the EFFNATIS-data pool51 ascertained in Nuremberg show that the results of the survey in Kiel are not exceptional in this regard. In the case of Nuremberg 41% of the interviewees stated Islam in general as denomination, while a further 44.3% defined themselves as Sunnis, 11.5% as Alevis and 3.3% as Shiites.52

50 The following results of the survey exclude the possibility that the category ‘no answer’ indicates a-religiosity. 51 EFFNATIS stands for Effectivness of National Integration Strategies Towards Second Generation Migrant Youth in a Comperative European Perspective. Nine research institutes based in eight European countries are working for this project supported by the European Union. More information: <www.uni-bamberg.de/projekte/effnatis>. 52 Worbs/Heckmann (2003), 142.

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Table 2: Origins.

180 160 140 120 100 80 60 40 20 0 Table 3: Denomination.

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Table 4: Relevance of Religion/Generation.

2.3 Control of Hypothesis The hypothesis mentioned above implies that among the Muslim populations, religiousness is more decisive for first generation migrants than for those whose grandparents already migrated to Germany. The analysis of the relevant data shows first of all that the results from previous studies concerning the high relevance of religion for young Muslims is visible here, too. As shown in Table 4 (Relevance of Religion in Comparison between Generations) most interviewees rated religion as ‘very important’. The respective curve has an accumulation on the first category (‘very important’) and then steeply falls off. In the same vein, the relevance of religion for the participants’ parents and grandparents was also considered to be high. However, more interesting is the value of Cramer’s V=0.42,53 which results from the empirical analysis combining the variables ‘Relevance of Religion’ of the interviewees and their parents. This high value testifies a strong correlation between these two parameters. Accordingly, the religiousness ascribed to the parents has a strong impact on the

53 Cramer’s V is a chi-square based measure of association. It is applicable to most kinds of tables. 1.0 indicates a perfect agreement of the two examined variables. 0.0 means no correlation between these variables.

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relevance of religion of the interviewees. The correlation between the relevance of religion of the interviewees and their grandparents is however minor. The value of Cramer’s V=0.28 is still a significant correlation but decisively lower than the correlation with the parents. The share of persons whose relevance of religion is appraised ‘very high’ increased from generation to generation by 10 per cent points. About 58% of the interviewees state that religion is ‘very important’ for them, while the participants rate about 68% of the parents and circa 77% of the grandparents in that way. More than 85% of the interviewees answer the question about their religiousness in the range between ‘important’ and ‘very important’. Approximately 91% of the answers concerning the estimated religiousness of the parents are located in this range, the share of the grandparents overshoots even 94%. In all three groups, less than 4% rate in the range of ‘unimportant’ to ‘very unimportant’. Table 5 (Relevance of Religion/Generation) shows the interviewees’ relevance of religion in relation to the generation their families migrated to Germany. In this table it becomes obvious that the assessment of the religiousness of the interviewees whose parents came to Germany is higher than the assessment of those whose grandparents immigrated. The correlation between these variables (Cramer’s V=0.18) is considerably lower than between the interviewees’ relevance of religion and the one of their parents and grandparents. Both curves have conspicuous

Table 5: Relevance of Religion/Generation.

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Table 6: Place of Birth/Relevance of Religion.

accumulations on the first category. However, the curve of those whose parents immigrated is slightly more accumulated in this category. The own perceived religiousness is generally ranked lower by those who are living in Germany in third generation, while those in second generation generally rank higher. Table 6 (Place of Birth/Relevance of Religion) surveys the correlation between the place of birth and the relevance of religion. Again the two curves of those born in Germany and those born elsewhere have an accumulation on the first category ‘very important’. However, the curve for those who were not born in Germany has a steeper decline. The empirical survey reveals a value of Cramer’s V=0.21, which demonstrates that the place of birth has an effect on the perceived religiousness. While 46.2% of the interviewees who were born in Germany state that religion is ‘very important’ for them, the proportion for those not born in Germany is with 64.5% considerably higher. However, taking into account the duration of residence in Germany of those not born in Germany (Table 7 Relevance of Religion/Duration of Residence) a slight correlation between duration of residence and the perceived relevance of religion appears. The value of Cramer’s V=0.19 for that combination expresses a correlation between the two analyzed parameters, which is stronger then the correlation between relevance of religion and generation, but less than between relevance of religion

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0–5 years

5–10 years

10–15 years

Table 7: Relevance of Religion/Duration of Residence.

and place of birth. Remarkable is merely the relatively low proportion of those who responded ‘very important’ in the group of respondents living in Germany for 10 to 15 years in comparison to the other groups. It is the group of persons who has lived in Germany just for 5 to 10 years who has in comparison a larger share in this category. Thus, the above results show that there exists a correlation between the participants’ perceived religiousness and their place of birth on the one hand and their perceived religiousness and the religiousness ascribed to the parents’ generations on the other hand. The duration of residence, on the contrary, does not seem to have a strong impact on the relevance of religion of the interviewees not born in Germany. To ensure that no other variable influences the relevance of religion stronger than the variables chosen by us, the question on education (Table 8) was used as control variable. The examination of this variable reveals a relatively weak relation between education and relevance of religion of the interviewees. Cramer’s V=0.17 for these parameters constitutes the lowest correlation of the examined variables so far. Previous quantitative studies have argued for a stronger relationship between religiousness and education (see above). However, it might be asked whether a control according to the parameters place of birth and history of migration might not have yielded differing results.

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Table 8: Relevance of Religion/Education.

Parents seem to be the strongest factor influencing the interviewees’ religiousness with Cramer’s V=0.42 indicating a quite strong correlation. The Meng-study, which was conducted in Bremen, also refers to the formative influence of the parental home. He analyzes individuals, who are members of Muslim associations and compares them to a Muslim reference group. He detects that especially organized Muslims often got in touch with Muslim associations because of their family’s social life. In most cases first the parents have been members of these organizations and their descendents join in turn the same association. Rules which are considered to be Islamic play an important role in parental education, so that the interviewees experienced a strongly religious socialization.54 The analysis of our data shows furthermore that the correlation between the interviewees’ religiousness and that of their grandparents is substantially weaker (Cramer’s V=0.28). The majority rates the own religiousness to be less than their parents’ religiousness and this to be again less than their grandparents’ religiousness. Nevertheless, compared to other parameters, the grandparents still seem to have a considerable

54

Meng (2004), 159.

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influence on the interviewees’ perceived religiousness. Thus, the family is one of the most important factors for religious socialization and the intensity of religiousness. 2.4 Practiced Religiousness The second main strand of our survey concerned the differentiation between the self-ascription of the importance of one’s religion (perceived religiousness) and the question of the actual ritual practice (practiced religiousness). With regard to the latter, Table 9 shows in percent how some of the Islamic religious duties are met. About 80% answered to fast during Ramadan, 35% to pray five times per day, more than 45% to give zakat, 27% to have made the pilgrimage to Mecca (hajj), more than 71% to never eat pork and about 90% to never drink alcohol. All these values seem to be quite high, especially when we keep in mind how young the interviewees are—an issue, which will be further discussed in the following part ‘Comparison’. Following the religious duties, we asked some specifi c questions about particular practiced religious features. Table 10 contains the answers concerning the frequency of prayer. It is to mention that we did not specify ‘prayer’ any further, so the answers could include both, the ritual prayer (salat) and the individual prayer (duʾa). The number of respondents in the category ‘daily’ prayer match approximately Table 9

Table 9: Religious Duties, per cent.

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Table 10: Prayer, per cent.

with more than 30% stating that they pray daily. Nevertheless, the main emphasis is set on the second half of the scale as 54.7% state that they pray several times per month, several times per year or never. The answers to the question on the frequency of mosque attendance (Table 11) indicate that younger Muslims do not very often visit mosques in Kiel. Only 8% go to mosque daily, compared to 31.2% who never go to a mosque. Those who visit more frequently a mosque (daily, several times per week, weekly) make up a 29% share of all interviewees.55 Of special interest with regard to religious practices is the issue of Qurʾan-Schools, which we analyzed in relation to other parameters. About 50% of the interviewees are participating or did participate at one point in religious instructions in such ‘schools’. Table 12 (QurʾanSchool/Education) shows the relation to the variable ‘education’. It becomes clear that the interviewees who participate in such an instruction have a higher educational degree than those who do not participate. The share of those having taken part formerly or taking part currently

55 A further question on practiced religiousness concerned Qurʾan-reading, specifically the consultation of the Qurʾan in case of general questions about life, religion etc. Here 22% answered with ‘often’, 30% with ‘sometimes’, 21% with ‘seldom’ and 27% with ‘never’.

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Table 11: Attendance at Mosque, per cent.

Table 12: Qurʾan-School/Education.

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is above average in the group of high school and university students. The participation also influences the perceived religiousness (Table 13 Qurʾan-School/Relevance). More than 70% of the interviewees who have participated in such instruction consider religion as ‘very important’ for themselves, against only 42% among those who have not participated. Furthermore, Table 14 (Qurʾan-School/Religious Duties) shows that the

Table 13: Qurʾan-School/Relevance of Religion.

Table 14: Qurʾan-School/Religious Duties.

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participation in religious instruction influences the practiced religiousness as religious duties are carried out more frequently. Important to mention here is that children who participate in religious instruction at Qurʾan-schools often descend from religious families. Consequently, these results do not only derive from the influence of the Qurʾan-schools, but also from the family’s attitude towards religion. 83.3% of the parents, who send their children to Qurʾan-school, are considered to rate religion as ‘very important’, compared to 54.4% of those parents who do not send their children to Qurʾan-school. 2.5 Perceived and Practiced Religiousness The above-discussed surprisingly high degree of perceived religiousness gains more profile when set into relation to these results on practiced religiousness. For this purpose we use the indicators ‘frequency of prayer’ and ‘frequency of Qurʾan-reading’ as an index for practiced religiousness, which is to be matched with an index for perceived religiousness.56 For both, the indicator for practiced religiousness as well as for perceived religiousness a low score always means an answer, which indicates high religiousness. Concerning religious practice the interviewees are divided into three groups: Group 1 contains the interviewees who answered the question about Qurʾan-reading with ‘often’ or ‘sometimes’ and the question about prayer with ‘every day’ or ‘several times per week’. Group 2 includes the interviewees who stated to read the Qurʾan ‘seldom’ and to pray ‘every week’, ‘several times per month’ or ‘several times per year’. Group 3 consists of those who answered both questions with ‘never’. Concerning perceived religiousness the following groups were formed: Group 1 with the answers ‘very important’, and ‘rather important’, Group 2 with ‘important’, ‘balanced’ and ‘unimportant’, Group 3 with ‘rather unimportant’ and ‘very unimportant’.57 With regard to practiced religiousness Table 15 shows that the interviewees are distributed quite regularly over the three groups, with the exception of the slightly larger Group 3 (39.1%), which contains those 56

For the construction of a similar index cf. Worbs/Heckmann (2003), 162ff. The indicator ‘frequency of attendance at mosque’ was excluded from this index as for women mosque attendance is less obligatory than for men. Our survey indeed shows that this norm is reflected in ritual practice: 11% of the male, but only 3.8% of the female, interviewees state that they visit the mosque daily. On the contrary, 43.5% of the women indicate that they never go to mosque with only 22% of the male interviewees giving this answer. 57

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Practived Religiousness

Perceived Religiousness

Group 1

30.3%

72.1%

Group 2

30.6%

26.6%

Group 3

39.1%

0.7%

100%

100%

Table 15: Practiced vs. Perceived Religiousness.

interviewees, who stated that they neither pray, nor read the Qur’an. The distribution of interviewees concerning perceived religiousness makes a contrary impression. The main emphasis with more than 70% is put obviously on Group 1 (those who answer that religion is ‘very important’ or ‘rather important’ for them) compared to a very small share of 0.7% of interviewees who are placed into Group 3. So the direct comparison shows even more clearly that there is a large gap between perceived and practiced religiousness.58 These results are, as discussed above, confirmed by a number of quantitative and qualitative studies such as the Wetzels/Brettfeld-survey, which includes young Muslims as well as adolescents of other denominations. They detect that the correlation between perceived religiousness and religious practice is weaker among young Muslims than among adolescents of other religious backgrounds.59 Explanations for the discrepancy between perceived and practiced religiousness can be mainly found in those studies, which are based on qualitative empirical research. Schiffauer, for instance, analyzes in his biographically orientated long-term study the fate and development of eight Turkish labor migrants. He documents how the migrants’ values and attitudes changed over time—changes, which are partly also relevant for the second and third generation migrants living in Germany. All of Schiffauer’s interviewees basically adhered to Islam and considered it especially in their migration-situation as an important factor of their identity. Nevertheless, the religious practices and traditions observed in

58 59

Here prayer and attendance at mosque. Wetzels/Brettfeld (2003), 79ff.

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their home countries lost their plausibility in most cases. Consequently, they needed and managed to find an individual access to religion. Schiffauer proposes three generalized worldviews represented by the migrants at the end of the ten-year study. He classified their attitudes as progressive-universal, culturalist or islamist-fundamentalist.60 The most relevant worldview for our case is the progressive-universal one in which both, the host society and the own every-day-culture are closely observed and critically analyzed. In this process an adaptation occurs during which those elements that do not seem to fit into the new environment either get a new meaning or are entirely abandoned.61 Such an adaptation to the host society may be seen in the drop of relevance of religion over generations and the generally low religious practice visible in our survey. The Meng-survey on Bremen shows similar results. Here, the generational change is even more evident as 51.9% of the interviewees in Bremen fast at Ramadan and 68.9% respond that their parents would do the same. 53.8% state that they give zakat and 68.8% of their parents also do. 30.2% expressed not to consume alcohol, while 56.1% of their parents never drink.62 Besides this processual change in outlook, a further important reason for the cleavage between perceived and practiced religiousness can be found in the individuals’ politics of identity. Especially, when taken into account that access to the host society’s identity and with that to affiliation and respectively full membership to society remains to a certain degree denied, the display of an alternative identity is an important resource.63 Irrespective of the question whether this alternative/parallel identity might be considered as an obstacle to64 or a factor for defining one’s place within society, it is—as referred to in the qualitative studies discussed above—obvious that this process is accompanied by a considerable reinterpretation of religion. The role of religiousness in politics of identity certainly contributes to the high rating of perceived religiousness and the theoretical emphasis on the fulfillment of Islamic duties.

60

Schiffauer (1991), 351ff. Ibid., 352. 62 Meng (2004), 106, 301–302. 63 Hoffmann, Lutz. 1996. Der Einfluss völkischer Integrationsvorstellungen auf die Identitätsentwürfe von Zuwanderern. In: Wilhelm Heitmeyer et al. (eds.). Die bedrängte Toleranz. Frankfurt, 248. 64 Cf. Ibid. 61

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The relatively low importance ascribed to the actual observance of duties should in this regard not be seen as a contradiction, but considered with regard to the discursive function of this crucial identity marker. It is especially the experience of exclusion, which is stressed by a number of authors in order to explain the salience of religious identity among Muslims in Germany. Şen draws attention to the counterreaction, which can result in an emphasis on the own religion or nation that are represented with verve to the host society.65 Strobels argues that victim-experiences might result in the stopping of the minority’s adaptation-processes, which is caused by the majority’s discrimination and rejection of the minority.66 The relevance of the issue of perceived exclusion has become visible in our survey. At the end of our questionnaire we asked for freely formulated proposals how to improve social life and coexistence of different cultures in Kiel. The participants often express the wish for mutual acceptance, less discrimination/racism and more exchange between the religious communities. The answers as a whole make clear that the host society is judged critically and an obvious feeling of exclusion is apparent. However, this point should not be overstressed, as many other suggestions are unlikely to differ from those of other young people. Demands for cleaner environment, more rights for girls and women and more security (more police) can not be seen as special migrant- or Muslim-like. In the same vein, a number of interviewees considered the coexistence to be good and expressed their satisfaction with the situation in Kiel. 2.6 Comparison Some quantitative surveys allow a direct comparision with the results of the Kiel-survey. Among these is the previously invoked Meng survey, which was conducted in 1999 as a written survey among Muslims of Turkish descent who had graduated from school in 1989. 67 Secondly, the Worbs/Heckmann-survey can be used, which is based on an EFFNATIS data-pool ascertained in Nuremberg in 1999 and carried out

65 Şen, Faruk. 1996. Die Folgen zunehmender Heterogenität der Minderheiten und der Generationenaufspaltung. In: Wilhelm Heitmeyer et al. (eds.). Die bedrängte Toleranz. Frankfurt, 269. 66 Strobl, Rainer. 1996. Soziale Folgen von Opfererfahrung einer ethnischen Minorität. In: Wilhelm Heitmeyer et al. (eds.). Die bedrängte Toleranz. Frankfurt, 342. 67 Meng, Frank. 2005. E-mail by the author, 17 June.

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kea eilers, clara seitz, konrad hirschler Relevance

Kiel

Bremen Friesland

HH, H, M, L, LK

very important

72.1

27.4

73.0

important

23.6

36.8

19.6

unimportantVery unimportant

4.3

35.8

7.3

Table 16: Comparison Relevance of Religion, per cent.

by the Europäisches Forum für Migrationsstudien. Here, 587 second generation migrants, among them 305 Muslims, between 16 and 25 years with Turkish or (former) Yugoslavian background were interviewed. Thirdly, we refer to the Wetzels/Brettfeld-study among pupils in the ninth class and the Preparation Year for Vocational Training (Berufsvorbereitendes Jahr) in Hamburg, Hanover, Munich, Leipzig and the administrative district Friesland (Nothern Lower Saxony). Here, 10,474 participants were interviewed during the year 2000, 869 of whom were Muslims (7.4%). Comparing the results on perceived religiousness (Table 16) there is an especially high similarity between Kiel and the Wetzels/Brettfeldstudy. A large majority (Wetzels/Brettfeld 73%, Kiel 72.1%) answers that religion is ‘very important’. A quite smaller share (Wetzels/Brettfeld 19.6%, Kiel 23.6%) considers it to be at least ‘balanced’ between important and unimportant. The smallest part (Wetzels/Brettfeld 7.3%, Kiel 4.3%) rates religion as ‘unimportant’ or less. One possible explanation for this similarity might be age as the largest share in Kiel were the 10 to 15 year old pupils with 47.5% and the interviewees of the Wetzels/Brettfeld-study were between 15 and 17 years old at the time of the survey. In the Meng-study, which displays clearly differing results in this regard, the interviewees were in contrast between 25 and 32 years old. The relevance of Islam as feature of identity, which is demonstrated to the outside world, seems to lose its attractiveness with increasing age. The reaction of the adolescents to external ascriptions of identity by the host society seems to be much more intense among the youngsters than the reaction of the older interviewees. Comparing the interviewees’ self-assesment of their religiousness with their assessment of the parents’ religiousness (Table 17) it is visible in our and the Meng-study that the relevance of the parents is ranked

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higher than the own religiousness. In the Meng-survey the difference between the two generations is of more importance than in our data: While in his study the relevance of the parents increases by more than 15 per cent points compared to their children, the difference is only 10 per cent points in the case of the Kiel interviewees. A perceived decrease of religiousness can be recognized in both studies. Concerning the Qurʾanschool (Table 18) there are only insignificant differences between these two surveys.

Relevance

Kiel

Meng

very important

80.7

42.8

important

16.9

34.7

unimportantVery unimportant

2.1

22.6

Table 17: Comparison perceived Parents’ Relevance of Religion, per cent.

Participation in Qurʾan-School

Kiel

Meng

Yes

50.7

54.7

No

49.3

45.3

Table 18: Comparison Participation Qurʾan-School, per cent.

The results of Kiel concerning the meeting of Islamic religious duties (Table 19) pose difficulties of interpretation. Regarding the age structure of the participants, the answers to hajj and prayer have to be seen partly as plans for the future rather than obligations, which have been fulfilled. The positive answers to zakat certainly include the individuals’ family and less the adolescents themselves. However, the answers referring to the consumption of alcohol and pork seem to be quite plausible, in the case of alcohol not at least because of the age.

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Religious

Kiel

Meng

Fast at Ramadan

80.3

51.9

5 times Prayer per day

35.1

12.3

Zakat

45.7

53.8

Hajj

27.2

9.4

No alcohol

71.5

30.2

No Pork

89.7

88.0

Table 19: Comparison Religious Duties, per cent.

Membership/ Sympathy

Kiel

Meng

Worbs/ Heckmann

Yes

29.9

33.8

4.6

No

70.1

66

95.4

Table 20: Comparison Membership/Sympathy, per cent.

In Kiel, the affiliation to a religious club or association (Table 20) is significantly higher than in Nuremberg. However, this discrepancy is probably linked to the different wording of the question. While we asked for sympathy for an association, the Worbs/Heckmann-study in Nuremberg referred to formal membership. We chose this wording for practical reasons as it is usually only the head of the family who is registered in a Muslim club or association,68 although the entire family might be de facto members of it. In sum, the comparison of the Kiel-survey with the Meng-survey on Bremen, the Worbs/Heckmann-survey on Nuremberg and the Wetzels/ Brettfeld-survey on several places reveals besides a number of congruities, considerable differences. Especially apparent are the differences in the results regarding Bremen and Kiel, while a number of similarities are visible with regard to the results of the Wetzels/Brettfeld and the Kiel surveys. As referred to above, the partly diverging interviewees’ age may

68 Lemmen, Thomas. 2000. Islamische Organisationen in Deutschland, 29. Available <www.fes.de/fulltext/asfo/00803toc.htm> [cited 12 January 2005].

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constitute one possible explanation. A further explanation for the differences may be seen in the time the surveys were conducted. All three studies were carried out before 11 September 2001, after which topics linked to Islam and Muslim communities in Europe and elsewhere have gained particular prominence in the media. The broadcasted reports are often generalizing and improperly investigated, while the contents are strikingly similar regardless of the general level or political attitude of the broadcasting station or of the news paper.69 Furthermore, reports on the German Armed Forces’ mission in Afghanistan, the ‘war on terrorism’ and events in Iraq draw a problematic image of Muslim countries, which complicates the Muslims’ standing in the German society and often obliges them to vindicate their religion. Empirical studies analyzing the representation of non-native Germans in media indicate among others that reports more often show negative aspects than reports on native Germans. ‘Foreigners’ were also more often linked to crime and repeatedly represented as an unfitting element of society. Specific groups are exposed in a particularly negative manner, such as for example migrants from Turkey or the Balkans. The survey also argued that a discriminating and delegitimising use of language support these negative images.70 Whereas these results refer to the period until the year 2000, the coverage of Muslims has become even more problematic after the events of 11 September 2001. The Muslim countries’ presence in the media has increased conspicuously and the negative headlines are dominating the coverage. The previously visible tendency to project deeds by individuals of Muslim background or ‘Muslim states’ onto the whole religious community71 has rather increased. The religious denomination of criminals is accentuated in a remarkable manner, even if no obvious connection between crime and religion is apparent. A case in point is the sniper, who terrorized Washington D.C. in autumn 2002. Aft er his arrest/imprisonment the press reported about the “converted Muslim John Allan Muhammad”, although no exact information about his motivation is available until today. The accumulation of these cases per-

69 Pinn, Irmgard. 1995. Im Fadenkreuz der Medien. Anmerkungen zur Berichterstattung über Islam und Muslime Spektrum Iran: Zeitschrift für islamisch-iranische Kultur 8:31–59. 70 Geißler, Rainer and Horst Pöttker. 2005. Massenmedien und die Integration ethnischer Minderheiten in Deutschland. Bielefeld. 71 Hoffmann (1998), 18–24.

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suades the audience of an intimate link between violence and religion of the delinquents,72 which furthers general suspicions against Muslims.73 Especially migrants of Muslim background in Europe and in the United States are exposed to such prejudices and suspicions. In this climate, the above-discussed experiences of exclusion—which have been also expressed in the responses to our survey—are felt more intensively. Concomitantly, the accentuated display of one’s Muslim religiousness gains in importance. This has been also shown in the yearly surveys, which have been conducted since 1999 by the Zentrum für Türkeistudien (University of Duisburg-Essen) among 1,000 migrants of Turkish descent in the federal state of North Rhine-Westphalia. The responses concerning religiousness in the year 2004 show a significant rise compared to the year 2000. While then 57% of the participants considered themselves to be ‘strongly’ or ‘rather’ religious, this share has risen within four years to some 72%. The explanation for this rise is seen in the public controversies surrounding Muslim issues in Germany, which is often accompanied by an increasing perception of discrimination on the part of Muslim populations.74

3. Conclusion Religiousness thus remains a decisive feature for the identity of Muslims with a recent history of migration as our survey and other quantitative studies have shown. More specifically, the hypothesis derived from our survey’s first principal question has been mainly affirmed. Our data proved that there is a relationship between the religiousness of young Muslims and their place of birth. Furthermore, even though a large majority of the interviewees emphasizes religiousness, a generational replacement, similar to the results of the Meng-survey conducted in Bremen, can be detected. The parents’ and grandparents’ relevance of religion was generally rated higher than the relevance of the interviewees.

72 Schiffer, Sabine. 2004. Islam in den Medien. Konstruierte Wahrheiten und Zerrbilder. Available <www.qantara.de/webcom/show_article.php?wc_c=469&wc_id=242> [cited 26 May 2005]. 73 Pinn (1995), 31–59. 74 Press release, Zentrum für Türkeistudien, 25 July 2005. [cited 27 July 2005].

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However, clear-cut statements on the salience of religiousness among young Muslims imply the danger of essentializing religiosity to a stable and rather homogenous entity. Qualitative studies have shown in this regard that Muslim religiousness is, as well as others expressions of religiousness, a highly contingent, varying and diverse phenomenon. Th is is also visible in the strong discrepancy between the importance ascribed to religion in representing one’s identity to the outside and the actual religious practice, which our survey once again clearly demonstrated in its second strand of interest. Hence, the phenomenon ‘religiousness’ encompasses a variety of divergent practices that must be taken into account, especially when employing it in explaining seemingly dependent variables, such as deviant behavior and political extremism.

PART II

ISLAM AND SOCIAL PRACTICE

GOVERNMENTALITY, PASTORAL CARE AND INTEGRATION Levent Tezcan1

1. Governing the truth and the Priest Among scholars of the research on Islam in Europe there is little interest in authority structures and production of religious knowledge relevant for reaching salvation. The current state of research on Islam concentrates insufficiently on the issue of institutionalisation which is strongly connected with the aim of societal integration. In this contribution I will try to contextualize the institutionalisation issue in a historical-political framework. The connection between religion and governmental techniques is here at the core of interest. One of the major critics of religion, the controversial German philosopher Nietzsche, did not remain on the level of big words like God, Truth, Soul, Salvation and so on, but he asked, following his genealogical method, where these ideas come from and who put them on the agenda, and finally which interests underpin them. In this, the (actually monotheistic) priest plays a central role. Although he is actually not the creator of ideas (such as the prophets are), the priest claims to administer transcendence, an Otherworld. He tied wellbeing in this world to the truth of the Otherworld and he is the only one that has privileged access to it. Nietzsche explained the Judaic (and later the Christian) invention of transcendence and the monopoly retained by the priest as the priest’s revenge on the warrior (the Romans) and considered it as a radical revaluation of values in favour of forces hostile to life. The idea of invention of transcendence also attracted the interest of other thinkers. The sociologist Shmuel N. Eisenstadt (1987), adopting Jasper’s concept of Axial Age (1956), traces, in the invention of

1 This essay is based on studies carried out in the context of the project Kollektive Identitätsbildungsprozesse von Muslimen in öffentlichen Konflikten (Collective Identity Building Processes of Muslims in Public Conflicts) which was financed for three years by the Volkswagen Foundation and carried out at the Institute for Interdisciplinary Research on Conflict and Violence of the University of Bielefeld, Germany.

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transcendence, the early sources of modernity. And that idea of Axial Age as the first step (more than two thousand years ago) in the long journey towards modernity blends, as a result of globalization, into the idea of multiple modernities whereby the distinguishing elements of these several modernities rely on the ontological visions connected with religion. Following this theoretical line, Nilüfer Göle (http://www. pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/shows/muslims/interviews/gole.html) has been working on the concept of ‘alternative modernity’ which she believes to observe among the Islamist movement, especially Islamist women. Göle turns our attention to the role of self-techniques carried by Islamic visions in the production of new cultural patterns, but she does not connect this phenomenon, in a sociologically more interesting task, with structural transformations within the religious culture, namely the question of institutional transformations. Göle’s use of the concept of self-techniques with explicit reference to Michel Foucault dismisses, however, a crucial point within Foucault’s concept: The genealogical analysis of religion by using Nietzsche’s ideas about the role of the priest. Foucault indeed conducted such a genealogy in a subtle way when he researched the historical importance of the Christian Pastorate—as he called it “pastoral technique” or “pastoral power” (1993; 2004). Why was this technique important according to Foucault? To phrase it in a straight way: It is due to the power relation installed between pastor (shepherd) and members of the herd. This relation is strongly tied to truth-telling; it is a relation of truth which commits the individuals to the priest as an instance observing the conduct of live. Through individualisation, the shepherd takes care of each sheep and the individuals are obliged to account to the priest. The key word is accountability. Monotheism opened up the possibility of connecting the idea of God with the conduct of life (Lebensführung) in this world and a way of tying people to the priest. According to Max Weber (who speaks of “ethical prophets”) the conduct of life reached its peak in Christianity, especially in Protestantism. The congregational religion unfolds its final form when the relation between the priest and the community determines the conduct of life of the individuals (Weber, 1968: 452 pp.). We can take this pastoral power as a cultural dispositif in the sense of Foucault (an arsenal of instruments, rules, ideas) which will be exercised in encounters with new religions such as Islam. At that point one should remember the importance attributed to the imam, the Muslim preacher, in the public debate as well as in the statements of politicians after Sep-

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tember 11. Now, the imam is to take care of his community. The imam is to take care of order and to make the community transparent and accountable. As an obvious difference, however, the immediate connection of the ascribed pastoral power with the modern security dispositif for this world is striking, whilst the pastoral power at its Christian beginning aimed primarily at salvation in the Otherworld.

2. Pastoral care and the organisational mode of Mosque It is a commonplace to say that there is no priest in Islam; at least one gets this answer promptly. Indeed, a Muslim (at least a Sunnite) principally does not need the intermediation by any instance. There is no official who embodies the Holiness (apart from Islamic mysticism, which is different in a certain sense). Although historically speaking this had never been purely the case due to social restraints; the individualism of salvation in principle, though, ensured personal scope for individuals. This idea is intrinsically connected to an individual access to truth. Of course, the relatively weak position of the Sunni imam in Turkey is not only to be explained with this theological fi gure although this individualistic salvation always made it possible for individuals to rescue an area of individually varying belief and religious practice. It was possibly the way Islam followed military expansion which strengthened the position of the warrior in relationship to the ulema (religious class). Scholars pay less attention to the trivial indicators from everyday life than to big ideas and concepts. It is striking that many scholars and researchers on Turkish society, secularity and Islam are still avoiding facing the fact that there exists a huge gap between the high rates of confession (“I am a Muslim”) on the one hand and the low percentage of practice (except Seufert, 1999, however without consequences, and Zubaida, 2005).2 To quote other examples, there are still no reflections (e.g.) about alcohol consumption in Turkey with a dominantly Muslim population. Such discrepancies are normally clarified by the modernisation theory which for a long time assumed that past societies were strongly religious whilst modern societies distinguish themselves by a decline of religiosity. So this phenomenon is to be seen as an effect of

2 As Bassam Tibi stated rightly: “Non-Muslim scholars are used to assuming that Muslims always conform to the religious commandments” (1988: 190).

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modernisation. Contrary to this, another explanation reads that this modernisation and secularisation in Turkey could establish itself only on the surface whereas the people, the ‘authentic Turks’, still remain highly faithful. I am going to claim that the latter is (still) wrong in the light of nothing but everyday observations in Turkey, and there is no strong evidence for the validity of the former besides our modernistic sociological prejudices. With regard to the religious class, to institutional tradition and religious culture, a similar lack can be observed in research. Most of this research operates on the macro level of secularity, Islamism, and modernity. The question of religious authority (and in connection with the panorama of religious belief and practice of the people) has not been asked seriously yet (on the education of the religious class, though, cf. Pacaci, 1999). The juridical research done by Tarhanli (1993) can rather be taken as a positive exception, but the sociological dimension remains underexposed. In Germany, Rumpf ’s article (1989) contributed to getting more information about the Turkish Office for Religious Affairs and the structure of the relationship between state and religion. More recently, Günter Seufert (1999) analysed the same institution with regard to its role in the integration of migrants. His analysis failed, however, because he does not recognise the double structure of the organisation which is striking, especially between the theological statements from Ankara on the one hand, and local practices in Germany and Europe.3 There is still no real evidence that the mosque associations have been thoroughly controlled and led by the centre in Ankara. In this regard, Nico Landman’s (1997) study makes us sensitive especially to the institutional specificities in the Netherlands. The state of the art does not supply sufficient help to understand the specific institutional culture and status of religious class. In that context, what has hardly been investigated, is another aspect of institutional culture, i.e., the nature of the mosque in its historical transformation. Mosque association, a unique phenomenon in Islamic history, has not attracted any specific sociological interest. Almost all

3 Meanwhile the content and characteristics of theological statements has changed since theologists and the Office entered global communication about religion. Under this condition the mutual observation and exchange performed considerable impact on the statements of theologists (especially as a result of debates on Turkey’s EU membership bid). Besides, the current director Bardakoglu, an academian, attends—different from his predecessor in office—international meetings and provides connection to current debates.

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studies take this institutional shape for common and move quickly on to dealing with the question of religious representation without considering the specific type of institution—so at least in the famous work “Islam” by Louis Gardet (1968) or Hamilton A. R. Gibb’s “Studies on the Civilization of Islam” (1969), even though in the latter a chapter is reserved for Islamic Institutions, Philosophy and Religion, but without dealing with the mosque specifically. According to Watt/Welch (1980), the typical religious institution of Islam is mainly a juridical and pedagogical one (madrasa), which could be one of the reasons for the lack of interest in the Mosque as institution in Islamic Studies. Parallel to this ‘lack’, nowhere is there a trace of ‘ecclesiology’ of mosque, which could be comparable to the Church as a sacred body. The several contributions on Masdjid in the Encyclopedia of Islam (1991; similar also in the Encyclopedia of the Qurʾān, 2003), provide information about different types and facilities of the mosque but just a few words on the specific character of this institution in contrast to rich studies about architecture (cf. Kühnel, 1949; Insoll, 1999). Thus the reflections here will be the first insufficient steps which, however, are to motivate further and detailed analyses. A short comparison to the Church could be helpful. In social sciences, when speaking of religious group/community (congregation), one actually has the Church as model in mind and thereby three aspects have been addressed: 1) Cultic gathering; 2) local community endowed with certain offices and officials; 3) translocal hierarchical union of communities (Tyrell, 2002: 105). Here spatial demarcation and community membership coincide immediately. Church community is not a temporary gathering but a constant body which governs the sacred goods. Remarkable differences to the mosque are to be found. There is no mosque membership in the sense of belonging to a religious body via formal membership. The choice to attend a mosque is an individual decision without any continuous commitment. Of course, there is a belonging to community (Turkish: cemaat, gathering) but in a weak sense, practically avoiding a juridical bond, and mainly connected to the aim of performing religious practices. Salvation is not connected with organisation—in that sense, Islam could be seen as a religion with a ‘weak’ institutional tradition. The sacredness of the place differs, too, because it appears strongly connected to the liturgical act of praying and seems less sacred in itself. Interesting evidence is that tearing down of a mosque does not need any special ritual act but some bureaucratic and practical measures. Concerning the office character, a mosque does not have the same status as a church. The imam cannot administer grace like a catholic

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priest. He has no wafers to dispense nor can he exclude the believer from the Last Supper, although he is not unimportant for individual salvation (Fröhlich, 1997). If the imam (at least in Turkey) does enjoy charisma, this should be rather attributed to his personal ability and less to an official charisma. Finally, the individualism of salvation remains still effective. The mosque does not constitute a hierarchical assembly. The Turkish Diyanet does not appear as the highest mosque association. Thousands of mosques undergo neither horizontal nor hierarchical relation to each other. All this should be taken to be more important than scholars have done until now. Knowledge about the specific institutional nature of the mosque and the imam could help to better understand some difficulties in Europe/Germany such as concerning religious education and representation. All this institutional custom is now changing in the European Diaspora. In the same process, the absence of separation of mosques along ideological lines has already disappeared. The quest for creating hierarchical structures is becoming stronger and formal membership is becoming important. To what extent, this question cannot be answered at the moment.

3. Popular religion and weak priests Before I pass on to institutional changes under European conditions, I shall try to discuss the connection between the weak status of the imam and the type of religion prevailing in Turkey as well as among Turkish migrants. The specific organisational culture as described above coincides with a specific type of religiousness, which I would call “pragmatic religion” (or in different terms: “folk Islam”, “unorganized Islam”).4 What is a pragmatic religion? Here it is called pragmatic because this religiousness is not based on the constitutive tension between the religious idea and worldly life, which is crucial for high religion. At least if there is any such tension, it does not lead to a systematic rejection of worldly life which should consequently be shaped according to the religious idea. Here pragmatic dealing with the gap between the idea

4 I am dealing here only with the Turkish case. I suppose that this kind of religious belief may be prevailing among Arabs and other Muslims, too.

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(something not allowed or not well liked) and life practice is rather the mainstream of social conduct. This type of religiousness functions because of its ritualism. This means what matters is not so much the content of a rule nor real practice of and adherence to a religious duty. We can thus explain the gap between the high percentage of commitment and the low rate of real practice. What appears as decisive in this pragmatic religiousness is the confirmation/assurance of believing in the central dogmas, but not necessarily the complete and consistent application and social practice of the rule (see also Mihciyazgan, 1994), which can surely be a candid belief. I would like to argue that Turkish secularism is not only and not mainly based upon the pressure of the military or westernized elites as often assumed. The pragmatic religiousness which rejects complete submission of everyday life under systematic religious practice and authorities is an important pillar of the secularity rooted in the popular culture. The state administration of religion and the institutional mode of mosques form a practical alliance with this kind of belief. This is the main reason why most mosque visitors among Turkish Sunni Muslims choose the mosques of the Diyanet. Let it suffice to draw attention to this crucial, constitutive paradox: It is this political control of religion and this republican state ideology of a non-political religion that makes it possible, to a certain degree, to exempt the mosque from ideological struggles and limit it to a place for prayer.

4. Dissemination of the Mosque, question of centre, and the search for authentic Muslims This pragmatic type of religion predominates among Turkish migrants as well. This is the reason for the low percentage of membership among Turkish Muslims. The majority belongs to the ‘group’ of ‘unorganised Muslims’. Many Muslims are not interested in the politics of recognition, in this modern holiness. They do not claim anyway to represent Islam. As all the facilities (practical infrastructure) are hence dependent on care by people’s initiative—different from Turkey—, that makes on the other hand the membership essential to keep up a mosque. A mosque is no longer just a place for praying, but a social, cultural and—possibly most important of all—a political unit along ideological lines. Several centres have emerged under the condition of Diaspora. Being a Muslim adopts, in a new way, a political meaning around mosque organisations. Each mosque association distinguishes itself from others through

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its ideological colouring.5 Even the very rudimental needs are now to be fulfilled through action and these are performed by organisations which are competing with each other to be the representative of truth. This very plausible reason for institutionalisation misleads social scientists, however, into confusing the practical idea of fulfilling religious needs with an overall community representation whereas it is exactly this performative act of representing that creates the community as a religious one, i.e., that transforms migrants into an Islamic community in the public perception. Insofar as the Muslim migrants are going to be more and more considered as a Muslim community, the political need of seeking a centre becomes stronger. I suggest we dwell on this issue of centre. On the one hand, the ‘centre’, as known from Turkey, has disappeared. DİTİB still claims to be the centre but without the uncontested support of the state. The issue of centre presents itself as highly ambivalent. That means: There is no centre, but an ongoing request for centre cannot be ignored. The association DİTİB keeps, for example, this hope alive by naming a large number of mosques “central mosques”. Other organisations also claim to represent the centre of Islam. A recent initiative of three central organisations (Islamrat, Verband der islamischen Kulturzentren, Zentralrat der Muslime) is to bring forth a centre. At the moment DİTİB is keeping its distance from the initiative since it is waiting to assess the development of the process.6 One of the reasons may be that these organisations are not accepted by politicians as proper and unproblematic partners. In addition to that, the German intelligence service Verfassungsschutz complains they lack loyalty towards the German Constitution. The wellarticulated need/quest for representation and the current state of real existing groups claiming to represent Islam have been colliding since the beginning of the debate on representation. DİTİB seems, due to its declared compatibility with secularism, to have the best chance. But there are other obstacles that hamper its ambition. The same reason, i.e. its ties to the Turkish State, makes the role of DİTİB for the integration of Muslims suspicious because one of the tasks of the Office for Religious Affairs relies upon securing national unity—that means, in the context of Diaspora: keeping the national identity of Turkish Muslims alive. This 5 I am not going to overrate this process, because at the empirical level visitors when looking for a prayer place do so not only and not much along ideological preferences. 6 Meanwhile, on April 2007, there has been a central representative body of mosque associations installed, including DİTİB.

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aim actually contradicts the expectations of German politicians. An evident example, considered being a problem but actually not unmanageable from the viewpoint of DİTİB, is the practice of importing imams from Turkey for a limited time (4–5 years). Especially in the era which begun on September 11, the recruiting of imams has been promoted to a main issue in affairs concerning not only the institutionalisation of Islam but Islam in Germany/Europe in general. Imams appear both as risk factor and as the Great White Hope of integration. The subject of imams deserves special interest which can only be addressed by paving the way for further studies here. Before I discuss the role of the imam with regard to integration which was supposed to have been one of the imam’s tasks, let me clarify one point that concerns the context in which the imam becomes a problem instead of supplying a solution. It is the current context in which the claim of institutionalization immediately blends into a security dispositif.

5. Religious identity vs. national identity In the integration debate, the tension between national and religious identity is given a crucial importance in the age of increasing transnationalization. Although the discourse is highly complicated, we shall try to deconstruct it without going into details. The approach to fundamentalism deals, as commonly known, with a threat that operates transnationally. In recent years there has been, however, an alternative research trend spreading among scholars of Islamic presence in Europe. The very idea of this approach culminates in the claim that new generations of migrants are increasingly abandoning their orientation towards their home of origin by developing a conscience of belonging to the target society. The general idea underlying such expectations operates along a dichotomy which is strongly influenced by the framework of the nation state and national identity: a) Keeping the ethnic belonging alive in the definition of identity on the one hand, this is considered as a decisive ‘home orientation’ that would impede integration efforts of migrants; b) abandoning the ethnic orientation by creating a universalistic religious belonging on the other hand. No principal problems would be caused if the pious migrants have to affirm their loyalty to the new ruler. The culmination of the process assumed here is paradoxically located in the prediction and hope of a version of Islam called national Islam: If you speak about Germany, it

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is a German Islam that is meant; in the Netherlands a Dutch Islam, and so forth. Let me prevent a misunderstanding possible at this point: I am not speaking of a public or scientific discussion without any material power or without any institutional backing. The scientific perspective itself shall be considered as a more or less important part of the public discourse about Islam and migrants of Islamic belief. These are actually partly reflected in the general discussion mainly carried on by mass media, state offices and the churches. The hidden side of this expected emergence of a German (and European) Islam is the fear of international terrorism spreading worldwide and now arriving in Europe too. A denationalized and nationally domesticated Islam is expected to take over the task of integration. The imam is to be the chief character in this game. Tackling this issue should not be limited to the institutional aspect; its effects go beyond the issue of representation.

6. Creating the Islamic Umma and the regulatory relevance of Islamic pastorate We could dare to argue that the conditions of the debate on institutionalisation have changed dramatically as a result of global Islamic terrorism after September 11. Formerly, institutionalisation was mainly meant to solve religious problems for a specific part of society and by so doing to support the general integration; now under the conditions of security policy, a proactive way of governing communities forms the core of institutionalisation. We need only to remember that immediately after the murder of Theo van Gogh the German Federal Minister of Home Affairs Otto Schily offered Muslim groups the status of a corporate body of public law in an immediate combination. It is not this necessity of institutionalisation that is to be criticised but overloading this aspect with expectations which cannot be fulfilled without high costs. This is the issue we would like to raise. Religion is going to become a powerful cultural tool of political rationality in the multicultural society. Being a culturally proven tool, pastoral power, it has been suggested, should cure the illness. The Islamic equivalence of the priest is to take care of a transparent order among Muslims, and in reverse that means he is to take over the accountability of the community. But how shall he manage this job? First of all, by stopping hate sermons and by learning the language of the host country (preventive and controlling aspect).

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And then he is to issue guidelines for young people, for instance by giving sermons (aspect of integration policy). In this context, the function of sermons seems thoroughly overestimated to me if the preacher is to address acute problems in his speech and is expected to generate concrete results. Such an expectation reduces the sermon to its content and ignores its ritualistic dimension. Most Friday sermons, at least in the mosques of DİTİB, deal (as in Turkey) with general moral duties and respectful behaviour in communication and call for the performance of religious practises and so on. But the underlying ideas connected to the alleged pastoral power of the imam as community leader go far beyond additional help in integration matters. The imam is to both guarantee a peaceful community and represent the community. Moreover, not only the imam but also each member of the community becomes obliged to be responsible in the name of an abstract global Muslim community. There are two assumptions underlying the debate on institutionalization to be explained here: 1) the fear of terrorist violence (exercised several times) has been connected with the assumption that a chaotic religious state prevails among Muslim migrants. By doing so, the hope for banning violence and making transparent structures among migrants are coupled with religion; according to a tendency in public perception, the future of migrants is now going to depend upon religiously legitimized structures; 2) the imam is considered as a shepherd; he is assumed to personify authority. Moreover, the assumption has been awakened that pastoral care would establish order in social life. These two assumptions are connected to an underpinning, hidden perception of Muslim strangers in public: They are religious beings and represent a religious community. As a result, the proper organisation and representation should be implemented in terms of religion. In contrast to the Islamic culture of institutionalisation and absolutely different actually from all other belief systems (like Buddhism or Hinduism, but similar to the Shiite-Islam), the hallmark of the Christian Church is its separate and autonomous organisation. This concept of religion as a separate entity (Matthes, 1992) determined at least the view towards other religions including Islam. The statement saying that institutional tradition, politicians and the prevailing public opinion are exerting pressure to create a pastoral tradition in Islamic culture is worth discussing. The Muslim clergyman is still thought of as a community leader. I might refer again to Michel Foucault who qualifi ed the pastoral technique (the establishment of the pastorate) not only as being a central cultural technique in the Occident. To him it has also provoked

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resistance and struggles within Christianity. With regard to the expectations of our time, it is slightly intriguing because the pastorate actually had long been the object and the cause of conflicts whilst nowadays its role is to strive for peace in society. Very recently, the prominent French sociologist Wieviorka (http://www.taz.de/pt/2005/11/08/a0162.nf/text) stated immediately in the aftermath of violent riots in the Paris housing projects that there are no other contact persons aside from imams. The social anthropologist Werner Schiffauer similarly called, in the cases of so-called ‘honour killings’ (in which brothers murder their sister on the assumption that through her behaviour she has discredited the honour of the family), for political leaders to consult the religious leaders and mosque communities in order to fight such crimes (http://www.taz.de/ pt/2005/10/17/a0186.nf/text). Regardless of the fact that the recent riots in France proved without a doubt that expectations placed on imams and religious organizations to install public order are far from realistic. At that point the seemingly simple intervention in the institutionalisation issue turns out to go beyond the specific area of religion and consolidates the image of a community of religious beings. Appreciating the role of imams and creating a represented Muslim community which is motivated by the need for security entails a further possible consequence, i.e. all behaviour of migrants is reduced to its cultural and religious aspects. The migrants of Muslim background have been increasingly perceived, in the public opinion, as homines religiosi. Many observers of Islam are fond of turning to the Qurʾan when seeking to understand the behaviour of a Muslim migrant. This is where you find the clues you need, so the common assumption. No one, however, would turn to the Bible in order to explain everyday events. In Germany, this kind of affirmative policy of supporting religious/ethnic communities has, nevertheless, less impact because it has been thwarted by the fear of ‘parallel structures’ (Parallelgesellschaft). This fear is deeply rooted in public sentiment whilst British and Dutch government policies can retrieve the old colonial government experience at home. Islamic groups respond adequately to this willingness to see migrants as homines religiosi. With regard to the perception of migrants as a religious community, the interests of mosque groups and expectations among the host society are to some degree coincident. The majority expects loyalty and calls for representatives who are to be consulted; mosque associations claim to prevent criminal orientation among migrants by supplying them with a religious belief that supports moral

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values. Finally, integration appears as a matter of moral values and who is better skilled at this task than religious groups? In a nutshell—it seems to me that the universal community of Muslims, the so-called ummah, is about to be created in reality not mainly by the activities of Muslims nor by the suicide bombers but enforced by institutional logic (representation) and public discourse which answers to security needs raised by Islamist terror attacks. My aim is to draw attention to a new tendency consisting of translating all migration issues into cultural matters, a tendency which would ultimately lead us to assuming religion is the core of culture (such as in Samuel Huntington, 2004). Any cultural topic would obviously blend into religion because culture itself is not tangible whilst religion with its symbolic presence in the public space, with its representatives, its dogmas and morals is almost palpable. This explains at least partially why religion has been promoted to an excellent governmental tool of multicultural society. In studies on religion and migration, social scientists should take more into account than only identity and religious ideas which focus our attention too much on the Muslim actors. Religion as a specific historical phenomenon (and not as an abstract idea) is rather to be put in the context of the modern security dispositif.

References Eisenstadt, Shmuel N. (1987): Kulturen der Achsenzeit. 2 vols. Frankfurt/Main.Suhrkamp. Encyclopaedia of the Qurʾan (2003): Mosque. Vol. III. Leiden. Brill: 426–440. Foucault, Michel (2004): Geschichte der Gouvernementalität I. Sicherheit, Territorium, Bevölkerung. Frankfurt/Main. Suhrkamp. —— (1993): Die politische Technologie der Individuen. In: Technologien des Selbst. Edited by: Luther H. Martin, Huck Gutman and Patrick F. Hutton. Frankfurt/Main. Fischer: 168–187. Fröhlich, Anne-Sophie (1997): Priesterliche Aufgaben im sunnitischen Islam. Hamburg. Lit. Gardet, Louis (1968): Islam. Köln. Bachem. Gibb, Hamilton A. R. (1969): Studies on the civilization of Islam. London. Routledge. Göle, Nilüfer (2005): Interview with Frontline. Available http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/ pages/frontline/shows/muslims/interviews/gole.html. Huntington, Samuel P. (2004): Who Are We? London. Simon & Schuster. Insoll, Timoty (1999): The Archaeology of Islam. Oxford. Blackwell. Jaspers, Karl (1956): Vom Ursprung und Ziel der Geschichte. Frankfurt/Main. Fischer. Kühnel, Ernst (1949): Die Moschee : Bedeutung, Einrichtung und kunsthistorische Entwicklung der islamischen Kultstätte. Berlin-Wilmersdorf. Die Moschee. Landman, Nico (1997): Sustaining Turkish-Islamic Loyalties: The Diyanet in Western Europe. In: Muslim Identity and the Balkan States. Edited by: H. Poulton & S. TakiFarouki. London. Hurst & Co.: 214–231.

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Matthes, Joachim (1992): Was ist anders an anderen Religionen? Anmerkungen zur zentristischen Organisation des religionssoziologischen Denkens. In: Kölner Zeitschrift für Soziologie und Sozialpsychologie, Special Issue Religion und Kultur 33: 17–30. Mihciyazgan, Ursula (1994): Die religiöse Praxis muslimischer Migranten. Ergebnisse einer empirischen Untersuchung in Hamburg. In: Dialog zwischen den Kulturen. Erziehungshistorische und religionspädagogische Gesichtspunkte interkultureller Bildung. Edited by: Ingrid Lohmann. Münster. Waxmann: 195–206. Pacaci, Mehmet (1999): 75 Years of Higher Religious Education in Modern Turkey. In: The Muslim World 89: 389–413. Rumpf, Christian (1989): Das Präsidium für Religionsangelegenheiten. In: Zeitschrift für Türkeistudien 1: 21–33. Seufert, Günter (1999): Die türkisch-islamische Union (DİTİB). Zwischen Integration und Isolation. In: Turkish Islam and Europe. Edited by: Günter Seufert and Jacques Waardenburg. Istanbul/Stuttgart: In Kommission bei Franz-Steiner-Verlag: 261–293. Tarhanli, Istar B. (1993): Müslüman Toplum, “Laik Devlet”. Istanbul. Afa. Tibi, Bassam (1988): Nachwort. In: Religiöse Entwicklungen im Islam: beobachtet in Marokko und Indonesien, Frankfurt/Main. Suhrkamp: 185–200. Tyrell, Hartmann (2002): Religiöse Organisation: Zwei Anmerkungen. In: Parochie. Chancen und Risiken der Ortsgemeinde. Edited by: Maren Lehmann. Leipzig. Evangelische Verlagsanstalt: 104–113. Watt, William M., Welch, Alford T. (1980): Der Islam. Vol. 1: Mohammed und die Frühzeit, islamisches Recht, religiöses Leben. Stuttgart. Kohlhammer. Weber, Max (1968): Economy and Society. New York. Bedminster. Zubaida, Sami (2005): Islam in Europe: Religion, Ethnicity and Politics. In: Islam and New Europe—Continuities, Changes, Confrontations. Edited by: Sigrid Nökel, Levent Tezcan. Yearbook of the Sociology of Islam 6. Bielefeld. Transcript: 45–59.

PRAYER LEADER, COUNSELOR, TEACHER, SOCIAL WORKER, AND PUBLIC RELATIONS OFFICERON THE ROLES AND FUNCTIONS OF IMAMS IN GERMANY Melanie Kamp

In the spring of 2005 Yakup T., imam of the Mevlana Mosque in Berlin, should have been expelled from Germany. When TV journalists secretly filmed one of his sermons in fall 2004, a sermon in which he allegedly made disparaging remarks about Germans, the Islamic Federation of Berlin (IFB), the umbrella organization of the Mevlana Mosque, immediately suspended him from office and published a note of apology written by Yakup T. on its internet homepage. In the media debate which followed Yakup T. was simply referred to as a “preacher of hate”. For this reason and in particular on the strength of a speech given at a demonstration, during which the imam allegedly called for jihad, the wheels of deportation proceedings were set in motion. The procedures followed by the German authorities closely reflect the increased attention to state security and the stance taken by security bodies since the events of 9/11. Imams are perceived as potential agitators, who might act against the social integration of Muslims and who should therefore be expelled from Germany at the earliest opportunity. Metin Kaplan, the so-called ‘Caliph of Cologne’, is the most prominent example, however many more recent cases from Berlin, Bremen or Nuremberg could also be mentioned.1 Whilst these strict actions against imams are largely to be seen as part of general anti-terror measures, the fear of religious and political indoctrination by imams and teachers in mosques is not a new phenomenon. Religious education in mosques has been under scrutiny since the 1980s

1 In 2005 two imams from Berlin and Bremen were denied re-entry into Germany, while another imam from Nuremberg is currently in prison awaiting deportation. Cziesche, Dominik, Barbara Schmid, and Holger Stark (2004): Fighting the Preachers of Hate. Der Spiegel 48 [electronic journal]. [cited 25 May 2005]. ; Cziesche, Dominik, and Jürgen Dahlkamp, Holger Stark (2005). Ruppiger Einsatz. Der Spiegel, 23 [electronic journal]. [cited 6 June 2005]; [anonymous]. 2005. In Abschiebehaft. die tageszeitung, 20 July.

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due to its perception as an obstacle to the social integration, particularly of Muslim children. This is because its content and the methods employed in teaching have more in common with the conditions of the societies of their countries of origin, than with the social conditions prevalent in Germany. In their roles as teachers and preachers, imams are charged with great responsibility and often their religious and social authority is considered to be so strong that they are viewed as the most important members of the Muslim communities with a significant influence on the ideology, behavior, and loyalties of the Muslim people. Criticism of imams focuses mainly on their insufficient education, their lack of knowledge regarding the living conditions in Germany and their poor German language skills. Their religious education does not consider the living conditions in the Diaspora. As the majority of imams did not grow up in Germany, they are barely able to fully comprehend the problems encountered by their community members, let alone to propose adequate solutions. A poor command of the German language creates difficulties for them in communicating not only with authorities and the public, but also with young community members, who were born in Germany and are not fluent in the language of their parents. In the debates on the introduction of Islamic religious instruction into the public school curriculum, the authorities have stressed the need for control of how Islamic religious knowledge is imparted. Muslim organizations have struggled for the introduction of Islamic instruction in public schools since the end of the 1970s, with the objective of achieving parity of status with Christian denominations and so that Muslim children can be taught their religion outside the limited sphere of the mosques.2 The training of imams in Germany has been under discussion since the end of the 1990s, however, the training institutions are still missing. Several German universities launched projects for the establishment of chairs for Islamic religious pedagogy and theology. The first priority of these projects is the education and training of teachers for Islamic religious instruction at public schools. At some universities the addition of imam training and Islamic theological research is also being discussed with

2 For a summary of the discussion about mosque education and the introduction of Islamic religious instruction see for example Lemmen (2001: 1601–161) with further references; Hoffman (1981). For a description of the mosque education of different Islamic organisations in Germany see Alacacioglu (1999) and Mohr (2000).

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a view to implementation at a later stage.3 Imams trained in Germany would speak fluent German and it is hoped that they will have a more ‘European’ understanding of Islam. Furthermore, as a positive side effect of the social impact that is ascribed to imams, it is hoped that they would pass this ‘European’ understanding of Islam on to the members of their communities.4 Remarkably, the discussions on imams in Germany are very similar to those taking place in other Western European countries, where the biographical background, training and impact of imams on their audiences are debated and similar solutions are examined.5 In this paper I will examine the religious and social role of imams in Germany according to their duties as well as some aspects of their vocational biography and their self-image. At the end I will relate the above mentioned public image of imams to the spectrum of their duties and to their own self-image, in order to come to a better understanding of their

3 I am referring to five projects at the Universities of Munster, Osnabruck, Nuremberg/Erlangen, Hamburg and Frankfurt. In 2004 a chair for the Religion of Islam was opened at the University of Munster and Muhammad Sven Kalisch was appointed as its professor. [cited 7 July 2005] In co-operation with the Turkish Office of Religious Affairs a chair for Islamic religious studies was opened at the faculty of protestant theology at the University of Frankfurt in 2005. See its program [cited 10 May 2005]. For more information about the projects in Osnabruck and Nuremberg/Erlangen see Görlach, Alexander. 2005. Pilot-Projekte für Islam-Unterricht an Schulen. Niedersachsen und Bayern sind Vorreiter in der Integrationspolitik—Neuer Masterstudiengang. Die Welt. 2 August; and for the planned academy of world religions including a chair of Islamic Theology in Hamburg see Neumann (2002) and Knauth (2002). 4 An example for the attempt to make use of the social impact of imams is the cooperation of the Turkish Union of the Office of Religion (DİTİB) with imams in promoting the idea among Turkish youths that a solid occupational education is important in embarking on a career path in Germany. [Tvs]. 2005. Der Imam als Berufsberater. Süddeutsche Zeitung, 19 July. 5 In past years several research projects on imams, their role and function in the mosques and the transmission of islamic religious knowledge in Europe were undertaken, see Boender, Welmoet, and M. Kanmaz. 2002. Imams in the Netherlands and Islam Teachers in Flanders. In Shadid, W. A. R. and P. S. van Koningsveld (eds.). Intercultural Relations and Religious Authorities: Muslims in the European Union. Leuven: Peters: 169–180, see pp. 169,178, and El Battiui, Mohamed, Firouzeh Nahavandi, and Meryem Kanmaz. 2004. Mosquée, imams et professeurs de religion islamique en Belgiques. État de la question et enjeux. Brussels: Fondation Roi Baudouin, 2004; Peter, Frank. 2003. Training Imams and the Future of Islam in France. In ISIM Newsletter 13: 20–21; Frégosi, Franck (ed.). La formation des cadres religieux musulmans en France. Approche sociojuridiques. Paris: L’ Harmattan 1998; Kroissenbrunner, Sabine. 2001. Türkische Imame in Wien. Wien: Institut für Konfliktforschung; Kroissenbrunner, Sabine. 2002. Turkish Imams in Vienna. In Shadid, W. A. R. and P. S. van Koningsveld (eds.). 2002. op. cit.: 181–207.

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religious authority. It will be evident, on the one hand, that the public debates about imams have an impact on the Muslim communities and on the other hand, that there are clear signs that Muslim communities are increasingly turning their attention towards Europe and Germany and that therefore imams will also change.

1. Sample and research situation I make reference to previous studies on imams in Europe and Germany6 as well as to 25 conversations and interviews I conducted with functionaries of several Muslim organizations and imams from various German cities.7 I began my field research in Berlin and selected my interlocutors primarily according to their position and function within a Muslim organization and mosque community. My first interlocutors came from an organization with Turkish background, from a mosque attended predominantly by members of Arab origin, and from two Muslim organizations which both stress their German identity. A snowball effect developed, leading to further contacts, and I approached some more prominent figures directly. In this paper I would like to present some preliminary results. I will focus on seven lengthy interviews with imams in Berlin, however, in order to provide clarification of certain aspects, I will also refer to the other interviews. Three of the imams I spoke to in Berlin are of Turkish origin, three are of Arab origin and one is a German convert. They are between 29 and 60 years old. The imams of Turkish and Arab origin are all married. Only one of them, having only recently married, has no children. One Imam is chairman and imam of a Muslim association that has no prayer room. Two of my interlocutors

6 For references to studies on imams in Europe see note 5. Three Ph.D. theses written by Turkish imams dealing with the situation and work of imams in Germany: Cekin, Ahmet. 2004. Stellung der Imame. Eine vergleichende Rollenanalyse der Imame in der Türkei und in Deutschland. Ph. D. diss., University of Tübingen.; Tosun, Cemal. 1992. Die religiöse Erziehung der in Deutschland lebenden Türken in den Moscheen und die Kompetenz der Imame. Ph. D. diss. University of Cologne, published as Tosun, Cemal. 1996. Din ve kimlik. Ankara; Alacacioglu, Hasan. 1999. op. cit. 7 The Interviews are part of the empirical research for my Ph.D. thesis about the broader question of the establishment of religious authority among Muslims in Germany. Although I am referring to the above mentioned studies my main focus lays in this article on the empirical data I have gathered in Berlin, Hamburg, the Ruhr Region, Frankfurt, Karlsruhe or with people from these places. I do not intend to make a comparative analysis.

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work on a voluntary basis as imams; one in a Turkish mosque, the other in an Arab one. Two imams are salaried employees working for two different mosques. The remaining two imams work full-time as teachers for Islamic religious instruction at public schools in Berlin. At the same time one of them also teaches in a mosque, whereas the other preaches on Fridays at various mosques in Berlin.8 Local public debates on Islam and Muslims in Berlin revolve around the same topics discussed in Germany as a whole. Other than the question of introducing Islamic religious instruction at public schools, the different mosque building projects, the headscarf on teachers and, more recently, the so called crimes of honor and forced marriages, discussions have largely concentrated on preachers and Islamic terrorism. In the past few years numerous mosques in Berlin have been raided by the police. For example, in April 2005, when several mosques were searched by the police in various German cities at the same time,9 and in recent years several people have been arrested under suspicion of supporting terrorism.10 In my conversations and interviews it became apparent that these events had an influence on the atmosphere of the dialogue and also on the expectations of my interlocutors towards me as a researcher. Repeatedly our conversations would commence with my interlocutors either declaring their respect for the German state of law and its constitution, or with their informing me that they had no interest in politics whatsoever. I was also privy to conversations between Muslims where they spoke of why they didn’t want to attend a seminar at a certain mosque, because the mosque had been a target of past police raids. They were simply afraid of further police action. In this way the suspicion of terrorism and fundamentalism, along with other controversial topics, has both a direct and indirect impact on the Muslim communities and influences religious life as well as the conditions for research.

8 In order to protect the anonymity of my interviewees no further details will be divulged regarding their biographies, their mosques or places of work except where this is required for the purposes of clarity in specific aspects. However I will provide a brief summarizing overview of the Islamic religious sphere in Berlin to illustrate the working context of the imams. 9 [anonymous]. 2005. Imam: Klagetour geht weiter. die tageszeitung, 15 April. 10 The case of Ihsan Garnaoui: Woltersdorf, Adrienne. 2003. Al-Nur-Moschee im Visier. die tageszeitung, 31 March.

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2.1

Islam and Muslims in Berlin: A brief overview

The precise number of Muslims living in Berlin or in Germany is difficult to tell, because Muslim religious denomination is not registered by the authorities. For this reason there exist only estimations based on the nationality of migrants. This means that only people from Muslim majority states are counted. German converts and Muslims from countries with a non-Muslim majority society are not represented in the statistics for the Muslim population in Germany. It is estimated that there are some 3.2 million Muslims in Germany. Approximately 213,000 Muslims live in Berlin, of which approximately half are of Turkish origin. Only one third of the Muslim population of Berlin holds German citizenship.11 The majority of Berlin’s Muslims live in the districts of Kreuzberg, Neukölln and Wedding. In all there are approximately 70 Islamic associations, prayer rooms and mosques in Berlin.12 This relatively large number indicates that there is a diverse and lively religious life in the city. Some of the mosque associations are independent, but the majority of them are connected to larger organizations and umbrella organizations acting on a nationwide scale. Among the most important Muslim associations represented in Berlin is the Turkish Islamic Union of the Institute of Religion, abbreviated DİTİB (Diyanet İșleri Türk İslam Birligĭ) with its 14 mosques. It is affiliated to the Turkish Office for Religious Affairs. Further associations with Turkish background are, e.g. the Islamic Community Millî Görüş, the Association of Islamic Cultural Centers and the Nurculuk movement. The Islamic Federation of Berlin, an association of 12 mosques, also represents mainly Muslims of Turkish origin. In addition to these there are mosques predominantly frequented by people

11 Numbers for Germany see: Deutscher Bundestag. 2000. Drucksache 14/4530: Antwort der Bundesregierung auf die Große Anfrage der Abgeordneten Dr. Jürgen Rüttgers, Erwin Marschewski (Recklinghausen), Wolfgang Zeitlmann, weiterer Abgeordneter und der Fraktion der CDU/CSU—Drucksache 14/2301. Berlin, November; for Berlin: Landesamt für Statistik. 2005. Jahrbuch 2004. Berlin: 165. 12 Jonker, Gerdien and A. Kapphan (eds.). 1999c. Moscheen und islamisches Leben in Berlin. Berlin: 7–9; the statistical yearbook for 2004 presents the very high number of 123, however it remains unclear what kind of organizations, mosques, prayer rooms or associations with non-religious activities are included in this number. Landesamt für Statistik. 2005. op. cit.: 165.

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of Arab background which cooperate with the Islamic Community of Germany and the Association of Islamic Charitable Projects (AICP), a community originating in Lebanon, Bosnian communities, German speaking associations and others. Most of the Muslims living in Berlin are Sunnis, but there are also Shiite associations with mainly Lebanese background. Beside these Sunni and Shiite communities there are also groups like the Ahmadiyya. Followers of the originally Indian-Pakistani Ahmadiyya movement see themselves as Muslims, but are perceived by the majority of Muslims as a non-Muslim movement since the Pakistani parliament declared it to be a non-Muslim minority in the 1970s (Grübel / Rademacher 2003: 366–369). Finally there is an estimated number of 50,000 Alevites of Turkish origin living in Berlin (Ricke 2003: 361). One group of Alevites sees itself as Muslims, while another group thinks of themselves as a distinct religious community. Alevites differ from Sunni and Shiite Muslims in several dogmatic aspects and also in their religious practices, for example, they have gathering-houses instead of mosques and even Koran and Sharia play a different role in Alevite religious practice (Kehl-Bodrogi 1988: 120–121, 179). The Muslim organizations form the infrastructure that is used for religious practice and social activities. Formal membership of these organizations is not required for participation in the communal prayer or for making use of certain services. This means, however, that the number of formal members is usually lower than the number of actual users of these institutions. Very often only one family member, usually the father as head of the family, is formally registered as a member. In principle these organizations are open to all Muslims, regardless of their ethnic or national background, nevertheless ethnic and national bonds remain strong. Imams are an integral part of this religious infrastructure. They are more than just prayer leaders as they fulfill a great variety of other duties, according to their personal background, their places of work and the activities that they are asked to perform. It should be noted however, that not every mosque has its own imam working there on either voluntary or salaried terms, and not every imam finds his main field of work in a mosque. 2.2

Mosques and other places of activity of imams

Only two mosques in Berlin have an architectural structure that clearly reflects the fact that these buildings are mosques. The oldest one is the Ahmadiyya mosque in Berlin-Wilmersdorf, built in 1924/25 and

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therefore the oldest mosque in Germany. The second one is the new DİTİB mosque, situated on the site of the Turkish Islamic cemetery which was established in the late 18th century. The most common type of mosque in Berlin is the so-called “backyard mosque”13 (Hinterhofmoschee) as the majority of Muslims came to Berlin as working migrants and refugees during the second half of the 20th century and, as was the case all over Germany, established prayer rooms and mosques in old industrial buildings and any other commercial space, which they could afford to rent. These mosques are very different with regard to their size and the facilities accommodated within. Some of these mosques consist of not much more than a prayer room, washrooms for the ritual ablution, a small kitchen for preparing tea and coffee and an office. Larger mosques can sometimes have several floors of a building at their disposal. There are prayer rooms for men and women, washrooms, rooms for teaching, small libraries and bookshops that sell religious books, audiotapes and videos, small grocery stores, kitchens, and dining rooms or a cafeteria. The size of the mosque dictates whether or not it has separate rooms or floors for women. These big mosques could be described as multifunctional community centers, as is also implied in the names of some mosques, such as ‘Islamic Center for Culture and Education’ or ‘Intercultural Center for Dialogue and Education’.14 However, the renunciation of the term mosque is not solely due to the diversification of functions, as Gesemann and Kapphan [2001] point out, but also has something to do with the difficulties faced in finding suitable rooms or buildings for the establishment of a mosque, particularly where some landlords are reluctant to let rooms to Muslim communities (Gesemann/Kapphan 2001: 406). Several Muslim organizations submitted applications to the local authorities proposing either the construction of new mosques or refurbishment and alteration of existing properties.15 These projects have been critically observed by the media, neighborhood committees and by the decision makers in the local administration. The arguments

13 The term “backyard mosque” is usually applied to all kinds of mosques and prayer rooms situated in buildings without the representative architectural style: Schmitt 2003: 77–78. 14 The description of the mosques is based on my own observations and the overview of mosques and Islamic life in Berlin edited by Jonker, Gerdien and A. Kapphan. 1999. op. cit. 15 Five building projects of varying size are on the agenda of the IFB. Islamic Federation of Berlin. 2004. Interview, 13 August; INSSAN e.V. 2004. Interview, 2 March.

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against these projects are comparable with the objections commonly raised against mosque building projects in Germany as a whole, as they have been analyzed by Schmitt (2003) and Leggewie et al. (2002): The proposals are criticized for being over-sized; the loyalty of the applying organization to the German constitution is questioned; fears are expressed regarding possible social changes in the district that could ensue were a new and representative mosque to be built. Often simple aesthetic reasons are cited. Mosque building projects initiated by the Islamic Federation of Berlin were turned down and the preliminary building permission, which had already been granted to the association Inssan was withdrawn on the basis of rumors that the association was linked to the Muslim Brotherhood. The Association for Islamic Charitable Projects is the only one so far to have received building permission. The conditions of the approval stipulate that the architectural structure is in keeping with the 19th century architectural style of the neighboring houses, however, a dome and four minarets on the roof will characterize the building as a mosque. Plans show a building with 5 floors, a large prayer room, teaching and office rooms and a lecture hall. On the ground floor a restaurant and a grocery store are foreseen. The AICP mosque will also become a multifunctional community center.16 Mosques in Berlin are on the one hand places for ritual prayer and spiritual guidance and on the other they are education centers, social meeting points and offer practical help for various life situations. Traditionally the social space of the mosque is a rather male domain as only the men are obliged to take part in the communal prayer. In contrast to Muslim countries, women increasingly use the services of mosques in Germany. The educational programs on offer comprise of religious education, sewing and knitting instructions, language and computer classes, as well as homework-tutoring for children. Almost every mosque offers Koran courses in which the correct recitation of the Koran is taught and learned by heart. Children and adults are explained the basic elements of Islam and its rituals, but may also continue their studies on an advanced level. The facilities and the activities a mosque offers depend largely on the size of the mosque and on the size of the community that finances it with its donations (Jonker 1999a, 1999b). The design of the mosque as a multifunctional community center, or as a neighborhood center (Leggewie et al. 2002: 813), is typical for

16

Press officer of AICP. 2004. Interview, 2 August.

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Western Europe and the USA. This is due to the fact, that Islamic centers here fulfill significantly more tasks than in the so called Islamic world, where mosques are primarily places of prayer. In Western Europe and in the USA the Islamic centers also have to deal with the special needs arising from migration and with the specific requirements of Muslims living in non-Muslim majority societies. At the same time mosque life increasingly resembles Christian community life (Poston 1992: 95–96; Jonker 1999a: 138). The changes in its tasks and the central position of the mosque in the social life are judged positively by young Muslims, as a study of young Muslim males in Bremen has shown. In their perception the mosque returns to its original central position as geographical and social center of the Islamic city (Frese 2002: 225, 290– 291). Mosques with extended functions can however, also be found in the Islamic world. Especially private mosques which are built and supported by charity organizations are often connected with further institutions, such as clinics and schools and provide space for social activities. In Muslim countries, mosques also provide education, council, conflict management as well as serving as basis for political mobilization, charity and entertainment (Gaffney 1995: 143–147). As a regional peculiarity in Berlin, public schools recently became a potential source of job opportunities for imams. The Islamic Federation of Berlin has been giving Islamic religious instruction classes in public schools since the 2001/2002 academic year. Three out of 22 of its teachers could be called imams. They have studied at the Egyptian al-Azhar University and work in mosques as teachers, prayer leaders or preachers.17 The IFB struggled for almost 20 years to achieve this and only after a long legal dispute were they finally recognized as religious community according to the school laws, which give this status as a precondition for being admitted to hold religious instruction classes in public schools. The IFB was accused of holding close ties to the Millî Görüş movement, an organization under observation by the state security agency (Verfassungsschutz). Other than school authorities and various Muslim activists, the Alevites in particular argued against the IFB, saying that

17 Six teachers graduated from Turkish faculties of theology (Ilahiyat Fakültesi) or from the Egyptian al-Azhar University. 2 studied Islamic studies in Germany which is comparable to Middle Eastern studies, five were German language teachers in Turkey, while the remaining teachers had studied political science, sociology or social pedagogy. Representative of the Islamic Federation of Berlin. 2004. Interview, 13 August und 2005. Telephone conversation, 26 August.

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it represents only a small part of Berlin’s Muslims and is therefore not qualified to teach all Muslim children. Ultimately, the Alevite organization submitted its own application for admission to public schools to give Alevite religious instruction classes. Their application was accepted swiftly, because Alevites, in contrast to the IFB, are considered to have a more secular attitude and to be more open to the European way of life (Gesemann/Kapphan 2001: 408–411; Kehl-Bodrogi 2002: 63–66). In the meantime, the IFB teaches at 37 schools in Berlin yet the criticism continues and there have been several attempts to remove the IFB from the schools. Recently it was criticized that some of its teachers do not speak sufficient German and lack the necessary pedagogical qualifications.18 In my conversations and interviews with the imams who teach at public schools in Berlin, frequent mention was made of the ongoing dispute on Islamic religious instruction, the accusations of fundamentalism and the insecure personal future due to conflicts with the authorities and the criticism in the media. It seemed that they were very conscious of the criticism and the expectations of the majority society. Therefore, it could be assumed that they think about this criticism and these expectations more than imams and functionaries who are seldom confronted with these subjects in their daily life.

3. The religious and social duties of Imams 3.1 Variety of duties An imam is literally someone who stands in front. The term imam is usually translated as “prayer leader” according to its literal meaning, and is traditionally the most important function in the context of the mosque. This translation however, does not reflect all the responsibilities of an imam. Studies on imams in Europe and in Germany stress the great variety of responsibilities of imams in relation to the Diaspora situation. Imams in the Diaspora fulfill more responsibilities that could 18 The major criticism revolves around an alleged islamization of the atmosphere at the schools and of the Muslim pupils. More girls seem to wear headscarves; conflicts among pupils are expressed in religious terms. In addition to this Berlin newspapers widely discussed a poetic verse on certificates for participants of the Islamic instruction classes issued by the IFB as a proof of its attitude against integration. Orde, Sabine am. 2004. Schulen, Schlampen, Schinkenbrote. die tageszeitung, 1 December, Vieth-Entus, Susanne. 2005. Deutschstunden für Islamlehrer. Der Tagesspiegel, 3 June.

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be attributed to the Islamic religious sphere, as well duties that are traditionally not carried out by imams, such as certain pastoral functions. On top of this, they perform additional non-religious activities, such as, for example, public relations work. This extended field of responsibilities correlates with the multifunctional character of the mosques and Islamic cultural centers with increasing convergence between church community life and mosque community life. Despite of the acceptance of pastoral caretaking as an additional task, there still exist major differences between imams and Christian chaplains and priests: Imam is not necessarily a position in a religious hierarchy of offices,19 and ordination or consecration is not required to become imam. Most of the responsibilities of an imam can be dealt with by ordinary male adult Muslims, who have the necessary knowledge to fulfill the tasks. The responsibilities of an imam comprise the following: leading the communal prayer, the Friday sermon, teaching children and adults, giving advice with regard to questions about religion and problems of the daily life, washing the dead and performing the prayer for them, pastoral caretaking in hospitals and prisons, accompanying groups of pilgrims to Mecca and occasionally representing the mosque in public and taking part in religious dialogue activities. 20 Furthermore, imams play a role in family matters as they carry out Islamic marriages as well as divorces. However, it must be stressed that these marriages or divorces are not recognized by German civil law and therefore do not substitute civil marriages and divorces.21 What does this variety of responsibilities mean in practical terms? How do the imams I have spoken to evaluate their responsibilities? Statements like “I don’t have time”22 and “there are more responsibilities than there is time”23 were made in this context to express that they feel over-

19 However in the Turkish religious administrative body imam is an office in a bureaucratic hierarchy subordinated to preachers (vaizler) and muftis. Cekin, A. 2004. op. cit. 59–61. 20 All studies on imams in Europe point to the great variety of duties: Boender, W. and M. Kanmaz. 2002. op. cit.: 170; Cekin, A. 2004. op. cit.: 248–265; Kroissenbrunner, S. 2002. op. cit.: 195. 21 Therefore it is written on the marriage contract forms: “This marriage contract is closed purely in religious terms. It has no relevance with regard to German civil law. A civil marriage is recommended for this purpose.” 22 Imam. 2005. Interview, 1 March. 23 Imam. 2005. Interview, 5 April. In the meantime a second imam has been employed and they now, for example, share the responsibility for leading the prayer, and cover for each other when absent in cases such as vacations, pilgrimages and the like.

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burdened by too many tasks and responsibilities. They find it stressful that the community members expect the imam to be available to them at any time of the day. One of my interlocutors is currently working as teacher for Islamic instruction at public schools and also as a teacher in a mosque where he has already performed the Friday sermon several times. He has turned down several offers to work as a salaried employee in a mosque, explaining that he finds the great variety of duties and the huge responsibility somewhat overwhelming. According to this imam, being imam is a task that requires all 24 hours of the day. As he grew up in Germany, he is used to having leisure time, however he did not rule out the possibility of becoming imam in a mosque in the future.24 Another difficult aspect of the imam’s work is the variety of people they have to deal with. They work with children, teenagers and adults, men and women regardless of their educational or social background. Additional personnel for teaching women or for youth work for example may sometimes only be found in larger mosques.25 In the end imams do not fulfill all the above mentioned duties equally, with variations largely dictated by factors such as their place of work, whether it is a Muslim association, a public school or a mosque, and the functions that are linked to it as well as the individual qualifications. A good example is public relations work.26 Most of the big mosques have public relations officers who represent the mosque in public and keep regular contact with the media. Some imams also listed public relations work as being the personal duty of an imam. Generally speaking only few imams in Germany are able to manage this task because of their poor command of the language. However, a German convert who is imam and chairman of a Muslim association fits this task very well. He receives repeated requests from journalists, provides guided tours in

24 Imam. 2005. Interview, 4 June. An Imam from Hamburg made similar statements: Imam from Hamburg. 2005. Interview, 23 June. 25 Imam. 2005. Interview, 9 March. 26 With public relations activities Muslim organizations position themselves in the public debates on Islam, terrorism, crimes of honor and the like. For example, following the murder of a young woman of Turkish origin, presumably by her brothers, several Muslim organizations such as the IFB and the association INSSAN launched activities in which they condemned the crime as non-Islamic. While postcards and a story contest with the motto ‘Islamour’ should show the romantic side of Muslim marriages to the non-Muslim public, an IFB poster in Turkish and German, that calls for the rejection of forced marriages, also aimed at people with Turkish Muslim background: http:// www.inssan-ev.de/index.php?id=66 and http://www.islamische-foederation.de/aktuell/ Zwangsheirat.pdf. [cited 8 October 2005]

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mosques, and participates in Christian-Muslim dialogue initiatives. His Christian origin, combined with German as his mother tongue, assist him in presenting Islam to non-Muslims as he is able to compare Islam to the Christian religion of his interlocutors and to present his information in the correct vernacular language.27 Imams feel responsible for a variety of tasks. When asked to list these tasks in order of their importance the first replies mentioned the leading of the communal prayer, the Friday sermon, the education and counseling in questions regarding religion and daily life. The transmission of Islamic religious knowledge and religious guidance represents their overall aim, which they wish to achieve with the help of preaching, teaching and counseling. In the following I will discuss these activities in detail. 3.2

Leading the prayer, preaching and teaching

Leading the prayer, as one of the main functions of an imam, suggests that an imam spends a great portion of his time at the mosque, in order to lead the five daily prayers, which start early in the morning and end late at night. In this regard the prayer gives a strict structure to the daily work routine of an imam. Actually, not every imam leads all the daily prayers, just as believers are not able to perform every prayer at the mosque, due to the need to adapt their obligations to participate in the communal prayer to fit in with the necessities of their daily life. Imams who work on a voluntary basis normally only come to the mosque on certain days of the week, as two of my interlocutors explained to me. They come to the mosque on Fridays and on the weekends only, where they lead the prayer, deliver the Friday sermon and teach. Th e remaining days of the week they are busy with their jobs28 and the communal prayer is led by someone else. In principle, every healthy and sane adult male29 Muslim who knows the recited formula can lead the prayer and so there will usually always be someone to substitute for the absent imam.

27

Imam. 2004. Interview, 16 December. Imam. 2005. Interview, 22 February; Imam. 2005. Interview, 23 March. 29 Being imam is not restricted to males however, in accordance with tradition and Islamic law female imams usually lead the prayer and preach only among women. This explains the public debate about Amina Wadud who recently acted publicly as imam in front of men and women alike in the USA. See the article by the female imam from Hamburg: Krausen, Halima. 2005. Wir sollten den Mut haben Fragen zu stellen. Qantara 3 June [electronic journal]. [cited 4 June 2005] 28

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The Friday sermons are speeches of ritual character. The message of the Friday sermon has to be supported by quotations from the Koran and the tradition of the prophet and therefore requires some preparation.30 The imam usually addresses his sermon to a male audience, as only men are obliged to take part in the communal prayer at the mosque. In Germany women increasingly want to take part in the Friday prayer as well, however it is very often the case that mosques do not provide enough space for all believers, with the result that in some mosques even the rooms which are usually reserved for women are used by men on Fridays. The imams I spoke to said that they are free to choose the subject of the Friday sermon themselves. Occasionally they take up ideas and wishes of the mosque administration, or the community and refer to the Islamic feasts and events from Islamic tradition, to current political and social affairs to events happening in their own community. For example, during Ramadan they preach about the meaning of fasting, or, on the day commemorating the ascension to heaven of the prophet Muhammad they refer to this. War (Iraq war) and natural catastrophes (tsunami) were mentioned as current events worthy of consideration in sermons, as well as the question of crimes of honor, which became an important topic of public debate after the murder of a young woman in Berlin.31 Other sermons revolve mainly around morally correct social behavior. Examples mentioned were the rights and duties of Muslims in their social interactions with other people in general, or with those in their neighborhood, general family affairs or, for example, the wasting of time and money, exaggerations in religious practice32 or spiritual questions such as that of the belief in God33 or the longing for Islam.34 When asked about the differences between the work of an imam in Germany and in their countries of origin, imams of Turkish origin judged the freedom of preaching in Germany to be a positive aspect.

30 “Of ritual character” means that the content of the sermons follows a certain structure and the preacher standing in a certain position. He delivers his sermon while on a pulpit. The sermon is divided into two parts. Between these two parts the preacher sits down for a moment. For more information about the structure of sermons, see Wensinck (1986); for sermons in modern Turkey see Prätor (1985). An overview of Islamic sermons in Europe is given by Reeber (2000). 31 Imam. 2005. Interview 9 March; Imam. 2005. Interview, 5 April. 32 Imam. 2005. Interview, 1 March. 33 Imam. 2005. Interview, 23 March. 34 Imam. 2005. Interview, 5 April.

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In Turkey, the Friday sermons are prepared by the Office for Religious Affairs. The prepared sermons are either broadcasted to the mosques via radio transmission or simply read by the local imams. On one hand the content of the sermons should be controlled, whereas on the other, it is often argued that not all imams fulfill the necessary qualifications for preaching or possess the talent to preach. Only special preachers (vaizler) are allowed to preach freely. As Cekin (2004) points out in his comparative study on imams of the Turkish Office for Religious Affairs in Turkey and in Germany, the imams see it as a restriction on their work that they are not allowed to preach. They miss the sermon as a creative element of their work and see their standing questioned in the eyes of the believers. In contrast to Turkey Imams of the Diyanet-office who work in Germany also deliver sermons of their own. In addition to the Friday sermons, prepared by the Office in Ankara, they deliver admonitory sermons (vaaz) which are not linked to the Friday prayer. Cekin describes these sermons as an additional task, highly valued by the imams in Germany (Cekin 2004: 78–79, 87–89; 174–181). Attempts to control the content of sermons, in order to prevent the dissemination of radical political and religious positions, are quite common in several Muslim countries. In Egypt, for example, where many of the imams working in Germany come from, the ministry of religious foundations is responsible for the sermons in the Egyptian state-run mosques. However, besides the state-run mosques, there exist a great number of private mosques whose preachers are not monitored by the ministry (Ahmad 1995: 140–143; Gaffney 1994: 45–51). Despite this background, the Egyptian imams I conversed with did not mention supervision by the state authorities in Egypt, but expressed their reluctance to make references to political events in their sermons, simply because they fear actions of the German security authorities.35 In public debates on imams in Germany, their function as preacher and counselor is given special attention. Demands such as knowledge of the content of the sermons made in every mosque, or, that sermons should be delivered in German, show quite clearly that there is a great desire for control. The language barrier in particular is a major concern. Muslim organizations still reject such demands, arguing that there are neither sufficient numbers of imams capable of preaching in German, nor of listeners able to follow sermons delivered in German. There-

35

Imam. 2005. Interview, 5 April.

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fore Turkish, Arabic or other foreign languages continue to be the vernacular languages of most of the mosques, according to the national background of their visitors and their imams.36 Of course there are also German Muslims, or Muslims of other nationalities, who do not understand these languages. In Berlin, in two of the Arab mosques sermons are interpreted into German simultaneously. Several people volunteer as interpreters. The imam sometimes tells them in advance which Koran verses, or traditions of the prophet he is going to mention. However, the interpreters are conscious of the limits of their interpretations.37 Other mosques have established their own solutions, e.g. if the imam can speak German, he may add a short German sermon following the Arabic sermon38 or someone provides a short German summary of the sermon after the Friday prayer.39 The teaching activities of the imams depend very much on the capacities of the mosque. It may comprise language courses, for example Arabic and Turkish courses, but usually their teachings concentrate on religious subjects. They teach how to recite and memorize the Koran, and explain the religious duties, the fundamental dogmas of Islam and the religious norms of social behavior to children, young people and adults alike. With regard to their content and to the methods of teaching employed, the lessons given in mosques differ from the lessons given by the imams and teachers of the Islamic Federation of Berlin at public schools. On one hand, Koran recitation or memorization is not included in the school curriculum, and on the other school teachers have to deal with pupils of different Muslim backgrounds where Sunnite, Shiite and Alevite pupils take part in the lessons.40

36 See for example the positions of Millî Görüş and the Central Council of Muslims in Germany as expressed in two interviews: Rasche, Uta. 2005. Zentralrat der Muslime. “Der Islam muß in jedem Land anders ausgelegt werden”. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung 1 February; Lerch, Wolfgang Günter et al. 2005. Millî Görüş. “Normalität haben wir noch nicht erreicht”. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 11 January. Only one imam in my sample delivers his sermons in German. Imam from Hamburg. 2005. Interview, 23 June. 37 Imam and Press officer. 2005. Interview, 1 March. 38 Imam from Karlsruhe. 2005. Interview, 15 May. 39 Press officer. 2004. Interview, 2 August. 40 Imam. 2005. Interview, 4 June.

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3.3 “The imam gives only good advice from the position of an experienced man to an inexperienced man”:41 Counseling and social work Men and women alike ask imams for guidance with regard to problems in their family, matters of their personal lifestyle, Islamic rules and norms of behavior. A selection of questions from different lessons shows the great variety of issues: Is a woman allowed to travel alone? Do women have to cover their feet? Am I allowed to use a special student credit with low interest of 3 % to finish my studies? What is unlawful renewal of religion (bidʾa)? My fiancé always comes late to appointments; how shall I deal with this? Is sexual intercourse allowed for a couple if the marriage contract is already signed, but the wedding has not yet been celebrated?

Either such questions are asked at the end of the imam’s lessons and lectures, or the people personally visit the imam in his office at the mosque. In addition to this, imams make occasional visits to families in their homes, in order to assist in solving any difficulties. According to my interlocutors, the mediation activities required to solve problems in families and between married couples, take up most of their time. If the mediation fails, divorce is a religiously acceptable solution however, as a famous saying of the prophet states, divorce is the most hated action among those actions allowed. For this reason the imams’ counsel aims at keeping the family together and they look to find suitable solutions, especially for the children.42 Religious counseling is one of the major tasks of imams in the west, as Shadid and van Koningsveld, and others have already described. Imams answer the questions put to them either immediately, or they fi rst inform themselves about a specific ruling, requiring that they consult books, or Muslim scholars with higher qualifications. Imams, one could say, give oral fatwas based on taqlid (imitation) because most of them lack higher qualifications (Shadid/van Koningsfeld 2002: 151). This also applies to the imams in Germany. My interlocutors evaluated counseling as one of the three major tasks of an imam. They inform the people about the rules and norms according to the Islamic law and therefore fulfill the function of a mufti, although they may not necessarily have studied Islamic law.

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Imam. 2005. Interview, March. Imam. 2005. Interview, 22 February; Imam. 2005. 1 March.

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Statements like an “imam gives only good advice from the position of an experienced man to an inexperienced man”43 or “I am doing ijtihad within the limits of my knowledge”44 illustrate how modestly the imams see themselves and what they do. According to the imams, the majority of the questions they get are simple and quite straightforward to answer. If a question is more complicated they would consult with other local imams or turn to fatwa bodies outside Germany, such as the fatwa committee of the al-Azhar mosque in Cairo. Whilst the imams of Arab origin also refer to the European Council for Fatwa and Research (ECFR), most of the imams of Turkish origin made no mention of this during the course of their interviews. The council appeared to be unknown to my interlocutors of Turkish origin, in spite of the fact, that one member of the European Council for Fatwa and Research has a Turkish-German background.45

4. In between professional occupation and vocation 4.1

How to become imam in Germany

The procedure of becoming imam is not regulated in Germany and therefore the various Muslim organizations and mosques apply different procedures. The majority of imams in Germany still come from foreign countries. Most of them are employees of the Turkish Office of Religious Affairs, and work in mosques run by DİTİB. As employees of the Turkish state they are supervised by the attachés of the Turkish embassy and its consulates. The Diyanet office recruits them from its own personnel and sends them abroad for a limited period of time (4–6 years). Principally, the Diyanet imams may be sent overseas several times, however in the intermediate periods they have to work in Turkey. The educational background of Diyanet imams is not uniform. They will have at least graduated from the imam hatip lisesi, a high school with the main emphasis on religious subjects, and which prepares its graduates for the tasks of imams and preachers. In addition to this most imams of the Diyanet-office have studied at a faculty of theology (ilahiyet fakültesi) in

43 44 45

Imam. 2005. Interview, 9 March. Imam. 2005. Interview, 1 March. See the list of its members: www.e-cfr.org.

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Turkey. Working experience is a prerequisite for being sent abroad, and so, before coming to Germany, they have gathered at least eight years of experience as imam-hatip e.g. prayer leader and preacher or as mufti. Although the Diyanet office offers special courses and language classes in order to prepare the imams for their work in Germany Cekin complains that they are not sufficiently prepared for their new tasks (Cekin 2004: 151–156). Other Muslim organizations, holding no affiliations to any religious state authority, have developed different procedures. The Association of Islamic Cultural Centers [VIKZ] has its own structures for the education and training of its hocas (teachers) in Germany and in Turkey (Jonker 2002: 193–201). Therefore one finds imams and hocas in the mosques of the Association of Islamic Cultural Centers who are more familiar with the German society and language. For some time now, Millî Görüş also seems to have made efforts to employ people who grew up in Germany as imams. A typical route to becoming imam here is to visit Germany as a tourist and to make contacts to mosques. While performing certain tasks voluntarily, such as leading the prayer, preaching and lecturing, the community members and the mosque administration gain an impression of the personality and capabilities of the imam. Later on he may be officially employed. This means that the candidate first has to return to his country of origin. The mosque administration, which wants to employ him deal with the applications necessary to obtain a visa, work permit and a residence permit.46 Many imams come to Germany, particularly during Ramadan, because, during this time of year, people traditionally spend more time in the mosque. During the Ramadan period there are more prayers, Koran recitations and, in the last ten days of the fasting period, some people even remain permanently in the mosque. The Berlin-based imams I talked to gained their position in various ways. The German convert established an Islamic association and was selected by the members to be its imam and chairman. The others came either from Egypt and Turkey, or from other parts of Germany. Only one of them had visited Germany in the way mentioned above and is now officially employed in a mosque. One imam was employed right away from Egypt after he had replied to an internet job offer he had seen on the mosque’s Arabic homepage. Family contacts paved the way for two imams of Turkish origin. As one of them had graduated from

46

Press officer. 2005. Interview, 1 March.

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the imam hatip lisesi and the other one had studied at the Egyptian alAzhar University, they were both adequately prepared for the role of imam. Another graduate from the al-Azhar University initially came to Berlin as a student. Currently, he is still a student and acts as imam on a voluntary basis. 4.2

Education

Generally, as has already been explained, any healthy and sane male adult Muslim with a certain basic knowledge can lead the communal prayer. Tasks such as preaching, Koranic courses or religious education, require more knowledge and the role as counselor is an especially challenging task, because counseling requires that the imams reconcile their religious knowledge to the requirements of the daily life, in order to find appropriate answers and acceptable solutions. What kind of religious education do the imams have, and where have they been educated? The transmission of religious knowledge often begins in the family, when the father or grandfather starts teaching the children how to memorize the Koran or decides to send the child to the imam hatip lisesi.47 The educational background of my interlocutors in Berlin varies from attendance at several summer courses in an Arab country, through graduation from the imam hatip lisesi up to graduation from the Egyptian al-Azhar University. In general all levels of educational background are represented. Three out of five graduates from al-Azhar University are Egyptians and two of them have a Turkish background. They preferred to study there because of the high prestige factor enjoyed by the al-Azhar University in the Islamic world and because they thought that they would learn a better standard of Arabic in Egypt, than in Turkey. Several imams continue their studies aiming at a doctoral degree. Although five imams have graduated from the al-Azhar University, they do not have the same education and training. Several faculties provide religious studies. Two of the imams studied at the faculty of law (sharia and qanun) thereby making Islamic law the main emphasis of their studies. Then there is the faculty of the fundamentals of religion (usul ad-din) which itself comprises various sections. One graduate from this faculty specialized in the science of hadith and the other one in Koran interpretation (tafsir). The fifth imam had already started his

47

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school career in the al-Azhar school system. He later studied a combination of religious subjects as well as German language at the university. The al-Azhar University also offers religious studies at its language faculties with the aim of training imams to work abroad. The differences in the religious education of imams illustrate that, whilst a higher religious education is important, it is not restricted to a fixed curriculum. The academic studies comprise only of theoretical knowledge, which has little to do with contemporary living conditions in Europe, even though the language faculty gives courses on European history and culture. This is why, in the public criticism of imams, the vocational qualifications of the imams from abroad are so often questioned. My interviewees never criticized the institutions they had graduated from for not preparing them sufficiently for their tasks, instead criticizing themselves and their lack of German language skills as German becomes increasingly important as a working language. The imams of Turkish origin all spoke German, but were not satisfied with their levels of proficiency and two Arab imams are currently learning the language, but are not yet able to communicate effectively in German. The language barrier makes it difficult for them to establish strong contacts with the younger generation of Muslims, whose skills in German far outstrip their Arabic skills. This problem was discussed very openly during the interviews. As it is regularly the subject of discussion in the media, it is natural that the language problem should also come to the surface in the interviews. However, in several talks it was stated that the competence to speak German enhances the personal standing and makes certain personalities famous outside their local context, as is the case, for example, with an imam from Hamburg, who delivers some of his sermons in German.48 Generally the imams are in favor of establishing Islamic educational institutions or academic chairs, in order to educate and train Islamic religious scholars in Germany. Despite this general approval, they were only partly informed about projects, which have been launched to establish chairs for Islamic religious pedagogy and Islamic theology at various German universities. Citing the lack of a tradition of Islamic learning in Germany, it was regularly asked who should educate and train the new German Islamic scholars. In addition to this, a very practical question was raised. How can the mosques afford to employ such academically

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trained imams? If imams were trained at German universities they are hardly likely to be satisfied to work on a voluntary basis. They would want to receive a salary comparable with those of other German university graduates and these salaries are much higher than those currently paid to imams employed from abroad. As the financing of mosques and their employees is largely reliant upon donations, one imam expressed great skepticism as to whether such academic projects could be successful or not.49 4.3

The self-image of imams

How do imams see themselves? How do they understand their role and function within the community? According to several statements they made about themselves, the first impression is that imams link their self-image primarily to their education, their religious knowledge, and a claim to leadership which they derive from their religious knowledge. The demands they make of themselves include the nurturing of close and personal contact with the people of their community, as well as comprehensive care of the believers. With regard to their possible impact on the people, imams confirm that imams, or sheikhs, as they are often called in Arab contexts, are regarded with great respect and held in high esteem by the believers, however they also stress the limitations of their potential impact by saying that an imam can only have an influence on Muslims he personally knows, therefore, only those who attend his mosque. Imams who have studied at al-Azhar University are very conscious of their educational background. The al-Azhar education provides them with identity and knowledge and gains them the respect of the believers. A sheikh who has been working in Berlin for the last three years repeatedly emphasized the significance of the al-Azhar University. Four of his five predecessors at his mosque were also graduates of al-Azhar University. His children study in the al-Azhar schooling system and this is one important reason why he has not brought his family to Berlin as he points out, that only the al-Azhar can provide his children with a profound religious education. A comparable education simply does not exist in Germany.50

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Statements such as, “we as experts”51 or “imam as a scientist” or “we are respected because of our knowledge” illustrate clearly the central meaning of the knowledge they have acquired at the al-Azhar university. This knowledge, one could say, is the founding element of their authority and imparting it to others is one of their most important tasks. Regarding the transmission of knowledge, one sheikh describes the overall aim of all preaching, teaching and counseling as the passing-on of the “right” Islam, which is a moderate or “middle-of-the-road” religion. One can not acquire a sound knowledge of Islam by merely reading books, listening to tapes, or surfing on the internet. What is required is study “at the hand of a scholar”, who may correct false interpretations of the religion immediately. Nevertheless, the sheikh sticks to the idea that the real authority is with the texts and not with the scholars: “The Islam is in its texts and not in/with its men”. There seems to be a contradiction between the strong role of the scholars and the priority position of the normative texts such as the Koran and Sunna, a contradiction the sheikh does not really clear up when he explains that the role of the scholars as mediators and interpreters of religious dogmas is less important as there is no dispute regarding the fundamental dogmas of Islam, but rather, that only Islamic rules of minor importance were subject of debate among the scholars.52 The influence of the imam arises both from the respect religious scholars enjoy among the people and from his function, as is expressed in the idea that people comply with what the imam says: The first task is to give good advice, because in the light of their religion if the imam says ‘this is forbidden’, the people say to themselves, ‘I see, this is forbidden and so I don’t do it’ and the people don’t ask any more. If the imam says, ‘this is allowed’, then okay, ‘this is allowed. I can do it’ and again, the people don’t ask again.53

An Egyptian sheikh explains it as his responsibility to live with the people and to be close to them, so that they turn to him as an authority: My responsibility as a sheikh is not only to preach, but I have to live with them in their reality, in order to be close to them, and to be an authority for them.54

51 52 53 54

Imam. 2005. Interview, 22 February. Imam. 2005. Interview, 5 April. Imam. 2005. Interview, 9 March. Imam. 2005. Interview, 1 March.

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According to him, the relationship between the imam and the visitors to the mosque rests on their general respect and esteem for the men of religion and the imam is obliged to return these feelings. When the imam takes part in the social life of the community members, when he shares in their joys and sorrows, then a positive and effective impact develops.55 In further conversations, the importance of a close contact was stressed, stating for example that the influence of the imam was restricted to those people who come to the mosque regularly and with whom the imam is personally acquainted.56 An imam should serve the community and at the same time be a role model. A very unusual metaphor, used by one imam, likened the role of an imam to that of a mother. Pointing to the linguistic relation of the Arabic words “imam” and “umm” (mother), he developed the metaphor during the conversation that an imam should care for his community like a mother for her child.57 Nevertheless, he lowers the position of the imam in saying “we are normal human beings”. Trust is a very important factor, which the imam achieves through kindly interaction with the people, where it makes an enormous difference that he puts his heart into it, rather than performing the role of imam as if it were an ordinary job.58

5. Conclusion With the description of their daily work routine and their responsibilities, the imams I talked to in Berlin confirm the common story of the situation of imams in Germany and Europe. Presumably it is both a correct description of the situation59 and a mirror of the Muslim communities’ perception of the public discussions in Europe on imams and Muslim religious authorities. Regardless of which responsibilities an imam actually fulfills, many tasks are listed, such as leading the prayer, 55

Imam. 2005. Interview, 1 March. Imam. 2005. Interview, 23 March. 57 See also Krausen, Halima. 2005. op. cit. In her article about the question of whether women could become imam or not, she also briefly mentions the linguistic relation between these two words but without giving it the same meaning. 58 Imam. 2005. Interview, 4 June. 59 See especially Kroissenbrunner who analyzed the situation of Turkish imams in Vienna and makes very similar observations for example with regard to the self-criticism of the imams because of their poor German language skills and their self-image even though her sample is slightly different: Kroissenbrunner. 2002. op. cit.: 191, 197–199. 56

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preaching, teaching, counseling, public relations work, pastoral caretaking, accompanying groups of pilgrims to Mecca and others, of which leading the prayer, delivering sermons, teaching and counseling are seen as the most important tasks. It seems as if the variety of duties, typical for the situation in the Diaspora, has become part of the self-image and self-claims of the imams. The variety of duties fits into the self-image insofar as the imams feel a comprehensive responsibility for the psychological and social well-being, as well as for the religious concerns of the believers. With their descriptions of enormous work-loads—a spectrum of tasks which takes up 24 hours a day—and of the overall aim to impart the correct Islam to the people, they underline both the necessity of their work and the importance of their role. Simultaneously they see the limits of their social impact, arguing that they reach only the people who attend their mosques and, that it is left to the person who seeks their counsel whether or not he or she takes the advice to heart. The selfimage of my interviewees and the public image of imams correspond to each other in that they see themselves as authorities and are perceived by outsiders to be influential personalities Imam is not an occupation with a strictly regulated training process or with a fixed list of duties. The interviews confirm this clearly as they show that the persons who act as imam in Berlin come from very different educational backgrounds. For leading the prayer only a basic knowledge is required, but for other duties such as preaching, counseling or teaching, greater religious knowledge is needed. Th e imams who studied at the al-Azhar University derive their self-esteem from their Azhar-identity, and the knowledge they acquired there. The criticism that this knowledge does not consider European living conditions was not mentioned however self-criticism was expressed with regard to their German language skills. Even imams who speak German and use it in their work were not satisfied with their language skills. This strong self-criticism may be due to the ongoing public discussions and the increased attention focused on this issue, however, it is also a reflection of the tendency towards German as the vernacular language in many Muslim communities in Germany.

References Ahmed, Akbar S. 1995. The Mosque in Politics. In Oxford Encyclopaedia of the Modern Islamic World 3. New York: Oxford University Press: 140–143.

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Alacacioglu, Hasan. 1999. Außerschulischer Religionsunterricht für muslimische Kinder und Jugendliche türkischer Nationalität in NRW. Eine empirische Studie zu Koranschulen in türkisch-islamischen Gemeinden. Münster: Lit. Boender, Welmoet, and M. Kanmaz. 2002. Imams in the Netherlands and Islam Teachers in Flanders. In Intercultural Relations and Religious Authorities: Muslims in the European Union. Edited by Shadid, W. A. R. and P. S. van Koningsveld. Leuven: Peeters: 169–180. Cekin, Ahmet. 2004. Stellung der Imame. Eine vergleichende Rollenanalyse der Imame in der Türkei und in Deutschland. Ph. D. diss., University of Tübingen. El Battiui, Mohamed, Firouzeh Nahavandi, and Meryem Kanmaz. 2004. Mosquée, imams et professeurs de religion islamique en Belgiques. État de la question et enjeux. Brussels: Fondation Roi Baudouin. Frégosi, Franck (ed.). 1998. La formation des cadres religieux musulmans en France. Approche socio-juridiques. Paris: L’ Harmattan. Frese, Hans-Ludwig. 2002. Den Islam ausleben: Konzepte authentischer Lebensführung junger türkischer Muslime in der Diaspora. Bielefeld: Transcript. Gaffney, P. 1994. The Prophet’s Pulpit. Islamic Preaching in Contemporary Egypt. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gaffney, Patrick D. 1995. The Mosque in Society. In Oxford Encyclopaedia of the Modern Islamic World 3. New York: Oxford University Press: 143–147. Gesemann, Frank and A. Kapphan. 2001. Lokale Gefechte eines globalen Kulturkonfl iktes? Probleme der Anerkennung des Islam in Berlin. In Migration und Integration in Berlin. Wissenschaftliche Analysen und politische Perspektiven. Edited by Frank Gesemann. Berlin: Leske and Budrich: 397–416. Grübel, Nils and S. Rademacher (eds.). 2003. Religion in Berlin. Ein Handbuch. Berlin: Weissensee Verlag. Hoffmann, Barbara. 1981. Graue Wölfe, Koranschulen, Idealistenvereine. Türkische Faschisten in der Bundesrepublik. Köln: Pahl-Rugenstein. Jonker, Gerdien. 1999a. Von Mehrheit zur Minderheit. Die Verortung der islamischen Gemeinden im deutschen Umfeld. In Kern und Rand. Religiöse Minderheiten aus der Türkei in Deutschland. Edited by Gerdien Jonker. Berlin: Zentrum Moderner Orient: 131–146. ——. 1999b. Religiosität und Partizipation der zweiten Generation—Frauen in Berliner Moscheen. In Der neue Islam der Frauen: weibliche Lebenspraxis in der globalisierten Moderne; Fallstudien aus Afrika, Asien und Europa. Edited by Klein-Hessling, Ruth, S. Nökel and K. Werner. Bielefeld: Transcript: 106–123. Jonker, Gerdien and A. Kapphan (eds.). 1999c. Moscheen und islamisches Leben in Berlin. Berlin. Jonker, Gerdien. 2002. Eine Wellenlänge zu Gott. Der Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren in Europa. Bielefeld: Transcript. Kehl-Bodrogi, Krisztina. 1988. Die Kizilbas/Aleviten. Untersuchung über eine esoterische Glaubensgemeinschaft in Anatolien. Berlin. ——. 2002. “Was Du auch suchst, such es in dir selbst!” Aleviten (nicht nur) in Berlin. Berlin. Knauth, Thorsten and W. Weiße (eds.). 2002. Akademie der Weltreligionen. Konzeptionelle und praktische Ansätze. Hamburg. Kroissenbrunner, Sabine. 2001. Türkische Imame in Wien. Wien: Institut für Konfliktforschung. ——. 2002. Turkish Imams in Vienna. In Intercultural Relations and Religious Authorities: Muslims in the European Union. Edited by Shadid, W. A. R. and P. S. van Koningsveld: 181–207. Leggewie, Claus, Angela Joost, and S. Rech. 2002. Nützliche Moscheekonflikte? Lackmustest auf praktische Religionsfreiheit. Blätter für deutsche und internationale Politik, 47 (7): 812–821.

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Lemmen, Thomas. 2001. Muslime in Deutschland. Eine Herausforderung für Kirche und Gesellschaft. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Mohr, Irka-Christin. 2000. Muslime zwischen Herkunft und Zukunft. Islamischer Unterricht in Berlin. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch. Neumann, Ursula (ed.). 2002. Islamische Theologie. Internationale Beiträge zur Hamburger Debatte. Hamburg: Körber-Stiftung. Peter, Frank. 2003. Training Imams and the Future of Islam in France. In ISIM Newsletter 13: 20–21. Poston, Larry. 1992. Islamic Da’wah in the West. Muslim Missionary Activity and the Dynamics of Conversion to Islam. New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Prätor, Sabine. 1985. Türkische Freitagspredigten. Studien zum Islam in der heutigen Türkei. Berlin: Klaus Schwarz. Reeber, Michel. 2000. Les khutbas de la diaspora: enquête sur les tendances de la prédication islamique dans les mosquées en France et dans plusieurs pays d’Europe occidentale. In Paroles d’islam. Individus, sociétés et discours dans l’islam européen contemporain. Edited by Felice Dasetto. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose: 185–203. Riecke, Steffen. 2003. Aleviten. In Religion in Berlin. Ein Handbuch. Edited by Grübel, Nils and S. Rademacher. Berlin: Weissensee Verlag: 360–362. Schmitt, Thomas. 2003. Moscheen in Deutschland. Konflikte um ihre Errichtung und Nutzung. Flensburg: Deutsche Akademie für Landeskunde. Shadid, W. A. R. and P. S. van Koningsveld. 2002. Religious Authorities of Muslims in the West: Their Views on Political Participation. In Intercultural Relations and Religious Authorities: Muslims in the European Union. Edited by Shadid, W. A. R. and P. S. van Koningsveld: 149–168. Tosun, Cemal. 1992. Die religiöse Erziehung der in Deutschland lebenden Türken in den Moscheen und die Kompetenz der Imame. Ph. D. diss. University of Cologne. Wensinck (1986), Khutba. In The Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., Leiden: Brill, vol. 5.

CHRISTIANMUSLIM ENCOUNTERRECENT ISSUES AND PERSPECTIVES1 Friedmann Eissler

The presence of Muslims in Germany in general and the history of Christian-Muslim relations in particular have been thoroughly surveyed and well documented in a steadily increasing number of publications.2 Therefore, we shall limit ourselves in the confi nes of the present study to focus on some of the major themes of Christian-Muslim dialogue in Germany today as reflected in two seminal texts. The primary aim of this article is to tackle a few substantial issues as a first step toward a fuller evaluation of the actual state of interreligious dialogue endeavors and of their future perspective. Scrutiny of some of the ongoing discussions on the basis of internet-research, press releases and public statements may help to elucidate further aspects of the multi-layered complex situation of these endeavors, of their main agents and their agenda. We shall—by no means exhaustively and thereby deliberately considering the (Christian) theological dimension of the debate—concentrate on one Muslim initiative to promote open dialogue (the Islamic Charta of February,

1 This paper had been completed before the publication of the Vienna Declaration 2006 of the Conference of European Imams (http://www.derislam.com/islam. php?name =Themen&pa =showpage &pid=174) and of EKD-Text 86 ‘Klarheit und gute Nachbarschaft. Eine Handreichung des Rates der EKD’, Hannover 2006, both vigorously debated (cf. Johannes Kandel, “Die ‘Wiener Erklärung’ der Konferenz der Imame und SeelsorgerInnen vom 8. April 2006”, in CIBEDO—Beiträge zum Gespräch zwischen Christen und Muslimen 2 (2006), pp. 18–35 [Text of Declaration documented] and http://www.ekd.de/aktuell_presse/news_07_01_31_1_islamverbaende. html respectively). 2 Cf. Abdullah, Muhammad Salim (1981): Geschichte des Islams in Deutschland, Islam und westliche Welt vol. 5. Graz; idem (1993): Was will der Islam in Deutschland? Gütersloh: 9–28; Heine, Peter (1997): Halbmond über deutschen Dächern. Muslimisches Leben in unserem Land. München; Kirchenamt der EKD (ed.) (2000): Zusammenleben mit Muslimen in Deutschland—Gestaltung der christlichen Begegnung mit Muslimen. Eine Handreichung des Rates der Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland. Gütersloh. Thomas Lemmen, Muslime in Deutschland. Eine Herausforderung für Kirche und Gesellschaft, Schriften des Zentrums für Europäische Integrationsforschung der Rheinischen Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität Bonn vol. 46 (Baden-Baden: Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft 2001); Ursula Spuler-Stegemann, Muslime in Deutschland. Informationen und Klärungen, Herder spektrum vol. 5245 (Freiburg i. Br.; Basel; Wien 32002).

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2002) and one Christian official statement on “Christian faith and nonChristian religions” (EKD-Text 77, August, 2003). Both texts met with a lively response within and without their own circles indicating their significance for further dialogical pondering and showing part of the deeper dialectics of the situation.3 Before embarking upon the presentation of some details it seems due to recall three landmarks in the recent development of Christian-Muslim encounter in order to set the framework for the following remarks. The first milestone on the way is the ‘Anwerbestopp’ (halt of recruitment) of foreign workers in Germany in 1973. Since the 1960s, so called ‘Gastarbeiter’ (guest workers) had been recruited by the (Western) German government from Southern Europe and from Islamic countries (mainly Turkey, Morocco and Tunisia). After 1973, many of the foreigners decided to stay in Germany and then brought their families into the country. In the long run, this caused a fundamental change, not only in the mentality of the Muslims then facing the multi-faceted problems of integration and the perspective of new citizenship in Germany, but also within German society, which saw itself more and more challenged by a growing and increasingly self-confident minority of a different faith and culture. In the 1970s, (officially organized) encounters between Christians and Muslims became frequent. Often, the initiative was taken by the World Council of Churches (WCC) which, in 1971, created the Dialogue SubUnit as an indication of the commitment of member churches of the Orthodox and Reformation traditions to carry on dialogue with the followers of other religions. Representatives of the Catholic Church, individual Catholics as well as Vatican officials, were regularly invited to 3 As for the differentiation between ‘interreligious’ and ‘intrareligious’ dialogue which has been introduced by Raimon Panikkar (1978), the latter concept so far has not been validated in wider circles of German interreligious dialogue. One of its points of departure is the problematic ‘distinction between faith and beliefs’ (Panikkar, 1978: 17–23), insinuating forms of dialogue which hardly are generally acceptable. Jacques Dupuis describes intrareligious dialogue as an “effort of ‘com-prehension’ and interior ‘sym-pathy’—or ‘em-pathy’—(. . .) a spiritual technique consisting of ‘passing over and returning’. ‘Passing over’ means encountering both the other and the religious experience which that other bears within, together with his or her Weltanschauung; ‘returning’ stands for reflecting on the impact made by the faith of the other on one’s own faith. (. . .) Nevertheless, it can be stated as certain that, in order to be true, interreligious dialogue between persons of different faiths requires that both partners make a positive effort to enter into each other’s religious experience and overall vision, in so far as is possible.” (Dupuis, 2003). For a different accentuation of the essentially helpful distinction see further on in this article.

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take part in these encounters.4 Among the early Christian initiatives to establish an organized form of dialogue on a regional level in Germany were the Catholic Ökumenische Kontaktstelle für Nichtchristen (ÖKNI) in Cologne, founded in 1974 by the “White Fathers” Cologne (Weiße Väter, Köln),5 and the early CIG’s (Christian-Islamic Societies, Cologne 1982; Ruhr-Essen 1983; Marl 1984) (Lemmen, 2004). Trilateral communication, however, between Jews, Christians and Muslims had already been taking place for several years, as the conferences of the JCM demonstrate (Lemmen, 2001: 254).6 In the wake of Vatican II, which has had an enormous impact on many levels, there has been strong encouragement of inter-religious dialogue.7 In 1986, for the first time, Pope John Paul II invited leaders of non-Christian religions to a Day of Prayer for Peace in Assisi (Pontifical Council, 1994: 93–101).8 The second turning point of note is the Gulf War of 1991 (the IraqKuwait conflict, ‘Desert Storm’). Interreligious and especially Christian-Muslim relations in Germany were intensified in view of social and political disturbances on both sides. Christians and Muslims came

4 Encounters took place e.g. in Ajaltoun and Broumana, Lebanon, in 1970 and 1972, in Tunis and Accra (1974), Chambésy (1976), and in Colombo (1982). Cf. Sperber, Jutta (2000): Christians and Muslims. The dialogue activities of the World Council of Churches and their theological foundation. Berlin; Margull, Hans J. & Stanley J. Samartha (1972): Dialog mit anderen Religionen. Material aus der ökumenischen Bewegung. Frankfurt a.M.; Brown, Stuart E. (ed.) (1989): Meeting in Faith. Twenty Years of Christian-Muslim Conversations Sponsored by the World Council of Churches. Geneva, WCC Publications; Waardenburg, Jacques (ed.) (1998): Islam and Christianity. Mutual perceptions since the mid-20th century. Leuven; idem (ed.) (2000): Muslim-Christian Perceptions of Dialogue Today. Experiences and Expectations. Leuven. For the most recent general assessment of 30 years of dialogue by the WCC, see: Ökumenische Erwägungen zum Dialog und zu den Beziehungen mit Menschen anderer Religionen. 30 Jahre Dialog und überarbeitete Leitlinien. 2003. Geneva: WCC Publications. 5 Who became widely known through CIBEDO, the Christian-Islamic Encounter— Documentation Centre (Christlich-islamische Begegnung—Dokumentationsstelle), founded in 1978, since 1981 in Frankfurt a.M.—The ÖKNI nowadays is called the Referat für interreligiösen Dialog (REFIDI); (cf. Lemmen, 2001: 236f.) 6 The JCM conferences (“Die Ständige Konferenz von Juden, Christen und Muslimen in Europa”) are mainly supported by the Leo-Baeck-College—Centre for Jewish Education (LBC-CJE), London, the Bendorfer Forum e.V. and the Deutsche Muslim-Liga Bonn e.V. (DMLB) and, until 2003, they were held in the famous Hedwig-DransfeldHaus in Bendorf near Koblenz. 7 The most important Second Vatican Council passages in this respect are found in the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church of 1964, Lumen Gentium, and in the Declaration on the Relation of the Church to Non-Christian Religions, Nostra Aetate, of 1965 with its explicit statement on Muslims. Cf. e. g. Pontifical Council (1994). 8 October 27, 1986; the second such gathering was on January 24, 2002, as well in Assisi.

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together to pray for peace so that political engagement in the non-political form of spiritual experience gained a wider public. We can trace the emergence of a conspicuous number of dialogue initiatives back to that time of fruitful and mutual praxis pietatis. The third break to recall here is, last but not least, the often bespoken terror attacks of September 11, 2001, which have deeply impaired the heretofore continuously invigorating mutual confidence of the dialogue partners. What had been achieved was sabotaged—not only by notorious critics, but partly also from within the scene. The situation was paradoxically characterized by two opposite developments. On the one hand, the obvious alienation between the partners caused an enormous setback which has not yet been overcome. On the other hand, a new interest in Islam became evident on all levels—e.g., Qurʾans were out of stock in bookshops and ‘Muslim themes’ sprouted up everywhere, be it in the most muddled ways. Serious dialogue, of course, sought to keep pace with the events. Thus, intermingling and interfering socially affective tendencies have resulted in unmistakable tensions and considerable difficulties in returning to (or in eventually reaching) multi-cultural normality.

I In this context, the emergence of the Islamic Charta (dated February 20, 2002)9 can be understood and was in fact meant as a signal of Muslims in Germany “to enter into dialogue about their faith and religious practices” in an open-minded sense of integration.10 The Charta was issued by the Central Council of Muslims in Germany (Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland—ZMD) and it immediately attracted much attention from politicians, the media and the Churches. The ZMD is an umbrella organisation which definitely represents only a small section of the Muslim minority in Germany, but, nevertheless,

9

Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (2002). Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (2002), Preface. The Charta addresses explicitly the majority society in Germany besides the own community (cf. ibid.: “. . . the majority in this country is entitled to learn the position Muslim [sic] take towards basics like the Federal Constitution, the rule of law, democracy, pluralism, and human rights.”). 10

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plays an influential role in public media.11 Due to its media presence, its former chairman, Nadeem Elyas, well conversant with the exigencies of dialogue diplomacy, is widely perceived as a prominent speaker of the Muslims and therefore one of the best known figures in Islamic affairs.12 The Islamische Zeitung (Islamic Newspaper—IZ) wrote in an editorial in March 2002: “With the presentation of the Islamic Charta, the Muslim umbrella organization takes the offensive and speaks for the majority of the Muslims.”13 We shall see below, however, that this pretension was harshly criticized by Muslims themselves. But first, let us have a look at the contents of the Charta. The Islamic Charta consists of 21 articles, §§ 1–9 concerning theological and ethical principles, §§ 10–15 reflecting the diaspora situation of Muslims in Germany and §§ 16–21 purporting political confessions and a concluding catalogue of demands (e.g. the introduction of Islamic religious education in the German language, the participation of Muslims in the existing media control bodies, and the authorization of the public call to prayer, reinforced by loud-speakers, and more). The Charta as such has been welcomed by Christian and Muslim representatives as a first positioning of a Muslim organization in the German context, giving a clear basis for further controversial debate (and challenging the other Muslim umbrella organisations to reflect their stance). It is today an integral part of most of the relevant Muslim internet websites, available at least in linked form. Still, several problematic points are under discussion.14 11 The ZMD, founded in 1994 but going back to the IAK (Islamischer Arbeitskreis in Deutschland) of 1988, associates 19 multinational members dominated by those of Arab and German Muslim background (Spuler-Stegemann, 2002:107–110; Lemmen, 2001: 123f). The numbers are all but clear, but one can assume that the ZMD after the loss of the VIKZ in August 2000 represents about 20 000 of the 3.5 million Muslims in Germany. Other sources speak of “only 10 000 members”, (Molthagen, 2002a: 20); cf. Brunner (2002) The other two Muslim parent organizations, the Islamrat der Bundesrepublik Deutschland and the Türkisch-Islamische Union, DİTİB, count 185 000 and about 125 000 members, respectively, cf. Molthagen (2002a). 12 On Nadeem Elyas see Spuler-Stegemann (2002: 264f.) and “Die ‘Islamische Charta’ ”, Islam-Focus 7 (2003: 3f.). In February 2006 Dr Ayyub Axel Köhler was elected chairman of the ZMD. 13 Wilms, 2002: 13f. 14 Facing an abundance of material, we are bound to carefully choose and to weigh out the statements that have been made. We refer to Protestant (Schmude, 2002; Molthagen, 2002a; cf. note 24), Catholic (Troll, 2002), political (Brunner, 2002), and Muslim (Denffer, 2002; cf. note 33; cf. note 38) reactions to the Charta. An unequivocally positive assessment of the Charta is given by Ulrich Dehn, 2002: 125f. For a detailed review of the reactions including those of the Arab world, and a thorough going critique of the Charta in brochure form, cf. “Die ‘Islamische Charta’ ”, Islam-Focus 7, 2003; further

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One of the first reactions to the Charta were the ‘preliminary remarks’ made by Jürgen Schmude, president of the EKD Synod,15 in Die WELT, in which he praised the breakthrough while simultaneously questioning three of the theses (2002). For one, he doubts whether equal rights for women are intended in a sense which fully corresponds with the German Constitution and human rights. Articles 11 and 6 of the Charta speak of “universal suffrage and eligibility” (Art. 11)16 and of male and female Muslims sharing “the same task in life: To recognize God, to serve Him, and to obey His commands. This will also help to assure equality (. . .)” (Art. 6). To “assure equality”, according to this, will be possible by pursuing “the same task”, which is clearly qualified religiously, thus advancing the sharia-perspective as the—or, at least, a possible—lens through which ‘equality’ will be defined. The second point is the right “to change [one’s] religion, to have another religion, or none at all” (Art. 11). In view of the general consensus of all Islamic madhāhib (schools of Islamic law) that apostasy (from Islam) is punishable by the death penalty, this article is especially noteworthy and sensitive at the same time. A third topic is the political involvement of Islam. Art. 12 of the Charta clearly states: “We do not seek to establish a clerical theocracy.” Obviously, Sunni Islam never and by no means seeks to establish a clerical theocracy. On the other hand, Nadeem Elyas declared in December 2001 in an interview with the Süddeutsche Zeitung that the sharia be implemented in an Islamic state “which is no theocracy and no theocratic system”. Seen from this angle, the disapprobation of the clerical theocracy in the article would not even affect the consensual Islamic obligation to establish an Islamic state (Schmude, 2002; Brunner, 2002). These have appeared to remain the neuralgic spots in the further discussion. In his statement, Christian W. Troll, Professor for Islam and

Molthagen, 2002, “ ‘Islamic Charter’ of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany”, available . Clearly to the point, if more moderately expressed, political scientist Johannes Kandel (Director of the Section Berliner Akademie / Interkultureller Dialog of the Friedrich-EbertStiftung, FES) presents a comprehensive and, on the whole, appreciative review of the Charta: Kandel, 2002.Further important reactions to the Charta are documented by the ministry of the interior of Nordrhein-Westfalen [cited July 2005] (Available ) and by Qantara website [cited July 2005] (Available ). 15 Synod of the Lutheran and Reformed Church in Germany (on the website: “Evangelical Church in Germany”), see . 16 Here, the German version of the Charta is even more explicit in mentioning suffrage and eligibility of women (Art. 11).

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Christian-Muslim encounter at the Roman Catholic Department of St. Georgen and member of a subcommission of the Deutsche Bischofskonferenz for interreligious dialogue, addresses the same points and adds two aspects. One is the question whether Art. 3 conveys the old Muslim polemic against Jews and Christians to have altered their Scriptures and therefore obscured the original truth (2002: 289–290).17 A second aspect refers to Arts. 8 and 10: In Art. 8 (“Islam is creed, ethical norms, social order, and way of life”). Troll misses the explicit mentioning of the often—and often critically—adopted ideal of an Islamic state. If the obligation of Muslims in the Occident “to respect, and abide by, the local legal order” is qualified in Art. 10 “as a matter of principle” (‘grundsätzlich’),18 the question remains unanswered as to what exceptions could be envisaged (Troll, 2002: 289–290). According to Troll, the exceptions enabling a ‘dignified Islamic way of life’ are specified in Art. 20.19 However, further clarification of this point is vital. An even more disturbing question is raised by Michael Molthagen with respect to the use of the term ‘diaspora’ in the Charta (Art. 10). ‘Diaspora’ refers to the dispersion of a religious (or ethnic) group from their homeland among other peoples and lands. Are the obligations of Muslims mentioned in Art. 10 and further, like the obligation “to respect, and abide by, the local legal order”, are they still valid when Islam possibly outgrows its diaspora situation? Is it a mere accident that here, again,

17 It is interesting to notice that the German version of the Charta is stricter in this point as well and therefore less easily digestible than the English version (German heading: “Der Koran ist die verbale Offenbarung Gottes” versus the English “The Qurʾan is a verbal revelation of divine origin”; and in the text: “The Qurʾan is the authentic word of God . . .” against the German: “Diese Offenbarung findet sich als unverfälschtes Wort Gottes im Koran” [emphases added; F.E.], which provokes the reader’s assumption: “. . . as against the falsified earlier revelations”; the German sentence can be interpreted in terms of a responsiveness of the authors of the Charta to sensitivities of an historical approach within Biblical scholarship: Word of God within Scripture, avoiding direct identification). 18 German: “Das islamische Recht verpflichtet Muslime in der Diaspora, sich grundsätzlich an die lokale Rechtsordnung zu halten.” (Emphasis added; F.E.). This semantically means a restriction. 19 Art. 20: “Dignified life in the midst of society: (. . .) that the Muslims here [scil. in Germany; F.E.] lead a dignified Islamic way of life within the realm of the Constitution and the existing legal order.” Here then follow practical implications from a Muslim point of view, such as the introduction of Islamic religious instruction into the school system, academic education of teachers of Islam and imams, permission of the building of mosques, authorization of the public call to prayer (reinforced by loud-speakers), respect by schools and administrations for the Islamic dress code and so on (a total of 11 demands).

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the English translation of the Charta differs from its German master copy?20 If the setting is deliberately conceived of as ‘diaspora’ in the sense of situational restriction and temporal limitation, the underlying agenda is more than problematic and demands clarification. In a comprehensive critique, Rainer Brunner21 questions the usefulness of the ZMD paper in terms of Muslim integration because too many ambiguous passages reflect, in fact, the traditional view of Islam, which squarely conflicts with the pretension of supporting a contemporary understanding of the Islamic sources in order to create a European Muslim identity (2002). So, there is no reason, according to Brunner, to dismiss the Charta on the grounds of an alleged incompatibility with Qurʾanic and Islamic teachings. On the contrary, this would ironically be playing into the hands of fundamentalist integration opponents who, from the other side, as it were, are against the Charta rejecting any erosion of the “pure dogma”. One part of Brunner’s comments deals with the first, theological section of the Charta. In addition to the aforementioned issues, he addresses the misleading translation of ‘Islam’ as ‘peace’ in Art. 1.22 With regard to the politically and socially relevant articles which he considers more important, Brunner criticizes the formulations of Arts. 10–14, confirming what has been presented so far and extending it to include the following aspects: Art. 13 speaks of “Western core human rights” which are said not to be in conflict with “Islamic doctrine”. This formula is deemed unacceptable, in so far as reference to a ‘core’ evokes the association of certain ‘fringes’—neither of these terms being clarified—, and ‘Western’ implies cultural impregnation which is not corroborated by

20 Art. 10 English: “Islamic Law is relevant for Muslims in the Occident: Muslims can live anywhere in the world (. . .) As a matter of principle, Islamic jurisprudence obliges Muslims in the Occident to respect, and to abide by, the local legal order. Against this background, asking for, and accepting, a visa (. . .) are considered as contracts to be respected by the members of a Muslim minority.” German: “Das Islamische Recht verpflichtet Muslime in der Diaspora: Muslime dürfen sich in jedem beliebigen Land aufhalten [. . .] Das islamische Recht verpflichtet Muslime in der Diaspora, sich grundsätzlich an die lokale Rechtsordnung zu halten. In diesem Sinne gelten Visumserteilung [. . .] als Verträge, die von der muslimischen Minderheit einzuhalten sind.” (Emphases added; F.E.) (Molthagen, 2002: 26f.). 21 Privatdozent—lecturer for Islamic studies at Freiburg i. Br. University and member of the Institute for Advanced Study, Princeton/USA. 22 Notwithstanding the philological untenability, this interpretation has become, so it seems, an indisputable part of the interreligious dialogue pattern. Cf. “Die ‘Islamische Charta’ ”, Islam-Focus 7, 2003: 12.

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the facts.23 And we should add: Why is Islamic ‘doctrine’ compared with human ‘rights’, and not Islamic ‘law’, namely, the sharia? Is this to avoid the term, sensitive in German discourse, while keeping the contents? The article, indeed, suggests the preconceived superiority of the Islamic doctrine by which human rights are measured. The implications of Art. 14 are no less problematic. As to the “commitment of religious pluralism”, it is explicitly qualified by the attribute “Qurʾanically demanded” which actually has to be understood as a restriction: religious pluralism is favored as long and as far as it corresponds with the Qurʾanic demands, and these associate this concept with the ahl al-kitab, to be more precise: with the dhimmis, excluding other religions beyond the horizon of the Abrahamic communities, not to mention apostates or others (sects such as Ahmadiyya or Bahaʾi). In January 2003, after nearly a year had passed since the first publication of the Charta, the Church Office of the EKD followed with an official statement that can be seen as summarizing to some extent what had been prevalent in the public discourse.24 Much more moderate in tone, it starts with acknowledging the ZMD initiative with special reference to Arts. 17 (open-minded dialogue), 15 (formation of a European Muslim identity, i.e. integration) and 16 (Germany as the focal point of life). With reference to Art. 19, the paper admonishes, however, that Muslim identity cannot only be ‘maintained’,25 if a really open dialogue is intended that evolves in a historical process within the European context, the effects of which are not to be expected on only one of both sides. At this point, the question arises whether and how far Christians are accepted as dialogue partners “at eye-level”. Remarkably enough, the relation to the Christian Churches (as the largest religious communities in Germany, to which two thirds of all Germans belong) is passed over throughout in silence, let alone accepted as dialogue partners. Apart from what has been discussed so far—which reappears in the EKD-statement—there are additional viewpoints. One of them is the approach to affluence and poverty (Art. 9) which is an important issue for the Churches from the background of their rich experience debating

23

Not the least of which is the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the UN—not only by Western countries—in 1948. 24 . [Cited July 2005]. 25 Art. 19: “To integrate while maintaining the Islamic identity: The Central Council (ZMD) promotes integration into society of the Muslim population which will not be detrimental to their Islamic identity. Therefore it supports all efforts for a better minority command of the German language and for better access to German citizenship.”

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social justice. Here, Islamic theology is seen to offer starting points for further critical reflection of dealing with financial resources and human solidarity beyond the scope of the Charta diction. A certain attentiveness of the authors for the purpose of objectification of the often overly-emotional debate is perceivable in the discussion of Art. 20.26 Impulses are positively accepted, different responsibilities are clarified. Finally, in appreciation of Art. 18 (“We are responsible for the entire society”), the paper acknowledges the efforts of the ZMD to present itself as “a partner in the fight against religious discrimination, xenophobia, racism, sexism, and violence” (Art. 18), while at the same time calling on it to meet the challenge of developing cooperation and the critical assessment of the controversial issues. Now, a few words on the inner-Muslim debate about the Islamic Charta are due. In the last part of his review, Rainer Brunner has drawn on the substantial critique by Ahmad von Denffer, chairman of “Muslime helfen”27 and of the Islamic Centre Munich (IZM),28 and editor of the quarterly magazine Al-Islam.29 His in-depth analysis of the Charta should certainly not be ignored, and it is especially instructive because the IZM is, after all, a member of the ZMD. Nevertheless, von Denffer accuses the ZMD of having published the Charta unilaterally, without achieving an overall Muslim consensus in advance. 30 Von Denffer’s line of argument can be judged by his comments on the first sections of the Charta. It is important for him that one should beware of ‘historically’ juxtaposing Islam and Christianity/Judaism. That Islam is “next to Judaism and Christianity” as one of the three monotheistic world religions and, moreover, ‘continues’ the sequence of divine revelations (Art. 1), is—if at all—the position of non-Muslim scholars, but hardly of Mus26

Cf. above at note 19. ‘Muslims aid’ (F.E.). 28 On http://www.islam.de/?site=zmd/publikationen/docs&di=e05 von Denffer is listed as a representative of the IZM (Islamisches Zentrum München, see http://www. islamisches-zentrum-muenchen.de). 29 Al-Islam. Zeitschrift von Muslimen in Deutschland, München: Islamisches Zentrum (cf. also [cited July 2005]). 30 “This ‘Islamic Charta’ has been made irrespective of the vast majority of the Muslims living in Germany” (von Denffer, 2002: 4). This accusation puts the repeated emphasis of the ZMD to have passed the Charta unanimously by all members in an unfavorable light. The imminent protest of larger parts of Muslims in Germany was expected, though. Even on the occasion of the presentation of the Charta, chairman Nadeem Elyas admitted that the document would meet with opposition “on the part of many Muslims” (Wilms, 2002: 14). 27

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lims themselves.31 On the contrary, it has to be maintained (Muslims “are sure and even proud”) that Islam is the ultimate fulfillment and conclusion of the great world religions. Furthermore, Christendom is suspected of not being monotheism at all on Qurʾanic grounds. In the same vein, the insertion in Art. 2 “Muslims believe in God whom, like the Arab Christians, they call ‘Allah’ ” is rejected as insinuating Islam’s dependence on Christianity, and terms like “transcendent” and “immanent” are qualified as undue concessions to Christian usage of philosophical and theological language. These remarks already suffice to make clear which way the cat jumps. The Charta is scrutinized throughout point by point and each statement that, from afar, looks like an accommodation to Western or even Christian language and thought is denounced and judged as harming vital Islamic self-understanding.32 Thus, it is evident that what some Muslims in this country would welcome as opening the dialogue through acknowledging a common, democratically-based rationale, others would brand as an unacceptable concession and even as a betrayal of the very basics of Islam—and that from within! It is not surprising that even much more critical views were uttered by Muslims not affiliated with the ZMD.33

31 Von Denffer (2002): “Die Ansicht, dass der Islam neben Judentum und Christentum steht, wird vielleicht von nichtmuslimischen Religionswissenschaftlern vertreten, aber kaum von Muslimen.” 32 A few more examples: That God be ‘recognized’ (at all), Art. 6, is un-Islamic, as well as the allusion to the French Revolution in the same article (‘equality, freedom, justice’— the ideals of the Occidental Enlightenment and of the Islamic way of life are, according to the author, “not so easily corresponding to each other” as it is made to believe here). The restriction of the Muslim obligation to respect the “local legal order” by the phrase “as a matter of principle” (Art. 10) is neither understood nor accepted as such; on the contrary, this passage is seen as a (much too) far reaching concession to the majority in this country. On the other hand, the restriction in Art. 11 to “the Muslims represented by the Central Council” is positively acknowledged, and the assertive mentioning of a pluralism of political parties is harshly criticized, indicating that this article is refuted in toto. The same is true with regard to Art. 12, which is commented on with the words: “Nobody will believe what the ZMD claims here”! Finally, it is deemed to be, at the least, unfair, not to inform the reader about one’s true aims. Concerning human rights, von Denffer explicitly dwells on “the irreconcilable differences, especially regarding the [status of the] woman” between these and Islamic doctrine. And so on! 33 “Stellungnahme zur ‘Islamischen Charta’ und Appell an alle Muslime und wahrheitssuchenden Menschen” by “a group of Muslims” [cited July 2005]. Available ; characteristics of this pamphlet are, for instance: ‘Islamic Charta’ is always in quotation marks; “Muslims are not part of this society nor of any other, rather they form a single and unique umma of their own” (!); the idea of integration of the minority into the majority society is flatly controverted

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But the Charta has been labeled as a “sample without value” (“Muster ohne Wert”) by the liberal camp, too. In an interview, Safter Çinar, spokesman of the Berlin-based umbrella organization Turkish Union in Berlin-Brandenburg,34 accused the authors of the Charta of having omitted the most burning questions. In his critique, he dwelled on the following aspects: the problematic relationship between Islam and democracy,35 the status of women, about which the Charta is anything but clear, and the lack of the ZMD’s authority, which has by no means the right to present itself as speaker of “the Muslims” in Germany.36

II In 1983, the United Evangelical Lutheran Church of Germany (Vereinigte Evangelisch-Lutherische Kirche Deutschlands, VELKD) released a document which became famous for its proposal of a “dual missionary strategy” (missionarische Doppelstrategie) for church growth.37 The “dual strategy” includes “opening” (“Öffnen”, mainly for those outside the inner circles of the churches) and “consolidating” (“Verdichten”, with the aim of encouraging and enabling Christians to communicate their faith) and so reflects two fundamental movements—outward–inward, exhale and inhale, external reference vs. internal reference—which can generally be observed within religious communities. If we had, mutatis mutandis, the “opening” dynamic and its particular problems with the Islamic Charta addressing the majority society in addition to its own community,38 we can see the EKD text No. 77 (Kirchenamt, 2003) “Christian faith and non-Christian religions. Theological guidelines” from the viewpoint of the inwardly oriented impetus of consolidation in order to advance inner-Christian orientation and communicative competence (Marquardt, 2003). as having no validity in Islamic terminology; and, besides a mass of Qurʾanic quotations, many more well known verdicts are included from the infi nite arsenal of fundamentalist propaganda. 34 Türkischer Bund in Berlin-Brandenburg (TBB), [cited July 2005]. Available . 35 Democratic values are not only part of a “local legal order” (Art. 10), they are to be defended universally. 36 [Cited July 2005]. Available , and: . 37 Lutherisches Kirchenamt der VELKD (1983). 38 Cf. above note 9.

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The text39 is best understood as a response of the Council of the EKD not only to the events of September 11, 2001, but also to the new situation in Germany that increasing numbers of members of different religious affiliations coexist for the long-term. With these theological guidelines, the Council wishes to contribute to the dialogue of the religions and to profile this dialogue from a Protestant perspective.40 For an adequate understanding of the paper, it appears crucial to seize the fundamental choice of the authors not to reflect on the manifold problems of dialogical practice, but to focus on the theological assessment of the Christian faith in relation to the other religions.41 On this basis, in view of today’s fascination with religions, which more often than not suggests that religions per se and in principle have the same purpose and the same message, it is deemed important to acquire the ability to make critical distinctions, an approach which diverts the authors of the guidelines from categories like “convergences” or “a common ethos” as the main interest. “Christian Faith is a school of making critical distinctions”42—asserts Reinhard Hempelmann of the Evangelische Zentrale für Weltanschauungsfragen in beginning his review, alluding to distinctions central to Protestant, i.e. Lutheran and Reformed theology, like creator—creature, faith—love, gospel—law (Hempelmann, 2003: 403). And with this he defines the basic approach of the paper.43 In a press release of July 31, 2003, spokesman Hans-Christof Vetter of the Church Office of the EKD announced the publication of the brochure, summarizing it in four topics (Vetter, 2003): i) The paper proceeds on the assumption that each religion has its own characteristic profile to

39

EKD 2003. We ignore in this context the interesting interrelationships between the Vatican declaration “Dominus Iesus” (Kongregation für die Glaubenslehre, Erklärung “Dominus Iesus” über die Einzigkeit und die Heilsuniversalität Jesu Christi und der Kirche, August 2000) and the EKD text, the latter, of course, expressing a Protestant position that has been formed in continued implicit argument with the former (thereby revealing a good deal of common ground in some aspects). 41 Wolf Krötke, one of the leading authors of the EKD document, stressed on the occasion of a workshop on the subject in November 2003 (see below), “. . . dass wir also sozusagen einen Schritt hinter den Dialog zurückgetreten sind (that we took, as it were, a retrograde step behind the dialogue)”. The paper itself formulates its purpose in this respect referring to the earlier EKD studies thus: “These texts call for a complementary perspective focused on the foundations.” (2003: 7: “Diese Texte bedürfen einer sie ergänzenden, sich auf die Fundamente richtenden Perspektive.”). 42 “Christlicher Glaube ist eine Schule des Unterscheidens.” (Translation F.E.). 43 Which is, therefore, a good deal misunderstood if seen as full of “fear of the other” or an anxious “desire to set boundaries”. 40

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be respected, while every overall theoretical concept of ‘religion’ appears to be a generalizing construct which is not very useful in the process of authentic mutual perception. A theologically adequate understanding of the other religions has to make allowance for their different (self-) understanding in their own view (EKD, 2003: 9f.). ii) Christians perceive the religions and their practitioners in the light of the Christian message. The Creator’s nearness to all mankind is a fundamental anthropological qualification, regardless of religious affiliation. For Christians, this nearness is, in its richness and definiteness, revealed in Jesus Christ. From this point of view, the common bond between humans is, at the same time, the separating element, for faith in Jesus Christ marks the distinction between Christianity and other religions (EKD, 2003: 8f.). Therefore, an interreligious ecumenism parallel to Christian ecumenism is regarded as a meander (‘Irrweg’) (EKD, 2003: 18f.).44 iii) That every single human being is a divine creature establishes for Christians inviolable human dignity. On this basis, Christians will search for common ground with other religions with regard to, e. g., human rights. iv) Mutual respect is deliberately distinguished from participation in religious practice. This touches upon the serious question of common prayer, which is dealt with very cautiously. The guidelines also met with immediate criticism. We give the first word to the Conference for Islamic Affairs of the Lutheran and Reformed Church in Germany,45 whose committee combines positive and negative findings in a moderate and unemotional tone in its statement. Although the EKD document had not exclusively aimed at the Christian-Muslim relationship—but had envisaged the relationship between Christians and non-Christians46—, 09/11 was, of course, a trigger for its draft and

44 This has been regarded as one of the most pointed remarks: “Die Idee einer der christlichen Ökumene vergleichbaren ‘Ökumene der Religionen’ ist deshalb als Irrweg anzusehen.” (ibid., p. 18f.). 45 Konferenz für Islamfragen der EKD, Stellungnahme zum Beitrag der Kammer für Theologie der EKD “Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen (Hannover, December 2003; forwarded by Dr M. Affolderbach, Hannover, October 2004). The mere fact that the experts represented in the ‘Konferenz für Islamfragen’ had not been fully integrated in the process of drafting the document is, of course, characteristic and has often been criticized. 46 This ‘dichotomy’ having been vehemently criticized as “Western-centered” and “strangely dualistic” (see Marquardt, 2003: 2).

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thus, Christian-Muslim dialogue was factually an important part of the setting, if only in the backdrop at first.47 The development of crucial insights from the “centre of Reformation theology” in order to strengthen the communicative competences of church members is appreciated by the Islam experts as well as the intention to activate the conciliatory and peacemaking powers of religious traditions. It is all the more regrettable that demarcating statements stand out (‘ecumenism of religions’ as a wrong way, disapproval of common prayer). The theologically laden abstract language of the guidelines is judged to hamper understanding and easy transformation into dialogue experience. The almost total lack of reference to such experience—as reflected, for instance, in the institutionalized contacts of the commissioners for Islamic affairs of the Churches for many years—adds to the impression that the assertion of Christian positions and, at least implicitly, even of Christian preponderance, prevails over an authentic critical dialogue discussion. In the same wake, the commissioners criticize the lack of differentiation between the various ‘other religions’ so well exercised in earlier documents, despite—and to some extent because of—the efficacious concept of ‘leading critical distinctions’ (Leitdifferenzierungen) throughout the guidelines. From the side of Christian-Jewish relations, a similarly balanced reaction was expressed. Friedhelm Pieper, the then general secretary of the Heppenheim-based International Council of Christians and Jews (ICCJ), summarized his perceptions “from the viewpoint of a theologian committed to interreligious dialogue for many years” under the heading ‘Both helpful and problematic’ (Pieper, 2003a: 408–410).48 The dismissal of a general conception of ‘religion’ is deemed to be promising at first glance—yet, the premise of a carefully differentiated perception of the characteristic profiles of the religions is not consistently followed throughout the document, criticizes Pieper. On the contrary, the perspective of a general vis-à-vis opposition of the Christian faith and ‘the other religions’ is being developed. The ‘leading critical distinctions’ (Leitdifferenzierungen) are welcomed as far as they cut the ground from under Christian absoluteness

47 In the preface, “die Ereignisse des 11. September 2001” are mentioned besides the challenge of globalization effects and the European secularization (“Entkirchlichung”) (see EKD, 2003: 3). 48 Cf. his even more detailed treatment in the same vein on the above mentioned workshop day in November 2003 in Bochum: Pieper 2003b: 18–34.

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claims and promote basic solidarity amongst all mankind. They ascertain the ‘basic distinction’ (Grunddifferenzierung) between God’s deeds and human action, so as to look at ‘truth’ as ‘an event’, which constitutes in itself, as a critical perspective, an eminently important contribution to inner-Christian discourse as well (Pieper, 2003a: 409). Regardless of these positive aspects, however, the recognition of the profound ambivalence of religious phenomena still leads to the basic demarcating proposition that an ‘ecumenism of religions’ is not a viable concept. Corresponding to the dynamic character of truth, Pieper would have expected a more flexible description of the relationship between Christians and ‘the other religions’, verifying in the new contexts what has been learned so far in the ecumenical process (key-word ‘reconciled differences’). In an open-minded and expectant process of clarification, joint celebrations and common prayer should help to find out how important we could be to one another.49 A more emotional echo resounds in the polemical statement of Marten Marquardt (Jewish-Christian relations) who picks up the metaphor of the ‘dual strategy’ (Doppelstrategie) in order to show that the EKDpaper is conservative, apologetic and full of fear of a clash of civilizations (S. Huntington), nay, of a clash of religions (Marquardt, 2003: 2). He does not accept the idea of the major critical distinctions and their ‘dualistic theological implications’, but favors a dialogical orientation which fully acknowledges the theological relevance of salutary experiences in the other religions. A dialogical concept of truth requires, so we understand Marquardt, a common (rational) basis which cannot be centered in the focus of an unhistorically conceived ‘story’ of Jesus Christ. This would smell too much of particularization based on personal experience which, indeed, is not arguable (Marquardt, 2003: 6). What is interesting at this point is the reversal of the argument otherwise often heard. Usually, the argument of indisputable experience is introduced to affirm the perception of common ground between people of different faiths50 (for instance in the course of common prayer or in other communicative situations). It is difficult to escape the impression that here a certain

49 “Gemeinsame Feiern und Versuche von multireligiösen und interreligiösen Gebeten gehören zu diesem Prozess des Herausfindens, was wir uns gegenseitig bedeuten können.” (Pieper, 2003: 410). 50 Cf. the WCC program “Dialogue with People of Living Faiths and Ideologies” [cited July 2003] Available .

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argumentative opportunism leads the writer to denigrate a basic theological assumption of the EKD guidelines. The Marburg systematic theologian Hans-Martin Barth excoriates the authors of the EKD document in exposing several inconsistencies of the text (Barth, 2003: 411–416).51 First, he addresses the psychological ‘double bind’ strategy of the guidelines which he recognizes in the discrepancy of positive statements referring to non-Christians versus the arsenal of negative connotations (‘foreign’, ‘strangeness’, ‘distance’ and so on) conveying separation and Christian superiority as the basic ideas. The strategy is to sympathize with the partner while simultaneously signaling to him that we do not want to have too much to do with him. This is exemplified by the statement that the relation common to all mankind (Creator–creation/creature) is said to be unifying and at the same time separating, because this very communal relation is revealed only through Jesus Christ.52 A second line of argumentation is to point out theological inconsistencies. Barth expounds the problems of the concept of ‘basic’ and ‘leading critical distinction[s]’ (Grund- und Leitdifferenzierung[en]). In the EKD text, the basic distinction refers to the fundamental difference between God’s deeds and what man does (which rules out any feeling of superiority because man tries to correspond, to live up to God’s truth but never has!). This is unfolded and specified by ‘three dimensions of distinction’ (EKD, 2003: 11), thus in Trinitarian form: theological, christological, and pneumatological (Father, Son and Holy Spirit). At this point, Barth intervenes, seeing the logic of differentiation going much too far. Had the authors of the EKD document taken seriously the Christian belief in the triune God, so he insists, they should not have isolated the Christological aspect in order to oppose it as a sort of “antagonism” to the non-Christian religions. Rather, the intricate complexity of the three dimensions in God (creation, redemption and consummation) is the very reason for opening dialogue and interreligious encounter beyond the limits of Christian particularism.53

51 He doubts whether the paper serves at all its explicit purpose to deepen the understanding of how to deal with other religions and to encourage the necessary dialogue (Barth, 2003: 411). 52 “Das den christlichen Glauben mit den Menschen aller Religionen Verbindende (Gott ist allen Menschen gnädig nahe) ist insofern das sie zugleich Trennende.” (EKD, 2003: 8). 53 “Wenn die Christenheit wirklich an den dreieinen Gott glaubt, darf sie das Christusereignis nicht isolieren und dann isoliert als ‘Gegensätzlichkeit’ zu den nicht-

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The third thread of Barth’s argument envisages the unclear purpose of the guidelines, obviously resulting from the ‘double bind’, which—strikingly enough—is left behind precisely at the moment where an ‘ecumenism of religion’ is to be ruled out. Exemplified in the question of common prayer, the answer of the EKD here is clearly in the negative. According to Barth, with a dogmatic stance like that we remain far behind today’s exigencies and have not yet met the challenge of globalization and the migration’s impact on our society. Wolf Krötke, who gave on the occasion of a one-day workshop on the debate an introduction to and an assessment of the guidelines, shall have the last word in our context (Krötke, 2003: 8–17). The gist of his substantial, but moderately toned contribution is the assertion that the guidelines in no way intend to obstruct the search for communal aspects and expressions of common ground between the religions, be it in religious, ethical, or other respects. The main focus, though, has been to consider and to reassess the foundation upon which such an endeavor can only and reasonably take place in the view of Christian faith. This was meant by the “step back behind the dialogue”.54 The criticism of having cemented the separating aspects of religions is rejected by virtue of the fact that, in the real encounter, we have the encounter of specific religions, even of individual representatives of religions, and certainly not of abstract entities in between or beyond religions. This should be considered a merit of the text and not the sore point, to depart from the ever concrete, situational context of personal encounter. Only the conscious differentiation in these terms between ‘me’ and ‘the other’ allows for an unbiased perception of the other in real respect, without taking him back into my own mental framework ‘through the backdoor’, as it were, via the general abstract assumption of a common religious basis or even a basic common religion. So it is, in fact, more respectful not to blur given distinctions and not to obscure the individual characteristics.55 christlichen Religionen zur Sprache bringen. Dann haben auch nicht mehr die Leitdifferenzierungen das erste Wort, sondern die Liebe Gottes, des Schöpfers, des Erlösers und des Vollenders.” (Barth, 2003: 413f.). Barth refers to the Augustine theological doctrine “opera trinitatis ad extra sunt indivisa”. 54 Cf. above note 41. 55 For further pondering, cf. Friedmann Eissler, “Gibt es eine abrahamische Ökumene? Zur Konstitution eines Begriffs und seinen religionstheologischen Implikationen”, in So weit die Worte tragen. Wie tragfähig ist der Dialog zwischen Christen, Juden und Muslimen?, ed. Ralph Pechmann & Dietmar Kamlah (Gießen, 2005: 261–287). Of course, a working hypothesis is needed to define what religion is—flexible and open to continued discussion and correction. In this sense, religion is, for the EKD guidelines, “. . . die von

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With this, according to Krötke, a clear alternative to the Roman Catholic manner of dealing with the issue is marked. The guidelines are not ready to predefine the religious constitution of the other as meritorious (!) praeparatio for the gospel and as objectively severely deficient over against the disposition of the Church.56 Consequently, the conscious placement of religions (and the religious individual) in their historical and situational context calls for a reflection upon the characteristics specific to the Christian faith which leads the authors of the guidelines to the justification of the sinner by God’s grace as the core of the Christian message. What the fundamental Reformation distinction between the merciful God and sinful man means cannot be fixed as a mere ‘result’, but always and continuously has to be defined and actually specified in an ‘open space’. This space is prestructured in the Christian perspective by the Trinitarian confession of God. This is why the EKD paper revolves around the Trinitarian major critical distinctions which Krötke elaborates in some detail to finally assure the ‘event-character’ of God’s truth in Christ and what follows out of it, for truth cannot be considered as ‘property’ which we possess, or as the objective ascertainment of true and false religion which we administer. In the last paragraph, Krötke obviously wishes to take the wind out of the sails of the heated debate about common religious practice and particularly common prayer. On the one hand, he mitigates the confrontation when he admits that the situation of multi-religious prayer will occur in various social contexts; on the other hand, he argues that common prayer hardly is borne out by the concept of monotheism alone. Here, it is he who rejects the isolation of one of the divine dimensions, eliminating the ‘christological hindrance’ in order to preserve—at least superficial— commonality.

III We have reviewed parts of characteristic debates in today’s ChristianMuslim encounter in Germany, crystallized around two important

Gott gewirkte glaubende Aufnahme seiner gnädigen Nähe in die Lebens- und Tätigkeitszusammenhänge des menschlichen Lebens” (EKD 2003: 10); Krötke (2003: 9 and 9f for the self-critical implications of this concept of religion). 56 Cf. Vatican II and the Vatican declaration “Dominus Iesus” (2000), quoted in Krötke, 2003: 11.

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publications, one Muslim, one Christian, with considerable bearing on interrelational as well as on intrarelational constellations. The latter, with focus on the internal structures, then, have turned out to be particularly evocative and important for further consideration. Why these two texts? In terms of purpose and audience, they are not comparable. But, while both texts are not easily reduced to simple, one-sided reactions to recent political developments, they are certainly intertwined with 09/11 and its multi-faceted consequences. What is at stake on both sides is the dialectics of opening horizons and overcoming barriers without losing—or while gaining—inner stability and a positive stance. Aiman Mazyek (ZMD) reminds us in a recent article on Qantara that Muslims in Germany are only beginning to reflect upon being a Muslim in a pluralistic, European society, and he assures us that the Islamic Charta is an important signpost on the way to push for the process of democratization.57 The EKD document is also a signpost on the way of settling essential internal questions that have remained open since interreligious dialogue has intensified. Both texts deal with the dialectics of accommodation and segregation, integration and self-assertion, universal claims and particular limitations. Thus, they are indicators of group-specific internal fissures and ruptures which, on their part, reveal the proportions of unsettled fundamental questions on both sides. The way(s) will be long and arduous, so it seems, but now, they are marked. What we need as an integral part of a promising future development of Christian-Muslim dialogue is a shift from the merely horizontal view of the agents in the dialogue (organizations, denominations, interreligious groups and initiatives with their respective themes and agendas) to a fair and thorough-going vertical perception, as it were, of the internal profiles and structures of the participating groups and their argumentation. In this sense, indeed, we stand in need of an intrareligious dialogue, which would allow for a profound and unagitated assessment in the adequate theoretical framework of the now often ambiguously and controversially debated professions.

57 He admits that ideological segregation and mental isolation within the Muslim community menace the process. German Muslims will have to play a leading role, Mazyek believes, although they are regarded as “birds of paradise”, either too positively as the protagonists of the progress, or as if not to be taken seriously. Here lies the crux, but, at the same time, the potential to work on the ambivalences and to further integration: (Mazyek, 2005).

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From this point of view, the purpose of this article has been to raise a yellow flag of caution to a dialogue too smoothly defining and too selfconsciously knowing where the front-lines are. On the agenda of Christian self-reflection on the dialogical identity, a constructive-minded perception of the own historical and cultural positioning in the focus of Trinitarian theology cannot be dismissed. On this basis—by analogy, for the Jewish and the Muslim interlocutors as well—initiatives such as the trialogue project “Weisst du, wer ich bin?” (Do you know who I am?) 58 may help to find a way together in a spirit of ever increasing respect, mutual acceptance, and steadfast confidence.

References Barth, Hans-Martin (2003): ‘Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen’. Stellungnahme zu einem Beitrag der Kammer für Theologie der EKD. Materialdienst der EZW 11: 411–416. Brunner, Rainer (2002): Die ‘Islamische Charta’ des Zentralrats der Muslime in Deutschland. Beitrag zur Integration oder Mogelpackung? In: BPB-Newsgroup. Archived at: http://www.bpb.de/veranstaltungen/NTGHNT,0,0,Die_Islamische_Charta_des_ Zentralrats_der_Muslime_in_Deutschland.html. Dehn, Ulrich (2002): Zentralrat der Muslime (ZMD) veröffentlicht Islamische Charta. Materialdienst der EZW 4: 125–126. Denffer, Ahmad von (2002): Kritische Anmerkungen zu ‘Islamische Charta’. In: AlIslam. Zeitschrift von Muslimen in Deutschland (2): 4–8, 10–16. Dupuis, Jacques (2003): Renewal of Christianity through Interreligious Dialogue. In: Luce-Newsgroup. 09 December 2003. Archived at: http://www.luce.nl/publicaties/ sd704–dupuis. Hempelmann, Reinhard (2003): Anmerkungen zum EKD-Text 77 ‘Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen’. Materialdienst der EZW 11: 403–407. Kandel, Johannes (2002): Die Islamische Charta. Fragen und Anmerkungen von Johannes Kandel. In: FES-Newsgroup. Archived at: . Kirchenamt der Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland (EKD) (ed.) (2003): Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen. Theologische Leitlinien. EKD Texte Nr. 77. Hannover. Available: http://www.ekd.de/download/Texte_77.pdf. Krötke, Wolf (2003): Die Theologischen Leitlinien ‘Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen’. Darstellung und Bewertung. In: Wahrheit und Irrweg—die Leitlinien der EKD zum Verhältnis des christlichen Glaubens zu anderen Religionen. Eine Dokumentation des Studientages am 3.11.2003. Edited by: Beratungsstelle für christlich-islamische Begegnung der Ev. Kirche im Rheinland und der Ev. Kirche von Westfalen. Bochum: 8–17.

58 “Weißt du, wer ich bin? Das Projekt der drei großen Religionen für friedliches Zusammenleben in Deutschland” [cited July 2005]. Available .

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Lemmen, Thomas (2001): Muslime in Deutschland. Eine Herausforderung für Kirche und Gesellschaft. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Lemmen, Thomas: Die Christlich-Islamische Gesellschaft e.V. als ein Erfahrungsfeld des Dialogs zwischen Muslimen und Christen. In: CIG-Newsgroup. [Cited July 2005]. Archived at: http://www.chrislages.de/intern/cigselbst.html. Lutherisches Kirchenamt der VELKD (ed.) (1983): Zur Entwicklung von Kirchenmitgliedschaft. Aspekte einer missionarischen Doppelstrategie. Texte aus der VELKD vol. 21, Hannover. Lutherisches Kirchenamt. Marquardt, Marten (2003): Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen. Theologische Leitlinien. Lesezeichen zu EKD Texte 77, 2003. Archived at: http://www. theologie-koeln.de/EKD%2077.pdf. Mazyek, Aiman (2005): Islamische Verbände in Deutschland. Plädoyer für mehr Demokratie und Transparenz. In: Qantara-Newsgroup. June 16 2006. Available at: http:// www.qantara.de/webcom/show_article.php/_c-469/_nr-343/i.html. Molthagen, Michael (2002): ‘Islamic Charter’ of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany (ZMD)—A Comment. Journal of the Institute of Islamic Studies (2): 20–33. Available: http://www.islaminstitut.de/index.php?templateid=artikel&id=27. Panikkar, Raimon (1978, rev. ed. 1999): The Intrareligious Dialogue. New York: Paulist Press. Pieper, Friedhelm (2003a): Hilfreich und problematisch zugleich. Zum EKD-Papier ‘Christlicher Glaube und nichtchristliche Religionen’. Materialdienst der EZW 11: 408–410. —— (2003b): Die Theologischen Leitlinien aus Sicht des christlich-jüdischen Dialogs. In: Wahrheit und Irrweg—die Leitlinien der EKD zum Verhältnis des christlichen Glaubens zu anderen Religionen. Eine Dokumentation des Studientages am 3.11.2003. Edited by: Beratungsstelle für christlich-islamische Begegnung der Ev. Kirche im Rheinland und der Ev. Kirche von Westfalen. Bochum: 18–34. Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue (ed.) (1994): Recognize the Spiritual Bonds which Unite Us. 16 years of Christian-Muslim Dialogue. Vatican City. Schmude, Jürgen (2002): Fragen an die Islamische Charta. Die WELT-Newsgroup. 28.2.2002. Archived at: http://www.welt.de/data/2002/02/28/404494.html. Spuler-Stegemann, Ursula (2002): Muslime in Deutschland. Informationen und Klärungen. Freiburg: Herder spektrum, 3rd ed. Troll, Christian W. (2002): Eine Islamische Charta für Deutschland. Stimmen der Zeit 5: 289–290. Vetter, Hans-Christof (2003): Rat der EKD veröffentlicht Leitlinien zum Verhältnis mit anderen Religionen. In: EKD-Newsgroup. 31 July 2003. Archived at: http://www.ekd. de/presse/397_pm143_2003_leitlinien_religionen.html. Wilms, Sulaiman (2002): Zentralrat schafft Öffentlichkeit. In: Islamische Zeitung, March 2002: 13f. Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (ed.) (2002): Islamic Charta. Fundamental Declaration of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany (ZMD) on the relationship between Muslims, their State and their Society. In: ZMD-Newsgroup. 20 February 2002. Archived at: http://islam.de/3037.php.

THE BELLICOSE BIRTH OF EUROISLAM IN BERLIN Wolfgang G. Schwanitz

In the following I will discuss the German jihadization of Islam in the light of Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy and the birth of Euro-Islam during and between both world wars.1 In this contribution, the term “Middle East” includes the Near East in its widest definition; all together it is the area in Africa and Asia between and including Arab North Africa in the west, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan in the east, the Fertile Crescent, Turkey, and Cyprus in the north, and the Arabian Peninsula in the south. Here I maintain that the concept of using Islam during what must be considered non-religious wars came from German and Ottoman advocates. Of course, a general jihad concept has existed since the advent of Islam. Moreover, historically there have occasionally been war alliances between Muslims and Non-Muslims.2 But there was never before a concept concerning how to modernize and use the jihad in modern global coalition war among Western powers. This was a starting point for the development of a so-called Euro-Islam by a bellicose axis of nonMuslims and Muslims. In peace time, Berlin respected the status quo in the Middle East. It had never had the desire for colonies and Muslim subjects in that area. This was an outstanding feature of the German Middle Eastern policy. It was not only due to being a late-comer in the concert of nations. Rather, mainstream politicians in Berlin watched all the negative consequences of having colonial peripheries for the metropolis regarding the British in India and Egypt, the French in Algeria and the Russians in the Caucasus and on the Balkans. In particular, the first German chancellor Otto von Bismarck displayed a distaste for colonial acquisitions

1 Updated and revised version of my talk at the 2004 Paris conference L’islam en Europe dans l’entre-deux-guerres. See also: Clayer, Nathalie, Germain, Eric (eds.) 2007. Islam In Inter-War Europe. London: Hurst, 271–301. 2 Peters, Rudolph. 2005. Jihad in Classical and Modern Islam. Princeton: Markus Wiener.

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overseas, although he did instrumentalize the colonial lobby for his policy towards the European Great powers. Consequently, Germans kept a critical eye on the colonial empires of their neighbours. The mainstream of German politicians went so far as to even take sides with Islamic nationalists who were trying to get rid of their British, French and Russian overlords. Thus, some Muslim leaders asked Berlin for help in this anti-colonial task. Germans and Muslims developed a new brand of Islam, a Euro-Islam, in Berlin; initially as a tool of war. But how did this and the jihad made in Germany develop? Before I investigate it, I will introduce the three features of the German policy toward this region.

1. The German cradle of a new brand of political Islam Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy First, there was not much territory left in North Africa and West Asia to be claimed by the newly-established German Reich of 1871. The territories of what became known as the Middle East were already distributed among Germany’s neighbours. Thus, keeping the status quo in the region was most likely to serve the national interests. Trade, commerce, and a peaceful penetration especially in open-door areas were the cornerstones of Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy. This was also true during the Deutsche Orient-Gründerjahre. These “German Orient founding years” started in 1884 and lasted for three decades. It was a time in which Germany explored new regions in Africa and Asia. Berlin established colonies in West and East Africa, becoming a minor colonial power. But it was also an era in which the Germans intensified their economic, cultural, and military relations to the Middle East with its countries of Turkey and Arabia—as the Ottoman heartland—via Palestine and Mesopotamia to Egypt and Mauritania. The first feature of Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy in peacetime appeared thus to be: respecting the status quo and not establishing any colonies in the region. This is also true for such German projects as the Anatolia railway which had from the start a predominantly economic character, though it could have, of course, been used militarily as well. Second, the Oriental Question—who would get which part of the declining Ottoman Empire—had already caused many conflicts. It was Chancellor Otto von Bismarck, until 1890 the main foreign politician

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who disliked colonial acquisitions, who regarded the Oriental Question above all as a means for his policy towards the neighbours in Europe. The Middle Eastern policy constituted politics re-directed to neighbouring colonial powers. He opined that the European and American policy came first and the Middle Eastern policy had to serve that primary policy. Thus, and this is the second feature, Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy was always subordinated to a primary policy towards Europe and America. Third, the Middle East was not promising enough for a great design of German policy. Otto von Bismarck used to put it this way: “The Oriental Question is not worth the bones of a single Pomeranian grenadier.” For example, the German policy toward Egypt was then considered a question not between Berlin and Cairo, but between Berlin and London. In the Chancellor’s opinion, there was not much to expect from direct relations. But Egypt made an effective “stick” to be used against London, disturbing alliances between neighbours of Germany. He used this bâton égyptien diplomatically. Since Berlin had no colonies in the region, it slipped into the role of a key mediator in European conflicts over the Orient. The third feature of Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy was a diplomacy of mediation, namely during a series of conferences on African frontiers and Asian topics since the 1880s.3 Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy in peacetime and during the course of the three decades of “German Orient founding years” until 1914 emphasized maintaining the status quo, pursuing a secondary policy with peaceful penetration of the region, and mediating in Oriental conflicts. For some reasons that cannot be discussed here, the always-feared “Sarajevo effect” dragged Europe and the world into a war starting in the peripheral Balkans. Jihad as war ideology In mid 1914, Berlin switched to a wartime policy against the colonial hinterland of its enemies. Most secretly, it instigated jihad in British and Russian Asia and in French Africa, creating fifth columns, revolts and trouble, thus relieving the European main battle fronts. Half a year later, a public dispute erupted between the two founding fathers of Islam studies in Europe. Did the Germans push the Turks to

3 Demhardt, Imre Josef: 1997. Deutsche Kolonialgrenzen in Afrika. Hildesheim: Olms.

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proclaim a jihad after entering World War I against the British, the Russians, and the French? Indeed, they did, maintained the leading Dutch Arabist C. Snouck Hurgronje, who blamed his German colleagues— among them Carl Heinrich Becker—for having supported this “fever of jihad.” The Dutchman insisted this jihad was an intellectual weapon “made in Germany.” Supposing this were true, replied the German Islam scholar: had not Berlin and Istanbul every right to do so? No, wrote Hurgronje, this hurts humanism and religious peace. “There is no taboo for religion,” Becker answered.4 Indeed, if we consider Berlin’s switch to a wartime policy against the British, French and Russian Islamic hinterland, there is a unique feature: jihad made in Germany. Eye witnesses such as one of Britain’s fi nest writers made the whole German-Ottoman jihad plot public in October 1916. John Buchan told a world-wide audience the story of how the Kaiser and his agents pushed the Ottoman Turks to proclaim a Holy War against the British throughout the Muslim lands in his classic espionage thriller “Greenmantle,” the main actor partly modelled on Thomas Edward Lawrence, and of course how London led with Lawrence of Arabia a counteraction.5 Others such as the U.S. ambassador to Turkey in Istanbul, Henry I. Morgenthau, used the expression “jihad that was made in Germany” too. It is a question whether or not Hurgronje used the term “made in Germany” in a pejorative or positive sense. In those times that trade mark had lost his early connotation of cheap products (stemming from the British Merchandise Marks Act of 1887). On the contrary, “made in Germany” then meant products of high quality, of trust in science and progress. Indeed, in our case humanities played a big role, the new field of Islam studies. Had Hurgronje, Buchan and Morgenthau been aware of this and were they right? The jihad developed in a concerted German-Ottoman campaign. It consisted of five parts: Max von Oppenheim’s design to revolutionize the enemies colonial hinterland; agitating for jihad by the Berlin-based Oriental News Department; the Ottoman fatwa; Sheik Salih’s commentary on the fatwa; and the realization of the jihad. It was used as a weapon

4

Schwanitz, Wolfgang G. 2003: Djihad “made in Germany”: Der Streit um den Heiligen Krieg (1914–1915). Sozial.Geschichte, 18: 7–34. 5 Buchan, John. 1999. Greenmantle. New York: Oxford University Press.

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to globalize the war. However, it was a slap in the face to the Enlightenment.6 Although Hurgronje’s criticism hit the mark, Becker held to a chauvinistic approach. To understand this thinking, it is worthwhile to look into five elements of the jihad according to the German design. Origins of the modern pan-Islamic jihad Max von Oppenheim served as an archaeologist and diplomat in the Middle East for two decades. The Kaiser was used to his reports about Pan-Islam and jihad.7 From his view point, there were only two possibilities in dealing with the enemies: directly at the main fronts in Europe and indirectly by creating a new ideology for Muslims and organizing political—even more so—Islamist revolts at the edges of European powers in their colonial hinterland. After the war began, Max von Oppenheim became responsible in the Foreign Office for dealing with the Middle East and the Islamic regions.8 Thereafter, on August 2nd of 1914, the Ottoman-German pact was signed with a clear view to use the Ottomans for the proposed concept of jihad. General Chief of Staff, Hellmuth von Moltke, wanted the Ottoman war minister Enver Pasha to weaken the enemies from within. The Kaiser asked Enver also to enter the war right away: The Ottoman Sultan-Caliph ought to call for jihad in Africa and Asia, getting the Muslims to fight for the Caliphate. Even academics in Berlin like the university professor for Turkish history Ernst Jäckh expected “Islamic fanatics fighting for Germany.”9 This jihad was mainly Oppenheim’s idea. He had forwarded its basic elements to the Kaiser in his report about pan-Islamic movements in 1898.10 The emperor was about to visit the Ottoman sultan. Two months before his trip to the sultan, Max von Oppenheim wrote that Islam is

6 Himmelfarb, Gertrude. 2004. The Roads To Modernity. The British, French, and American Enlightenments. New York: Alfred Knopf. 7 Kröger, Martin. 2001. Max von Oppenheim—mit Eifer ein Fremder im Auswärtigen Dienst In: Teichmann, Gabriele, Völger, Gisela (eds.): Faszination Orient. Max von Oppenheim, Forscher, Sammler, Diplomat. Cologne: Dumont, 106–139. 8 Fischer, Fritz. 1961. Griff nach der Weltmacht. Düsseldorf: Droste, 134. 9 Jäckh, Ernst. 1915. Der aufsteigende Halbmond. Stuttgart: Deutsche VerlagsAnstalt. 10 Political Archive, Foreign Office (ParchAA), R14556, An Reichskanzler Fürst Hohenlohe-Schillingsfürst, Bericht 48, Die Panislamische Bewegung, Kairo, 05.07.1898, gez. Max von Oppenheim.

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still a vital power. Since the European colonial policy cares more and more for Christianity and the Western culture, an Islamic counter movement is on the rise. Its aim is to break the Christian grip on the Islamic regions. This movement can count on a pan-Islamic solidarity that was nurtured by the daily Islamic praying drill, the pilgrimage, the inner religiosity and the feeling of unity. Moreover, there are anti-European brotherhoods at work like the Sanusiyya of Northern Africa and Arabia. Additionally, the idea of a saviour like the Mahdi movement in Sudan is spreading so that even religiously indifferent tribes “were suddenly inflamed by a fanaticism that borders on madness.” Furthermore, Max von Oppenheim reported to the Kaiser, the jihad would be a mighty weapon. Its consequences are unforeseeable if the Muslims could be prepared accordingly for this. Though the Islamic regions ceased to be a unified state, the pan-Islamic idea is greatly alive. If the jihad is proclaimed, Oppenheim underlined, volunteers and money from all over the Islamic world would arrive for the sultan as was the case in his recent war against Russia. The pan-Islamic movement started some decades ago in Istanbul where Islamic scholars gathered, translated the Qurʾan into all other languages11 and founded religious schools. More than ever, Oppenheim explained, the sultan is considered as the greatest Islamic ruler and protector of the Holy places in Mecca and Medina. As a direct enemy he might be of less importance for a Great Power. But as an ally he is valuable since he rules over a lot of Muslim subjects. Germany is considered by them best friend among Christians. The message to the Kaiser was clear: use the sultan for jihad in colonial hinterland of the potential enemies. Berlin could put to good use the pan-Islamic fanaticism and anti-European brotherhoods.12

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Oppenheim wrote: “In Constantinople a Pan-Islamic movement started a couple of decades ago. The current Sultan took it over very skillfully and with great energy. He delegated envoys to the far-most regions of the Islamic world. And he attracted Islamic scholars to Constantinople through the translation of the Qurʾan in all possible languages, of course in keeping the Arabic script, and through the inauguration of madrasas in South Africa etc.” 12 Landau, Jacob M. 2004. Pan-Islam and Pan-Turkism during the final years of the Ottoman Empire: Some considerations. In Landau, Jacob M.: Exploring Ottoman and Turkish History. London: Hurst, 25–29.

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The mastermind Max von Oppenheim was an expert on the Middle East with insider knowledge but not a scholar of Islam. Thereafter he made himself a German “Abu Jihad,” that is “father of the Islamic Holy War.” He represented a large circle of mainstream politicians, officers and academics. He designed his master plan before the Ottomans entered the war on the side of the Central Powers. The title of his top secret 136 pages for the Kaiser was this: “Fomenting rebellion in the Islamic territories of our enemies.”13 The Emperor, who was familiar with this idea, confirmed Max von Oppenheim’s suggestion to incite Muslims to jihad under the leadership of the Ottoman Sultan-Caliph as a part of a larger scheme of destabilizing enemies. This was the plan: The Sultan proclaims the jihad against the British, the French, and the Russians. Berlin delivers money, experts, and material. The targets are Muslims in British India, French North Africa and Russian Asia. The call to fight goes out in several languages according to their psychological factors. For this aim Berlin creates an Oriental News Department in the Foreign Office in 1914. The revolutionizing of Muslims in India is the key to victory. Expeditions are to be sent to Afghanistan to trigger an uprising from there. The Germans provide intelligence to the Muslims, while the Turks revolutionize them against their foreign masters. Islam, concluded Max von Oppenheim, will be one of our sharpest weapons against the British. Let us mount a joint effort to lead it into a deadly strike.14 Max von Oppenheim, succeeded by Karl E. Schabinger and Eugen Mittwoch, became the head of the Oriental News Department in Berlin in 1914. He employed a dozen academics and native Muslims. We find among them the Islam scholar Abd al-Aziz Shawish of Egypt,15 the Sheikh Salih al-Sharif al-Tunisi of Tunisia, Mamun Abu al-Fadl from the Hijaz of the Arabian peninsula and the three Tatars Said Effendijev, Shamil Safarov, and Muhammad Kazakov. The three Tatars were central figures who wanted support for the national homes of their people. 16

13 Archive Sal. Oppenheim jr. & Co., Oppenheim 25/10, Max Freiherr von Oppenheim, Denkschrift betreffend Die Revolutionierung der islamischen Gebiete unserer Feinde. Berlin 1914. 14 Oppenheim, ibid., 136. 15 See also Ottoman Fatwa by Sheikh Shawish, Al-Jihad, March 10, 1915, in: Bostom, Andrew G. 2005. The Legacy of Jihad. New York: Prometheus Books. 16 Auch, Eva Maria. 2004. Muslim-Untertan-Bürger. Identitätswandel in muslimischen Ostprovinzen Südkaukasiens (Ende 18.—Anfang 20. Jh.). Wiesbaden: Reichert.

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Some called Max von Oppenheim’s strategy of jihad a war by revolution.17 But it was fare more: an asymmetrical war waged by written and oral incitement to jihad and by instigating “anti-imperial” uprisings. The aim was a double strategy between the front and the colonial hinterland supporting fights at the fronts by binding troops in the wide lands of Islam. Euro-Islamic tools Max von Oppenheim also became the head of the News Department within the German Embassy of Istanbul in 1915.18 Later that News Department moved there to a house of its own at Pera. From there he developed two action centres for key figures of this new brand of Islam, advocated by the non-Muslim German circles in cooperation with their Muslim Ottoman counterparts who reached out—if we regard Turkey as partially European—to European Muslims too.19 Thus, it was the birth of Euro-Islam as an ideology for a globalized religious war. On the one hand, Max von Oppenheim created jihad guidelines. To spread this, he established a network of seventy reading halls and their chapters within the Ottoman Empire (see map). In most populated centres, they were easy to access by the audience. German consuls often acted as supervisors. The reading halls opened during special hours for Muslim women only. The German jihadists propagated their war news and insurgency ideas in leaflets, still and moving pictures in the following languages: Turkish, Arabic, French and Greek. Oppenheim’s service delivered news within the Empire in two days. He used war maps and pictures for mostly illiterate visitors. He founded the Balkan-Orient-Movie Inc. during fall of 1916 to use news reels and other short movies for his war propaganda.

17 McKale, Donald. 1998. War by Revolution. Germany and Great Britain in the Middle East in the Era of World War I. Kent: The Kent State University Press. 18 “Nachrichtenstelle der Kaiserlich-Deutschen Botschaft” since March 1915, since April 1st 1917 only “Nachrichtenstelle,” that is News Department, see: Oppenheim, Max von. 1917. Die Nachrichtensaal-Organisation und die wirtschaftliche Propaganda in der Türkei, ihre Übernahme durch den Deutschen Überseedienst. Berlin, 12. 19 The Germans used “Turks” and “Turkey” since 1763 as Resmet Ahmed Effendi arrived in Berlin. He was the first Turkish envoy who was delegated by the Caliph Abd al-Hamid I. to this city. In this case Germans meant the Turkish heartland in Asia minor. They used to speak of the Ottomans and the Ottoman Empire when they meant the larger political construction. But speaking just of Turkey was quite common since those days: everyone understood that this was talking about the heartland mostly populated by Turks.

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Max von Oppenheim’s map shows his network of so called reading rooms for war and jihad propaganda. He wrote: “Reading rooms were available at all the not underlined places in 1916. They were planned to be established yet at the underlined places.”

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In May 1917 it was taken over by the German Picture Society. In the same year he intended to develop this News Department’s network into an organization that would promote German investing and commerce within the Ottoman Empire. In a sense, it was a fairly modern marketing strategy in Africa and Asia using developed means of technology and advertisements. Max von Oppenheim took pride in himself in 1917—at a time in which the German Reich was still to expand its power to a peak during the war until the mid of the following year—in that he succeeded in getting the News Department to be taken over by the economic German Overseas Service.20 On the other hand Max von Oppenheim`s second centre was in Berlin. There it had to supervise Muslim prisoner of war camps. The Muslims were fairly well treated. They got their own camp paper and mosque—for instance in Wünsdorf near Berlin—preparing them either to join the Central Powers as soldiers or to push the anti-colonial cause after returning to their home lands. The Oriental News Department edited the weekly Al-Jihad in Arabic and other languages of Islam. In this connection Germans built the first mosque in the Muslim prisoner camp Wünsdorf near Berlin. The Ottoman envoy Ibrahim Hakki Pasha inaugurated it in 1915.21 A young lieutenant, Fritz Grobba, who later became the outstanding German envoy to the Middle East, led a battalion of 1,000 French-Arab war prisoners from Wünsdorf to Istanbul in March 1916. Since the war minister Enver Pasha distrusted them, they were put to work building streets.22 Nevertheless, all this raised some basic questions that must have troubled the minds of common Muslims all over the Islamic lands. Was the Ottoman Sultan the accepted Caliph to all of them? Was it permitted for them to fight with infidels against infidels and their Muslims?

20 Oppenheim, Max von: Die Nachrichtensaal-Organisation, ibid., 21.; see an earlier manuscript: Oppenheim, Max von. 1916: Die türkische Nachrichtensaal-Organisation der Nachrichtensteller der Kaiserlichen Botschaft in Konstantinopel im Dienst deutscher Wertarbeit im Orient. Berlin: Deutscher Wirtschaftsdienst. 21 Höpp, Gerhard. 1997. Muslime in der Mark. Als Kriegsgefangene und Internierte in Wünsdorf und Zossen, 1914–1924. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch. 22 Grobba, Fritz. 1956: German Exploitation of Arab Nationalist Movements in World War II. Stuttgart: Manuscript for the United States Army (MS P-207), 16.

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2. Ottoman jihad fatwa and Sheikh Salih’s commentary As Max von Oppenheim had suggested, a fatwa answered this. The Sheikh of Islam affirmed five points on November 11, 1914.23 To summarize: After the enemy of Islam attackeds the Islamic world, His Majesty the Padishah of Islam orders a jihad as a general mobilization and individual duty for all Muslims in all parts of the world according to the Qur‘an. Since Russia, England, and France are now hostile to the Islamic Caliphate, it is also incumbent upon all Muslims who are being ruled by these governments to proclaim jihad against them and to actually attack them. The protection of the Ottoman Empire depends on the fact that all Muslims hasten to partake in the jihad; if some refrain from doing so, it is a horrible sin and they deserve divine wrath. For Muslims of the named enemy countries it is absolutely forbidden to fight against the troops of Islamic lands even if the enemies force them to do so, otherwise they deserve hellfire for murder. It is a great sin for Muslims under the rule of England, France, Russia, Serbia, Montenegro, and their allies to fight against Germany and Austria, which are the allies of the Supreme Islamic Government. According to this fatwa, the Sultan-Caliph was the sovereign over all Muslims. It was permitted to them to fight with infidels against infidels and their Muslims. The latter had not only no right to fight back, but they had to turn against their foreign overlords. Sheikh Salih al-Sharif al-Tunisi, a Tunisian Mufti and confident of the Ottoman war minister Enver Pasha, confirmed in a booklet this new doctrine of jihad on the side of the Austro-German central powers. Enver Pasha had asked Sheikh Salih to travel to Berlin to popularize the jihad among the Germans. Just for this purpose Sheikh Salih wrote a commentary. His Haqiqat al-jihad or The Truth of Jihad was published at the beginning of 1915 by the German Society for the Study of Islam. Martin Hartmann of the Seminary of Oriental Languages in Berlin wrote a friendly foreword and the dragoman Karl E. Schabinger added some remarks. Both recommended that script as a development of jihad. What did it mean? A “partial jihad” was possible: on the side of allied infidels and just against certain enemy infidels. This jihad was an individual duty

23 The Ottoman Jihad Fatwa of November 11th, 1914, in: Peters, Rudolph. 1996: Jihad in classical and modern Islam. Princeton: Markus Wiener, 55–57.

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for all Muslims. A peace between the world of Islam and Europe would be possible if there was no longer any foreign occupation of Islamic lands.24 Realization of jihad Max von Oppenheim and the Ottoman war minister Enver Pasha did influence the public opinion within the Ottoman Empire for the Central Powers. The American Ambassador Morgenthau observed the changes in the Ottoman Empire shortly before the war began. According to him, Max von Oppenheim succeeded in controlling a large part of the Turkish press in a country where the British and the French had been much more popular than the Germans. Morgentau’s German colleague Hans von Wangenheim started a press campaign to win the public. Reportedly he bought a lot of articles. “Iqdam,” the biggest Turkish daily, and the “Ottoman Lloyd,” were German-influenced. Behind it was the power of Berlin’s money.25 Morgenthau also maintained that the declaration of war given by sultan Mehmed Reshad V. on the 14th of November 1914 was a result of the German efforts to wage the jihad against selected infidels. The ambassador reported about secret jihad instructions. An Arabic pamphlet was distributed in India, Egypt, Morocco, Syria and other lands of Islam. The Arabic text (10.000 words in its English translation)26 appealed to racial and religious hatred. It asked basically for the systematic assassination and extermination of Christian neighbours within Islamic lands and for the fight with Christian countries on the edges of Islamic regions. Let’s look into some extracts: “Oh Muslims, enemies of the true religion, the English, the Russian, and the French, have oppressed Islam. Muslims work, infidels eat. Muslims are hungry, infidels gorge themselves in luxury. Muslims are enslaved, infidels are the great rulers.” This is all, the document continues, because the Muslims have abandoned the plan set in forth in the Qur‘an. But the time has come for jihad. The lands of Islam shall be forever free. Whoever kills but one 24 At-Tunisi, Sheikh Salih al-Sharif. 1915. Haqiqat al-Jihad. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, translated from Arabic by Karl E. Schabinger, foreword by Martin Hartmann. 25 Morgenthau, Henry I. 1918. Ambassador Morgenthau’s Memoirs. New York: Doubleday, Page & Co., chapter VIII: A classic instance of German propaganda. 26 Most likely Enver Pasha knew Oppenheim’s secret plan for the Kaiser. He was able to read German. Maybe he was behind the secret Arabic document that Morgenthau described. It was certainly not a religious person for the jihad concepts were mixed up.

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infidel, secretly or openly, shall be rewarded by God. Let us rise up as one man, in one hand a sword, in the other a gun. Let us fight the war of hearts, the war of speeches and the true war by killing the infidels. Organize bands, train armies, carry out campaigns.27 When Ambassador Morgenthau discussed the jihad with Tala‘at Pasha, one of the members of the ruling circle, Tala‘at said he had given orders to kill three Christians for every dead Muslim.28 When the American diplomat discussed the jihad with his German counterpart, Hans von Wangenheim pointed out that the concept of the Islamic Holy War was the fastest means to dictate peace with England. This jihad would be nothing else than a great peace offensive.29 At the beginning, most Germans expected the war to be of very short duration. From this point of view we can easily understand the original approach to use jihad more as a political threat to blackmail the other Great Powers than a real military factor on the balance of power. In modern military terms, there was not too much to be expected on the Ottoman side. Nevertheless, this German-Ottoman step to jihad had a greater impact the longer the war endured. Jihadization of Islam Direct and indirect results of the incitement to jihad are not easy to grasp. First, the pan-Islamic propaganda didn’t lead to a big rebellion in Egypt or India as expected. The majority of Muslims ignored the jihad, although Berlin spent a lot of money for expeditions—such as the one headed by Otto Werner von Hentig and Oskar Ritter von Niedermayer to Kabul.30 Berlin spent a lot of money for secret missions. The dragoman Edgar Pröbster for example, who headed the German Consulate in the Moroccan city of Fes before the war, was sent out twice on such missions of stealth. During the first expedition in November 1915 he had to convince the Sheikh of the Berber Sanusiyya in the Cyrenaica to enter the war on the side of the Middle Powers against the Entente. Dr. Pröbster

27

Morgenthau, chapter XIV. Morgenthau, chapter XII. 29 Morgenthau, ibd., Chapter XIV. 30 Hughes, Thomas L. 2004. The German Mission to Afghanistan, 1915–1916. In Schwanitz, Wolfgang G., ed.: Germany and the Middle East, 1871–1945. Princeton: Markus Wiener, 25–64. 28

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went by German submarine from Spanish Cattaro to the Libyan coastal line. In his second mission he again used a submarine to get to Moroccan Hiba and Suss tribes endangering French positions there.31 In the end, especially after the loss of Baghdad, Mekka and Jerusalem, the jihad was disappointing for its masterminds who of course kept in the dark most of the time and tried not to reveal their real intentions. But Schabinger, Max von Oppenheim’s deputy, concluded that “the seeds of an Islamic uprising had been planted all over the Islamic world.” There will be a silent accumulation, he concluded; one day the Muslims will turn against their foreign rulers.32 Why did the Muslims not follow the call to arms by the Ottoman sultan? Firstly, the majority lived outside of his empire. Secondly, he was not recognized as the Caliph of them all. Thus, he had no authority to call for a jihad in Africa and Asia at the beginning of World War I. Thirdly, he was himself allied with the infidel Germans and their nonMuslim partners. Indeed, this jihad was a concerted German-Ottoman action. Planned as an export of an Islamic uprising or revolution into the enemy’s colonial hinterland, its idea was truly made in Germany. Unfortunately, renowned German Oriental experts like Carl Heinrich Becker, Martin Hartmann, Ernst Jäckh, and Max von Oppenheim unleashed the old genie of pure religious hatred. Others like C. Snouck Hurgronje remained steadfast against this concept and defended basic values of humanism and enlightenment. The most distinctive features of Berlin’s Middle Eastern policy during World War I were not the 30,000 German troops fighting as part of the Ottoman army, the two attempts to capture the Suez Canal, or General Hans von Seeckt’s role as the last Ottoman Chief of Staff. Of course, from a Middle Eastern viewpoint, the foremost element was that the Ottomans sided with the Germans. What was unique was, after the switch from a secondary peace to a primary war policy, the “jihad made in Germany.” Consequently, the field of Islam lost its innocence not long after its birth.33 31 I am very grateful to my first teacher of Islamic history, Professor Dr. Holger Preißler of Leipzig, for Dr. Edgar Pröbster’s (1879–1942) biography. 32 Schabinger, Freiherr von Schowingen, Karl Emil. 1967. Weltgeschichtliche Mosaiksplitter,. Erlebnisse und Erinnerungen eines kaiserlichen Dragomans, ed. by Karl Friedrich Schabinger Freiherr von Schowingen. Baden-Baden (manuscript). 33 Karsh, Efraim, Karsh, Inari. 1999. Empires of the Sand. The Struggle for the Mastery in the Middle East 1789–1923. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Friedrich Rosen, briefly the Foreign Minister to be, said the instigation to jihad was “a crazy idea à la Karl May.” The German General Staff drew an even much less favourable conclusion: it was an illusion that the jihad would decide the war.34 And on the other sides? According to some, the French declared their own jihad in 1915: all Muslims in French territories were called on to fight for France against the infidel Germans.35 In mid 1916, a French source concluded about the jihad that the religious manifestations have generally been made in the name of Islam; they failed, indeed, but they caused no end of trouble to the Entente Powers.36 On the other hand, Lawrence of Arabia did not use jihad. Nevertheless, an idea was born, advocated and globalized in a concerted action by Europeans, the most powerful of them being non-Muslims, some of them Muslims. This was the idea to politicize, jihadisize and globalize Islam as an ideology and instrument of war and hatred. But this jihad would endanger first and foremost all non-Muslims within the Ottoman empire, Jews, Greeks, and Armenians alike. That much was clear to Max von Oppenheim’s jihad circles. He knew the potential of jihad in an asymmetrical warfare discovering the war ideology of Islam in world politics. Nevertheless, this architect of the secret jihad plan for the kaiser and his Ottoman counterpart, justified this inward direction of the jihad within the Ottoman Empire too. We have countless reports by German and Turkish officers that Ottoman leaders and soldiers pointed at the declaration of jihad as the official reason for the merciless persecution of Armenians and others.37

3. From War to War The Republic of Weimar returns to a secondary Middle Eastern policy The Germans lost the war. They overthrew their Emperor with his “world policy.” The German Reich was no longer a monarchy but became the

34

Reichsarchiv (ed.). 1925. “Jildirim”, Deutsche Streiter auf heiligem Boden. Berlin, 65. Buchan, ibid., p. XI. 36 Secret French Report, 01.06.1916. In Landau, Jacob M. 1994. The Politics of PanIslam. Ideology and Organization. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 102. 37 For details see my article—Immer guter Laune: Gutmann und die Deutsche Orientbank. In: Rheinheimer, Vivian J., ed. 2007. Herbert M. Gutmann. Bankier in Berlin, Bauherr in Potsdam, Kunstsammler. Leipzig: Koehler & Amelang, 61–77; see also Hamann, Brigitte. 2004. Hitlers Wien. Lehrjahre eines Diktators. Munich: Piper. 35

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Republic of Weimar. As such, a Germany one-third smaller was obliged to meet the victor’s claims. Reconstruction and reform was the order of the day. Berlin returned to its secondary Middle Eastern peace policy. As the Treaty of Versailles ruled, Germany lost its colonies. The new German republic was even freer to concentrate on trade, commerce, and culture, re-establishing two of the pre-war pillars of the Middle Eastern policy: respecting the status quo and disclaiming any territories. The third pillar, mediating in Oriental disputes, was excluded since Germany was given no role in international relations at all, and that promoted thoughts about vengeance in Berlin. The Foreign Office broke with some traditions by reforms at the beginning of the 1920s. The classical profile of a diplomat of noble descent, trained in jurisprudence, faded away. The dragoman, familiar with Oriental languages and judicial matters, had at his side similar colleagues in a wider range of disciplines. Thus it was possible for Berlin to regain soon most of its lost positions. Germany became again the third-ranking country in foreign trade with the Middle East. One question that was discussed often in Berlin was whether or not to support the wish for industrialization in the region. Finally, the argument that if Germany did not support industrialization, the competition would take over this business, prevailed. The Germans were attractive partners, especially for Middle Eastern nationalists who looked for alternative suppliers to new emerging countries like Saudi-Arabia and Iraq. Students who had studied in Germany since 1920 returned to their homelands. They advanced there professionally and favoured Germany in a climate that became hostile to the British and French Mandatory Powers.38 At the same time, a larger Muslim community grew in many German towns with dining clubs, student organizations and other institutions of mutual support on foreign soil. More stable structures like several chambers of commerce and friendship societies played their role. What had begun as a Euro-Islamic war ideology served as a parting point for pan-Islamic organizations and developments, especially after the abolition of the Ottoman Sultanate and Caliphate in 1922 and 1924. Many new ideas started there in the Muslim diaspora. The Lebanese politician Shakib Arslan founded the “Orient Club” in Berlin in 1921. Being its president, he unfolded a network of relations 38 Schwanitz, Wolfgang G. (ed.). 1994. Jenseits der Legenden: Araber, Juden, Deutsche. Berlin: Dietz.

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throughout Europe. He participated in the Syrian-Palestinian Congress and headed the Syrian-Palestinian delegation to the Peoples’ League in Geneva. Having lived in Turkey, he settled down in Switzerland in 1925. From there he maintained excellent relations to the Muslim community in Germany. From Geneva and Lausanne, Shakib Arslan cosponsored the establishment of the “Islam Institute” in December 1927. Located in the Alexander-von-Humboldt-Building in Berlin and supported by the Arabist Georg Kampffmeyer, who was the head of the “German Society of Islam Research” of 1912, it was intended to be a spiritual center for all Muslim students. Moreover, Shakib Arslan founded the journal “La Nation Arabe” in 1930 in Geneva and in 1935 became the chairmen of the Congress of European Muslims. He attracted the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Amin al-Husaini, and welcomed the uprisings in Palestine from 1936 to 1939. Later he had no trouble with the Nazis in power. They paid him a monthly fee for his pro-German propaganda in the press. A group of about 125 to 150 Arab students in France wound up on this payroll as well as the distributor of that money, Amin al-Husaini.39 The Palestinian Amin al-Husaini had served as an officer in the Ottoman army with German military advisors. Again he saw Germans: most likely he first met bankers of the German Orient Bank who managed parts of the Islamic waqf funds in Turkey as well. Amin al-Husaini became responsible for those funds too in 1922 in his capacity as Grand Mufti of Jerusalem. However, he favored the Germans among all the foreigners in the Middle East. Fifteen years later, he proposed a far reaching deal: in return for Berlin`s yes for an independent Arab statehood he would spread the Nazi’s ideology, promote German culture and trade, and fight the British, Jews and the Communists in Islamic regions.40 As we saw in the case of the Grand Mufti, there was a tradition of commonality between Germans and Muslims stemming from World War I, continuing in the Republic of Weimar and culminating in the Third Reich. During World War I, Max von Oppenheim established

39 Office of Chief of Counsel for War Crimes, Document No. NG-5461, Affidavit by Carl Rekowski, Bremen, 05.10.1947, 10. 40 Documents On German Foreign Policy. Series D, Volume 5, pp. 655–656; see the official Nazi view on the Grand Mufti in Fischer-Weth, Kurt. 1943. Amin al-Husseini, Grossmufti von Jerusalem. Berlin: Walter Titz. See also Al-Umar, Abd al-Karim. 1999. Muzakkirat Haj Amin al-Husaini (The Memoirs of Haj Amin al-Husaini). Damascus: Al-Ahali.

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connections to Indian Muslims. They belong to the Caliphate, he underlined in his plan to the Kaiser in 1914. Sultan Abd al-Hamid had influenced them with his pan-Islamic and anti-British movement. “Secretly I founded here [Berlin] and in Switzerland a committee. It contains,” explained Oppenheim, “18 members. They are by our standards highly educated and trained people of high intelligence. They have skills in organization, they are patriots . . . Some of them are chemists for revolutionary purposes, willing to die and killing the traitor.”41 To the Indian Independence Committee belonged also Chempakaraman Pillai who founded in 1912 the Swiss Pro Indian Committee. Others in this circle, which the German missionary Ferdinand Graetsch and the expert for India Helmuth von Glasenapp supported, included Taraknath Das, Bhupendranath Dutta, Heramba Lal Gupta, Har Dayal, Tarachand Roy, Dhirendra Sarkar, Jod Singh, Sardar Umrao Singh and Indian Muslims like Muhammad Barakatullah and the brothers Abd alJabbar Khairi and Abd as-Sattar Khairi. They had already founded the “Writer’s Club” at the end of February 1918 in Berlin, in a year and at a place where the influential German-Persian Society was established as well. In April of 1922 Abd al-Jabbar Khairi founded the Islamic Community in Berlin. Their members got a mosque in Wilmerdorf built on the town’s periphery. The mosque was inaugurated in April of 1925. Enlarged by 1927, the Indian Maulana Sadr ud-Din served as imam (from the Ahmadiyya, Andjuman Jschaat el-Islam, Lahore). From this time on, stressed Muhammad S. Abdullah rightly, we see a really organized Islamic community in Germany. In 1930 Berlin’s mosque community was renamed in German Muslim Society.42 On the other hand, an outstanding figure like the poet and politician Muhammad Iqbal of Punjab and later of Lahore was influenced by German humanities. He did his Ph.D. at the University of Munich. Serving as president of the All India Muslim League in 1930, he discovered that the desired statehood bears a great danger for Islam since it would split the Islamic umma into a mosaic of nation states on a global scale. But

41 Oppenheim, Max von. 1914, Denkschrift (Fomenting Rebellion in The Hinterland of Our Enemies). Berlin, 91. 42 Abdullah, Muhammad S. 1981. Geschichte des Islams in Deutschland. Graz: Styria, 28–29.

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unlike other Indo-Muslims, he gained a deep understanding of Western democracy and did not get involved with Nazi plans.43 As in the Mufti’s case and in contrast to Muhammad Iqba’s life, there was a clear continuation into the following decades. In mid 1933, the Indian nationalist Subhas Chandra Bose contacted the Foreign Office and also met the racial ideologue Alfred Rosenberg. Bose tried to combine Socialism and Nazism for an independent India. He further developed Oppenheim’s plan of an insurgency in India to be promoted by the Germans and the Italians. At the beginning of April 1941 he was in Berlin again. Two years later he travelled with a German and a Japanese submarine to southern Asia and Tokyo, realising his ideas.44 Regarding the Muslim community in Germany, the Republic of Weimar provided them good conditions. During the 1920s we see a boom of dailies and journals managed by Muslims from India, Egypt, Syria, Turkey and other Islamic lands. Nationalists, often as students, circulated the media like Liwa’ al-Islam, The Islamic Student and the Muslim Revue in big German towns. They made Berlin home of their activism and founded there the Egyptian Union of Students in 1922, the Al-Islamiyya for all Muslim students in 1924 and a year later the alArabiyya especially for Arab students in Germany. They and their main figure, the Syrian Muhammad Nashi Shalabi, edited their papers either in German, bilingually or completely in Arabic.45 A similar development occurred in business. Muslim entrepreneurs visited Germany quite frequently during the 1920s and 30s. Industrialists and bankers like Tala‘at Harb, founder of the first national Bank Misr in 1920, looked for new ventures and methods to industrialize their countries with German support and equipment. They promoted mutual Chambers of Commerce and Trade. Among them was Aziz Cotta Bey who founded the Egyptian Trade Chamber for Germany in Berlin in mid 1934 with close connection to its Egyptian counterpart that was founded in Cairo in November 1928. A bridge between these chambers was the Society of Egyptian Alumni of Germany that traces

43 Iqbal, Muhammad. 2004. Die Wiederbelebung des religiösen Denkens im Islam. Berlin: Hans Schiler. See also Robotka, Bettina. 1996. Iqbal und Deutschland. In Höpp, Gerhard (ed.). Fremde Erfahrungen. Asiaten und Afrikaner in Deutschland, Österreich und in der Schweiz bis 1945. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch, 347–358. 44 Kuhlmann, Jan. 2003. Subhas Chandra Bose und die Indienpolitik der Achsenmächte. Berlin: Hans Schiler. 45 Höpp, Gerhard. 1994. Arabische und islamische Periodika in Berlin und Brandenburg. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch.

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its origins back to Egypt and Germany at the beginning of the Republic of Weimar. Abd al-Magid Amir, one of the society’s leading figures after World war II, pointed out that they regarded Berlin as a “Mekka for young Egyptians” and Arabs. On the other hand, some of the Arab visitors to Germany were deeply offended by the rising anti-Semitism there. The businessman Sayyid al-Lauzi of Egypt broke off all relations between his companies and their German counterparts because of the growing racist tide that he had experienced first hand in Berlin. So the overall picture of the development of the Muslim community and its advocates in Germany was mixed. What about the foreign policy? In general, the Republic of Weimar applied a secondary Middle Eastern peace policy, cautiously avoiding trouble with London and Paris. Nevertheless, the Germans remained critical of declining empires in the region.46 They supported Arab nationalists in their desire to rid themselves of foreign masters. In this light there was a natural basis for cooperation between the Germans on the one hand and the Arabs, Turks, and Persians on the other. It was not difficult for the old guard of diplomats like Dr. Fritz Grobba to exploit all the feelings that were nurtured by the experience of having fought and lost on the same side in the war. Berlin possessed after the Treaty of Versailles no navy or other military tools. Thus it had a diminished interest in the Middle East. Apart from economical and cultural relations, the region lacked importance for Berlin and returned to playing a marginal role. London, on the other hand, had decided to support a Jewish homeland in Palestine. As the waves of new Jewish immigrants, olim chadashim, arrived there, Palestine became a focal point of the foreign policy. Berlin tried not to get involved in this project and kept its distance. Nevertheless, anti-Semitism was on the rise in Germany47 and influenced the fate of the region. Moreover, some politicians in Berlin saw the emigration of Jews to Palestine as a solution to problems in Central Europe. But the most dangerous trend was that the advanced Jewish assimilation in Germany was in jeopardy and with it some of the most important results of the European enlightenment. Throughout the 1920s the inhumane nature of German racism became obvious. What occurred in the following decade was no surprise. Even founding fathers of Islam studies like Carl Heinrich Becker showed a racist tendency that 46 Brown, L. Carl (ed.). 1996. Imperial “Legacy”: The Ottoman Imprint on the Balkans and the Middle East. New York: Columbia University Press. 47 Pulzer, Peter G. J. 2004. Die Entstehung des politischen Antisemitismus in Deutschland und Österreich 1867–1914. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.

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divided humankind into “higher” and “lower” races. Some of the Muslims living in Germany were perceived as Jews in the streets and felt this racism too. Nazi efforts and Max von Oppenheim again Adolf Hitler established his dictatorship. Until World War II he readily left the Middle East to Great Britain and Italy.48 In connection with his racism, he cultivated a hatred for “coloured people.” He built the Berlin-Rome axis with functions for Italy in the region. Arab nationalists like the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem Amin al-Husaini were more interested in him than vice versa. Shortly before Hitler started the war he told the chief commanders and commanding generals at his residence on the Obersalzberg: “We shall continue to create disturbances in the Far East and in Arabia. Let us think as ‘gentlemen’ and let us see in these peoples at best lacquered half maniacs who are anxious to experience the whip.”49 Thus, the idea to instigate the colonial hinterland to revolts was a fixed point in Hitler’s plans. But as the Blitzkriege failed, the Middle East became more important—and with it the jihad made in Germany. Then, after the fall of Paris, the Middle East gained in importance. There were two groups in the Foreign Office: the group of foreign minister Joachim von Ribbentrop worked for jihad and revolts; the group of state secretary Ernst von Weizsäcker worked against it.50 At just that moment, Oppenheim came up with his old concept. He forwarded it in a much shorter version to the Foreign Office. But the circumstances had changed. Turkey had no Caliphate anymore and had no part in the war. France was neutralized. The Russians had not yet entered the war. So Oppenheim concentrated his plan against the British: an uprising in Greater Syria, to be enlarged to Iraq and

48

Tillmann, Heinz. 1965. Deutschlands Araberpolitik im zweiten Weltkrieg. Berlin: Deutscher Verlag der Wissenschaften. 49 No 314: Contents of the Speech by the Führer to the Chief Commanders and Commanding Generals on the Obersalzberg, August 22, 1939. In Documents on the British Foreign Policy 1919–1939. Volume VII 1939. London, 1954, 259. The German version: “Wir werden weiterhin die Unruhe in Fernost und in Arabien schüren. Denken wir als Herren und sehen wir in diesen Völkern bestenfalls lackierte Halbaffen, die die Knute spüren wollen.” In Akten zur Auswärtigen Politik 1918–1945. Aus dem Archiv des Auswärtigen Amtes. Baden-Baden, 1961, 172. 50 Schwanitz, Wolfgang G. 2004. “Der Geist aus der Lampe”: Fritz Grobba und Berlins Politik im Nahen und Mittleren Orient. Comparativ, 14.1, 126–150, 135–136.

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Saudi-Arabia, again the Suez Canal was to be blocked, and India was to be mobilized against the British. He advised cooperation with the Palestinian leader Amin al-Husaini and with the Lebanese Pan-Islamist Shakib Arslan. Fritz Grobba in Syria and Franz von Papen in Ankara were to act as coordinators. There should be a government under Amin al-Husaini in Palestine. Among all the Jews there, only those should be allowed to stay who had lived there before the onset of the war.51 Description of German war propaganda by the Allies Dr. Fritz Grobba—he served for 25 years as the German envoy to Afghanistan, Iraq and Saudi Arabia—used in inflammatory Arabic broadcasts Islam for German aims. Did it have an impact on the Allies? This can be gauged from two American documents. The U.S. Coordinator of Information put together the first one “Axis propaganda in the Moslem World.” This secret service was a forerunner of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). The agency was concerned with the GermanArabic broadcasts of “Radio Zeesen,” named after a village near Berlin.52 As mentioned, Grobba’s Arab Committee of the Foreign Office chose broadcasts in Arabic. There Grobba was, as its head, responsible for the contents. The U.S. Coordinator of Information drew this general conclusion about the German propaganda in the Muslim world at the end of 1941: “The Arabs are united in one general purpose, to free their world from the domination of French and British masters. Some Arabs are blinded to Italian imperialism and to German domination of Europe by their anxiety to get rid of foreign control. This arises not only from a desire to play all European powers off against each other but from a naiveté which assumes that anyone who is against their masters is a friend of the Muslims. They fail to realize that, in case of a British defeat, there would be a substitution of Axis for the British or the French domination.”

51 PArchAA, Nachlass Otto Werner von Hentig, Vol. 84, Memorandum Max von Oppenheims, 25.07.1940, 7 pp.; Schwanitz, Wolfgang G. 2004. Max von Oppenheim und der Heilige Krieg. Zwei Denkschriften zur Revolutionierung islamischer Gebiete 1914 und 1940. Sozial.Geschichte, 19.3, 28–59. 52 Radio Zeesen was the German short wave broadcasting station near BerlinKönigswusterhausen. The Propaganda Ministry supervised the station since April 1933; in September 1939 it came under a department’s direction of the Foreign Office headed by Ernst Wilhelm Bohle. It had several transmitters in Athens and Tunis from 1940 to 1942. Among the Arab native speakers was also Habib Burgiba, later the leader of Tunesia.

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Regarding the targets of the propaganda, the Americans distinguished sentiments and feelings on which the Germans relied. Thus the anti-British sentiment was based on two points: the British support of Jews in Palestine and of other minorities for the apparent purpose of dividing and ruling the Arab states; the other is the reluctance of Britain to grant independence to mandated territories. This makes it easy for Axis propaganda to stir up Arab nationalist sentiments. On the other hand, the anti-American sentiment resulted from expressed sympathies of American officials with political Zionism in Palestine and America’s increasingly close alliance with Britain. All these factors, the Americans concluded then, were fully exploited by Zeesen radio in broadcasts to the Near East and India. In the anti-Jewish feeling, maintained the American coordinator, antiSemitism had an important effect on the Arabs. There can be no doubt that the situation created by the Zionist program in Palestine caused the position of Jews to deteriorate throughout the Arab world. There were too many Jews in Palestine and abroad who adhered to this attitude according to William B. Ziff:53 “The Jews are entering Palestine by divine right and intend to make the Arabs go back to the desert where they came from.” Radio Zeesen had recently been reading anti-Jewish passages from the Koran, emphasizing that the Jews are the enemies of Islam. The American analysis of German-Arabic propaganda also elaborates on anti-French and anti-Bolshevik feelings. All this, so the conclusion, appeals to conservative Muslims from Morocco to India. Th e acquisition independence by Iraq and Egypt only after years of rebellion convinced Arabs that force is the only means by which they can extract from the British what they regard as their rights. An illustration of the strength of this attitude is the Arab population’s support of the Mufti Amin alHusaini, which is the apostle of force against the British. “What success the Axis powers have had in playing to this state of mind can be judged from the fact that the Mufti is now in Berlin. Recently,” the report continued, “Radio Zeesen has been playing up the alleged suppression of Muslim minorities in Russia” (a British ally at the time); another curious anti-British blast from Zeesen accused the British of being pagans like pre-Islamic Arabs and thus the natural enemies of Islam. The announcement that Britain was stripping Arab countries and India of food was often repeated by Zeesen, which added that 53

The text mentions: Ziff, William B. 1938. The Rape of Palestine. New York.

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Britain meant to sacrifice millions of Indian and Arab lives in a vain attempt to resist the Axis. All in all, we can see here that Fritz Grobba’s Arab Committee had a direct impact, especially through the GermanArabic broadcasts to the Muslim world.54 Temptation for an allied jihad I turn now to the second document that illustrates here the impact of the German Islamic propaganda activities to the Allies. A secret communication was circulated within the OSS. It reflects the indirect impact of Grobba’s propaganda and the Allies’ reaction. The most critical time for the Middle East was between mid 1940 and mid 1942. The British troops capitulated in at-Tubruq and General Erwin Rommel advanced with his German-Italian troops into Egypt. Then, the (Anglo-American) Joint Psychological Warfare Committee discussed the problem of how to use Islam and its leading figures for warfare in North Africa. One member of the Warfare Committee suggested enlisting the legendary leaders Abd al-Karim of Morocco and Idris as-Sanusi of Libya and Tripolitania. He reminded the members of the Warfare Committee that in World War I German propaganda was “not totally unsuccessful,” at least as far as stirring trouble among the Muslim Berber tribes who resisted Spanish and French penetration was concerned. According to the document, the Warfare Committee concluded: “Under the tutelage of the United Nations, and more especially that of the United States, these two [Arab leaders, Abd al-Karim and Idris as-Sanusi—W.G.S.] can make the Mediterranean safe for the Allies. Equally important is the influence that such a move will have throughout the Muslim world. From India to the Atlantic, Allah will be praised, and the Allies will receive the plaudits and the support of the faithful.”55 The head of the OSS, William J. Donovan, approved further investigation into this project, whereas General Kroner pointed out the possible

54

For an American analysis of the content of the German Arabic broadcasts guided by Grobba see U.S. National Archives II (USArchII), RG 165, Box 3061, Coordinator of Information, Washington, D.C., December 23, 1941, “Axis Propaganda in the Muslim World.” 55 USArchII, RG 218, Box 59, Joint Psychological Warfare Committee, Abd al-Karim of the Rif, JPWC 21st meeting, 03.08.1942, secret note from Secretary A. H. Othank, August 1, 1942, discussions, memoranda to Generals Handy and Smith, and investigation request to O.S.S., The Joint Chiefs of Staff, secret, Washington, D.C., August 4, 1942.

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far-reaching effects, especially the possibility of a Christian-Muslim war. Thus, General Wedemeyer, chief of the Strategy and Policy Group of the War Department at the Pentagon, was very reluctant to submit the proposal of using the two Arab leaders to General Dwight D. Eisenhower who was preparing the first landing of American troops in North Africa. It was only when intelligence of the Mufti Amin al-Husaini’s service to the Axis became known that the OSS looked for a counterpart to the Mufti on the allied side. But this was not an easy task since not every Arab leader could claim to be a direct descendant of Muhammad as the Mufti did. Moreover, the former American Military Attaché to Cairo considered the Mufti in mid Mai 1941 as a religious authority and the “greatest leader of the Arab peoples alive.” General Bonner F. Fellers, who was also an advisor to the OSS, did evaluate the chances if the Mufti declared a Holy War for the Axis: “it will be anti-Semitic not a religious war. Amin al-Husnaini is a religious figure turned political,” concluded the General.56 But the discussion within the OSS and the suggested choice of Abd alKarim as a potential asset for the Allies brought up a really big question: “Will he be of use to the war effort, or will his release be like that of a Jinnee out of the magic bottle?” The German Islam policy and Fritz Grobba’s propaganda apparently pushed the Allies toward a matching policy, defining a non-religious war not only in religious terms, but adopting a concept similar to that of “war by substitutes.” Fortunately, it did not come to that nor did such a policy determine the Allies’ actions. Max von Oppenheim’s jihad concept, advanced to the kaiser in 1898, adopted in World War I and forwarded by him again in 1940, was further developed by Fritz Grobba for using Islam for political aims. It remained, at least until 1945, a concept made in Germany. Impact of the war on the Middle East A lot of Oppenheim’s ideas were realized: Adolf Hitler’s orders on the Middle East included parts on the incitement to revolts and the cooperation with Arab nationalists or Muslim insurgents. Egypt became a

56 USArchII, RG 165, Box 3055, To Secretary of War, State Department, “Amin el Husseiny and a Muslim Holy War” by Bonner F. Fellers, confidential, Cairo, May 19, 1941. Compare it with the description of the Grand Mufti for Hitler: USArchII, T120, roll 63, serial 71, frame 50682, “Der Großmufti von Jerusalem,” Berlin, November 28, 1941, signed Grobba.

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battleground with Erwin Rommel’s advance and the help of Egyptians. The Grand Mufti proclaimed jihad against the British and Jews in his Berlin based broadcasts to the Middle East. A German presence was established in Syria. Iraq rebelled under Rashid Ali al-Kailani. His circle had a long connection via former Iraqi students in Germany who had established clubs and societies in Bagdad and Iraq. Hitler, visited by Turkish generals Emir Hüsnü Erkilet and Fuat Erden, agreed in October 1941 to their proposal for jihad in Russian Asia and for the establishment of Muslim legions recruited from the large mass of prisoners of war.57 Moreover, he ordered plans to destabilize the British Empire. There he would inflict an “uncompromising war against the Jews.” Furthermore, he said to the Grand Muft i, he actively “opposes a Jewish home in Palestine”. His battle against the “Judeo-Communist Empire in Europe” would decide the fate of the Arabs too. He hoped to thrust open the Caucasian gate to the Middle East. Luckily, this failed in Stalingrad, al-Alamain, Morocco, Algeria, and in the Normandy. Th is spared Jews in the Middle East from the Holocaust and the region from a terrible experience. Many Middle Easterners, like many Germans, did not recognize the nature of Nazi Germany. But some leading thinkers, among them the Egyptian poet Taufiq al-Hakim, grasped it better.58 On the other hand, young Egyptian officers like Abd an-Nasir and Anwar as-Sadat placed

57 Dawletschin-Linder, Camilla. 2003. Die turko-tatarischen sowjetischen Kriegsgefangenen im Zweiten Weltkrieg im Dreiecksverhältnis zwischen deutscher Politik, turanistischen Aspirationen und türkischer Außenpolitik. Der Islam, 80.1, 1–29. In a personal letter shortly after World War II there was this passage: “But at last two Turkish generals, Erkilet and Erden, who in October 1941 visited Germany, convinced Hitler that he should allow the Soviet war prisoners, in particular all the Muslims, to begin a sort of holy war against the godless regime they had come from. And because it was the wish of the Turkish generals, Hitler, with great aversion, consented to the formation of legions. Thanks to this episode and to that holy war, thousands and ten thousands of people were later on mark as collaborators.” Letter to Mr. Thomas written by Erich von Mende’s wife shortly after World War II, page 3 (I am grateful here to Dr. Stefan Meining of Munich for locating this letter.). For the meeting between the Turkish generals and Hitler see also Cwiklinski, Sebastian. 2000. Die Panturkismus-Politik der SS: Angehörige sowjetischer Turkvölker als Objekte und Subjekte der SS-Politik. In: Höpp, Gerhard, Reinwald, Brigitte (eds.). Fremdeinsätze. Afrikaner und Asiaten in europäischen Kriegen, 1914–1945. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch, 149. 58 Gershoni, Israel. 1999. Egyptian Liberalism in an age of “Crisis of Orientation”: Al-Risâla’s Reaction to Fascism and Nazism, 1933–1939. International Journal of Middle East Studies, 31.1, 551–576; Gershoni, Israel. 1997. Confronting Nazism in Egypt— Tawfiq al-Hakim’s Anti-Totalitarianism 1938–1945. Tel Aviver Jahrbuch für deutsche Geschichte, XXVI, 121–150.

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their hopes in the Germans.59 It was not German racism or anti-Semitism that attracted them, for this was an alien concept to the Islamic tradition. Although there was clearly a powerful base of religious Islamic anti-Semitim. But they were fascinated by the fast modernization under the Nazi dictatorship. Thus, the German Middle Eastern policy and jihad plans found a wider echo within radical Arab nationalism, although this policy was planned, organized, and executed in Berlin and, for their Islamist parts, in Istanbul and the Middle East in a selfish and antihuman manner. As Middle Easterners became aware of this approach, including the diminished Muslim diaspora in Germany, their disappointment mounted. A new anti-Westernism with hate towards modernity was on the rise.

4. Conclusions Euro-Islam Germans and their Muslim counterparts politicized the Islam during and between both world wars. They used jihad doctrine in non-religious European disputes. Herewith they invented in Europe for the nonEuropean Islamic lands a brand of Euro-Islam: legalized in Berlin by non-Muslims for Muslims, adapted by Muslims against the Judeo-Christian tradition first partially, later globally. It served as tool of war: as an ideology to globalize a partial jihad coalition. Twice Max von Oppenheim served as mastermind of this jihadization of Islam. Whereas Abu Jihad advocated an anti-enlightenment, his Muslim partners sold it as an Islamic “anti-imperial and anti-colonial liberation.” The Tunisian Sheikh Salih and the Palestinian Grand Mufti adapted the jihad doctrine to the needs of a modern coalition war. The mainstream of European thinkers opined for a long time that a social revolution in Islamic lands was impossible: Muslims can only organize coup d’états or revolts in their palaces but not revolutions with depth and resulting in structural changes. Max von Oppenheim merged both Islam and revolution in secret plans, the first time in a GermanOttoman, the second time in a German-Arab plan. Both were directed

59 El-Sadat, Anwar: Rommel at El-Alamain: An Egyptian view (1942). In Lewis, Bernard (ed.). 2000. A Middle East Mosaic. New York: Random House, 314–316.

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against the Great Powers with their formal and informal colonial empires. Some of the Muslim nationalists and religious leaders embraced this way of politicizing the Islam. It met an echo within the anti-European Muslim brotherhoods of which the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood gained most attraction during the inter-war period. Even some Muslims within the European diaspora became infected by the new combination and by the unfamiliar coupling of Islam and revolution. Muslim disappointment with Europe increased afterwards. Radicalism in all sizes and shapes developed. The regionalization of the idea of an Islamic rebellion lingered on during the Cold War. In conservative Muslim lands it was supported by states. In other countries with Eastern bloc leanings, Islamists were suppressed as was Sayyid Qutb of Egypt. Finally, there was an Iranian Islamic revolution. Afghans fought the Soviets by jihad, partially made in America. After the fall of Soviet Empire, Islamists like Usama Bin Ladin took up this politicization and jihadization of Islam, bringing jihad into the enemy’s hinterland. Thus we see Max von Oppenheim at the beginning of a global creation of a political Islam made by non-Muslims: exported to, adapted in and globalized beyond the Muslim lands. After unusual alliances during the Cold War the time had come to take the jihad back, to purify it without any axis with infidels. This was Usama Bin Ladin’s task. With a new Islamic grass roots network, he has still some appeal, especially among the Euro-Islamic communities. Max von Oppenheim foresaw the German “jihadization of Islam” in 1898. He invented and adopted his concept in 1914 and 1940. Berlin had no Muslim subjects in the Middle East. He was free to be critical of colonial empires of colonialism of his European neighbours. The mainstream of German politicians and academics had sympathetic views of anti-imperial movements and their nationalistic Islamic expressions. Muslim leaders turned for help to Berlin to get rid of their foreign masters. In this way, the jihad made in Germany was of a shallow mutual benefit for two reasons. First, the Germans injected a deadly racism into this potion. To fulfil this aim, they used the Arab-Jewish conflict before and during World War II. Here the Iraqi Rashid Ali alKailani and the Palestinian Grand Mufti of Jerusalem served as devil’s advocates. Most clearly we can see the Grand Mufti’s motivations in his letter to Adolf Hitler in 1941. True, the Grand Mufti would have been Hitler’s willing executioner for a second Holocaust. This time in Palestine and the Middle East. How deep involved he was in this project indicated an associate of Adolf Eichmann in his testimony about the Grand Mufti’s collaboration with the Nazis shortly after World War II.

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“Regarding the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem” as written by Dieter Wisliceny of the SS on Amin al-Husaini’s activities in Berlin during his exile there from 1941 to 1945. This mufti gained a lot of insights into the Holocaust. Moreover, he influenced greatly not only Heinrich Himmler and Adolf Eichmann but also the German policy toward Jews and Muslims in Europe and the Middle East. (For a brief explanation of this for the first time in handwriting published record, see footnote 60 below.) Source: DW-Handwriting, Private Archive; for the printed English version of Wisliceny’s testimony see State of Israel, Ministry of Justice (ed.): The Eichmann Trial, Proceedings, Jerusalem 1962, Session 16, pp. 244–45.

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Second, with jihad against one Judeo-Christian tradition, in this case against the British, the French and Russian, Berlin legitimized the jihad in the end against itself. Generally, it was a huge slap in the face of Enlightenment. Today we witness some consequences of this, especially the locally adopted concepts of melting Islam with revolution and the early sprouts of Euro-Islam as an ideology of war. It would be interesting to know whether or not there were similar concepts of jihad made in France and later, during the Cold War, in America. As shown, the British and Americans resisted some of such temptations, at least during both world wars. Now the Euro-Islam has to be reformed and set free from its original bellicose birth, function and features.60

60 Dieter Wisliceny was a witness at the Nuremberg trails. Here we have the first page of his testimony of 4 pages written there in mid of 1946 on the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Amin al-Husaini. Wisliceny was a executioner of the Holocaust and SS Hauptsturmführer. He worked under Adolf Eichmann. Here he describes Eichmann’s relationship to the Grand Mufti. According to him, Amin al-Husaini had sent an aide to Cairo for talks with Eichmann there in fall of 1937. During the Grand Mufti’s exile in Berlin Eichmann gave him in his map room a presentation on the “solution of the Jewish question in Europe” at the turn to 1942. As Wisliceny reports, the Grand Mufti was not only most impressed by this. But he had already asked Heinrich Himmler, and in fact secured his consent, to welcome a representative of Eichmann in Jerusalem as the Grand Mufti’s personal advisor after the victory of the Axis Powers [to deal then with the “Jewish question” accordingly in Palestine—WGS]. Moreover, Eichmann and al-Husaini had met from time to time (Eichmann would later only agree at his trail in Jerusalem of having been introduced to Amin al-Husaini just briefly). Wisliceny tells here also the story how the Grand Mufti prevented with Himmler the proposed exchange of 10,000 Jewish children for civil prisenors of war via the Red Cross: “those children would be adults one day and only empower the Jewish element in Palestine”. Wisliceny was tried in Prague and executed for his crimes in 1948.

PART III

COMMUNITIES AND IDENTITIES

MUSLIMS’ COLLECTIVE SELF-DESCRIPTION AS REFLECTED IN THE INSTITUTIONAL RECOGNITION OF ISLAM: THE ISLAMIC CHARTA OF THE CENTRAL COUNCIL OF MUSLIMS IN GERMANY AND CASE LAW IN GERMAN COURTS* Nikola Tietze

The recognition of Muslims in Germany is an issue on a number of different levels. First, there is the question of self-description and of ascription. On the one hand, Muslims must describe and constitute themselves as a social group; on the other hand, they must be identified as such by the majority—the dominant sociopolitical actors in German society. The rather young history of Muslim immigration to Germany demonstrates that this social process of description and ascription defines the framework of public debate and institutional inclusion of Islam in the country’s political structures. A second level of recognition refers to the socio-political inclusion of Muslims as a group. Once identified and constituted, recognized groups must be integrated into specific, nationally defined institutional orders. This political form of recognition involves a process of negotiation; that is, the Muslims constituted as corporative actors are not only the objects or victims of rules and laws, they also intervene in this negotiation. They can promote, reject, or magnify certain institutional mechanisms. Thus the “struggle for recognition” is a process1 in which the arguments brought forward by one side correspond implicitly and indirectly to the reasoning of the other. We would misconceive the dynamics of recognition as a mutual process if we perceived these positions to be indicative of established and immobile states of being. The following text aims to explore these abstract introductory considerations on the recognition of Muslims in Germany in greater detail.

* I thank Paula Bradish for translating my text into English and helping to clarify it in the process. 1 Honneth, Axel. 1992. Kampf um Anerkennung. Zur moralischen Grammatik sozialer Konflikte. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp; Ricœur, Paul. 2004. Parcours de la reconnaissance. Paris: Stock.

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In the first section, the constitution and identification of Muslims as a social group will be reconstructed in historical perspective. The second part will consider the socio-political and institutional inclusion of Muslims in Germany. The focus here will at first be on the “Islamic Charta: Fundamental Declaration of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany (ZMD) on the relationship between Muslims, their State, and their Society”; this document was published in February 2002 and was to a significant extent a reaction to the hostility towards Muslims in Germany that followed in the wake of 11 September 2001. Although the ZMD as a national umbrella organization in fact only represents a minority of Muslim groups in Germany, by publishing the Charta it has formulated a self-understanding of Muslims in Germany that other Islamic organizations could not ignore and have meanwhile accepted. Moreover, a later common statement (published in February 2005) supported not only by the ZMD but also by its largest (in terms of membership) rival, the Islamic Council for the Federal Republic of Germany, would seem to indicate that the differences between the two organizations are becoming less and less significant.2 In another section of this contribution, German court decisions involving questions of Islamic practice will be analyzed as evidence of how the majority structures institutional recognition for Muslims. Obviously, neither the ZMD’s declaration nor the rationales of German courts represent the entire process of negotiating recognition for Muslims; however, they are useful examples that refl ect some significant aspects of this mutual process. Analysis here will focus on the varying semantics linked to the concept of religion employed in the justifications that each side brings forward in negotiating recognition. Two meanings are apparently most salient: religion as the profession and practice of faith, on the one hand, and religion as a category of identity and culture, on the other. While this distinction obviously is not practicable in the actual recognition controversy, it is a useful analytical tool that reveals the diverse societal impacts of various modes of justification and their (at times contradictory) dynamics in this process of negotiation.

2 Neue Strukturen für den Islam in Deutschland. [cited 21 June 2005]. Available .

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1. Constitution and Identification of Muslims as a Social Group Germany’s Muslim population is currently made up, for the most part, of the following sub-groups: people who immigrated to this country in search of employment; their family members who joined them in the years that followed, after the recruitment campaign abroad ended in 1973; or the descendents of people from these first two groups. In the early phases of the immigration process, the status of Muslim minorities was not an issue. As paradox as it may seem today, up until the early 1980s, there was no recognition problem for Muslims in Germany. From the perspective of the majority, they were Gastarbeiter [guest workers, the term used officially in the first phase of immigration] who came, in the case of the groups in question here, mostly from Turkey, but also from Yugoslavia, Morocco, or Tunisia. These immigrants soon constituted a socially relevant group with specific problems, but their religious needs were considered irrelevant to the regulation of social relations. Demands made in this sphere by Muslim foreign workers did not meet with resistance. On the contrary: concessions made in the realm of religion served to secure peaceful social relations at the workplace and in the dormitories where many foreign workers lived (usually as single men or women) in this early period. This mode of dealing with Muslim religious beliefs was not only a means of regulation; for public authorities and employers it was also a way of maintaining workers’ ties to a “foreign culture”, meaning that the door was left open for a possible return to their respective countries of origin. In short, religious practices were not viewed as linked to a unique set of socio-political problems. Instead, there were problems with “the Turks”, but these were considered to be associated with people from a foreign culture and their problems were perceived as a more or less passing phenomenon. In this first period of immigration, the Muslims, for their part, also did not emphasize religious identification in terms of recognition demands. The Turkish, Moroccan, or Tunisian cultural associations established in these early years were differentiated, for the most part, according to political issues or conflicts that were rooted in the countries of origin. Ties to specific localities there and to political ideologies were decisive factors that determined the degree of commitment to a particular organization. Among immigrants from Turkey, in contrast to most immigrants of other national origin, marginal groups from that country’s political landscape played a special role with respect to offers of

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“identification models”. Hamit Bozarslan has suggested that this phenomenon was a result of the absence of the Turkish state in the Federal Republic of Germany, which led to a vacuum that was filled by extreme left-wing and right-wing organizations, as well as Islamist and nationalist groups.3 Some of these organizations were successfully established in Germany by the late 1970s, whereas Turkey’s state Offi ce of Religious Affairs did not become active in Germany until 1985.4 The first period in the history of Germany’s Muslim populations was thus a period of non-recognition, in which the majority in German society did not identify these groups as Muslims and the immigrant groups did not position themselves as Muslims in the German public sphere and in their dealings with the authorities. When immigrants did organize themselves in the name of their religious needs, such groups were defined according to their respective countries of origin. However, this phase of non-recognition did trigger a decisive development with respect to the self-identification of Muslims, as a group that has since become much more visible and audible. Because most Muslims immigrated from rural contexts in which religion played a key role in structuring the social order, to a society in which religion no longer play this role, the social function of Islam was transformed, both for individuals and for the groups that emerged in Germany. Werner Schiffauer has described this transformation as an “Islamization of the self ”, in which religious practice becomes a question of one’s individual conscience and a form of expressing constructions of values and meaning.5 As more and more workers were joined by their families after the end of the recruitment campaign, the second period in the history of the recognition of Muslims began. Muslim immigrants entered more general systems of social relations that were not limited to the world of the workplace. Mothers and fathers left their dormitories and often moved into disadvantaged neighborhoods; their children entered local schools. As a result, new religious needs arose for Muslim families. Prayer rooms were established in the neighborhoods, people sought opportunities

3 Bozarslan, Hamit. 1992. Etat, Religion, Politique dans l’immigration. Peuples Méditerrannéens, 60: 115–33. 4 Doomernik, Jeroen. 1995. The Institutionalization of Turkish Islam in Germany and the Netherlands: A Comparison. Ethnic and Racial Studies 18 (1): 46–63. 5 Schiffauer, Werner. 1991. Die Migranten aus Subay, Türken in Deutschland: Eine Ethnographie. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, p. 146; Schiffauer, Werner. 1984. Religion und Identität. Eine Fallstudie zum Problem der Reislamisierung bei Arbeitsimmigranten. Schweizer Zeitschrift für Soziologie. 2: 485–516.

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to celebrate holidays and, above all, to pass their religious beliefs on to their children. In general, such needs were and still are enhanced, when the social environment is not influenced by Islam to the extent that it is in the country of origin, but also because of the transformation of the social function of religiosity mentioned above. Thus, in this second phase, immigrants began perceiving themselves as Muslims, as they shifted the focus of their lives, whether consciously or not, to Germany. In the perspective of the majority, the Muslim immigrants’ move from dormitories had a number of effects. Among other things, Muslims became visible in the public sphere; furthermore, their needs were perceived by institutional actors as previously unknown challenges. From this point on, Muslims were recognized as a social group that differed in its behavior and needs from the majority. But the mode of identification in German carries the mark of specific national traditions and differs, therefore, from the way in which Muslims were constructed as a group in France, for example.6 Even if Islamic religiosity was recognized as a decisive characteristic of foreign workers, who settled in the early 1980s for the most part in poor urban neighborhoods, being a Muslim was not identified as a religious matter in Germany (in contrast to France, for example). In keeping with Germans’ self-understanding, who usually experience their religious identity as an element of their cultural background, Islamic religiosity was and is viewed as a cultural element of being Turkish, Moroccan, and so on. Immigrants are thus Muslims because they are Turks, Moroccans, or whatever and therefore foreigners. Moreover, most immigrants’ status as foreigners was effectively cemented on a legal level by the barriers limiting the numbers of such immigrants who could become German citizens prior to the reform of the citizenship law in 2000. The religious needs of Muslims, most of whom were Turkish, were thus considered to be the business of their country of origin. In this period, most German Bundesländer integrated Islamic religious education in schools into instruction in the language of the country of origin, despite the fact that this did not conform to the concept of religious education guaranteed in Article 7, Paragraph 3 of the German Basic Law (the constitution of the Federal Republic of Germany). A further example of the view that religious affiliation is an expression of national identity was the fact that

6 Césari, Jocelyne. 1994. Etre Musulman en France. Associations, Militants et Mosquées. Aix-en-Provence: Karthala.

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German lawmakers and institutional actors were uninterested in or did not consider themselves competent when it came to regulating practical questions such as halal butchering, Islamic cemeteries, etc. In the course of the 1980s, therefore, a paradoxical situation arose, in which Muslims increasingly became German Inländer (natives; as opposed to Ausländer = foreigners) on a social level, that is, became part of the reality of social relations, but remained foreigners legally and in the perception of the majority. What at first went unnoticed by the German public and political decision-makers was the fact that it was not Turkey itself, but rather political organizations representing extremist and marginal elements in the Turkish political landscape that began responding to the religious needs of immigrants. These two periods of recognition history can be summarized by characterizing the self-constitution of the Muslims as a social group as follows: foreign employees became immigrants, who, in the course of this process, made their Muslim identity a decisive element of their selfdescription. This shift in the significance of Islamic religiosity meant that religion became a factor that was used to explain the experience of difference in everyday life in Germany, or, in other words, a means of marking boundaries with respect to the majority. At the same time, Islam became more visible in German society and the majority perceived the increasingly perceptible practice of Islam as evidence that, despite their increasing social and economic integration, such immigrants were Ausländer or quite simply “Turks”. The 1990s marked the emergence of a politicization process in the recognition of Muslims in Germany; this new development can be gauged by the changes in the market of Islamic organizations. The profiles of the two most important umbrella organizations—the ZMD (established in 1994) and the Islamic Council for the Federal Republic of Germany (which underwent a decisive reform in 1997)—were formed in this period; both define achieving recognition for the religious needs of Muslim in Germany as their foremost goal.7 Characterizing the third period of Islamic life in Germany (which extends into the present) as the political phase is not to suggest that the first two phases outlined above were devoid of political dimensions. On the contrary: socio-political conflicts influenced the manner in which

7 Lemmen, Thomas. 2000. Islamische Organisationen in Deutschland. Bonn: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung.

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Muslims were constituted as a social group from the outset. However, Islamic religiosity was not the central focus of these conflicts. To the degree that “being a Muslim” was set in relation to the socio-political and legal framework in Germany, the topos “Islam” increasingly became politicize and religious traditions and identification with them become the content of the “struggle for recognition”.8 Self-description as a Muslim and Islamic religious practices took on a new meaning as an expression of demands for social respect; whether such demands were (and are) respected, ignored, or ostracized by the majority became an measure of the degree to which the Islamic minority experienced inclusion or exclusion.9 The generational transformation in Islamic organizations that had proceeded virtually unnoticed by the general public was one of the factors contributing to this politicization of Islam.10 For young Muslims whose influence within the mosque associations grew steadily or who founded their own community structures during the 1990s (particularly obvious at the end of the decade), the significance of the political themes and conflicts that preoccupied Turkish-Islamic organizations, in particular, declined. The fact that most clubs and associations—youth groups, women’s clubs, or student groups—have remained to this day members of the traditional umbrella organizations that continue to be dominated by Turkish groups (in particular the German branch of Milli Görüş) does not contradict this observation, for on the local level, young people are indeed able to create their own spaces.11 The younger generation has thus clearly participated in shifting the focus of political work by these organizations to current issues in Germany and the rights of free exercise of religion guaranteed in the country’s constitution.12 In other 8 Honneth, Axel. 1992. Kampf um Anerkennung. op. cit.; Taylor, Charles. 1992. The Politics of Recognition. Multiculturalism and >The Politics of Recognition<. Ed. Amy Gutman. Princeton: Princeton University Press: 25–73. 9 Nökel, Sigrid. 2002. Die Töchter der Gastarbeiter und der Islam. Zur Soziologie alltagsweltlicher Anerkennungspolitiken. Eine Fallstudie. Bielefeld: transcript-Verlag. 10 Frese, Hans-Ludwig. 2002. Den Islam ausleben. Konzepte authentischer Lebensführung junger türkischer Muslime in der Diaspora. Bielefeld: transcript-Verlag. 11 Schiffauer, Werner. 2003. Muslimische Organisationen und ihr Anspruch auf Repräsentativität: Dogmatisch bedingte Konkurrenz und Streit um Institutionalisierung. In Der Islam in Europa. Der Umgang mit dem Islam in Frankreich und Deutschland, 143–158. Göttingen: Wallstein. 12 Jonker, Gerdien. 2002. Muslim Emancipation? Germany’s Struggle over Religious Pluralism. In Religious Freedom and the Neutrality of the State: The Position of Islam in the European Union, ed. Wasif Shadid and Sjoerd van Koningsveld, 36–51. Leuven: Peeters.

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words, the children and, according to Gerdien Jonker, in particular the grandchildren,13 of immigrants tend to “Germanize” Islamic organizations. One of the reasons for this is the fact that they have integrated the public role of Germany’s churches into their self-understanding as a community of the faithful and call on their organizations to demand rights similar to those exercised by the country’s other major religious communities. In the course of the 1990s, moreover, it became apparent that numerous state actors, especially within the legal and educational system, increasingly faced issues raised by Islamic religious practice that could no longer be resolved with the strategy of the 1980s, i.e., by declaring these questions to be the sole responsibility of the countries of origin. Numerous pragmatic decisions were reached that were based on local conditions and sought to resolve local problems. Most of these decisions failed to attract much attention in public.14 The culturalized concept of Islam, which was dominant in the 1980s and reduced religion to a characteristic of immigrants otherness, has effectively hindered the development of models for integrating Islam comprehensively into German institutions of religious policy, and, at the same time, blocked a political discussion about Islam’s possible contribution to the pluralization of Germany’s religious landscape. This, in turn, has meant that another significant development is generally not perceived by the German public: the fact that such case-by-case decisions (in particular, those reached by the courts) in fact have led to a specific form of institutionalization of Islam in Germany—a fragmented und thus inherently contradictory shift in the position of the Muslim religious communities, with the effect that their legal status has begun resembling, at least in certain respects, that of the mainstream Christian churches and the Jewish communities. This process will be the focus of the third section of this paper. When, in 1990, East-West unification created an opportunity for overcoming the cultural closure of German nationality and opening the debate on a political concept of citizenship, a socio-political perspective on political inclusion of immigrants came into view and was in fact realized, after lengthy debates, in 2000. As a result, Muslim immigrants became potential German citizens; in many instances, this shift meant 13

Jonker, Gerdien. 2002. Muslim Emancipation? op. cit. De Galembert, Claire. 2003. Die öffentliche Islampolitik in Frankreich und Deutschland: Divergenzen und Konvergenzen. In Der Islam in Europa. Der Umgang mit dem Islam in Frankreich und Deutschland, 46–66. Göttingen: Wallstein. 14

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that the construction of absolute difference as applied to Germany’s Muslim community became untenable. Institutional integration of Islamic religion has now become a key issue on Germany’s political agenda, one sign of which are current efforts by several German Bundesländer to establish and regulate Islamic religious instruction in public schools. Politicization of the topos “Islam” has been based on images, political structures, and experience from the history of Muslim recognition in Germany. Thus, current forms of Muslim self-description—an issue to be considered in greater detail in an analysis of elements of the Islamic Charta in the next section—as well as the institutional inclusion of this group based on German court decisions—the topic to be considered in the third section—have both been influenced by the arguments formulated in negotiating recognition. The image of Islam’s fundamental otherness with respect to the political and cultural norms of Germany’s majority is a central figure in both developments. The notion of Islam as the religion of foreigners who cannot become German citizens is perpetuated in this image of otherness. Simultaneously, however, this image also serves as a resource for constructing difference and distance in the self-descriptions of Muslims as a group. With respect to the politics of recognition, this means that Islam is positioned within a tension created by more universal discourses about legal issues and identity. Two lines of argument would seem to occupy opposing and irreconcilable poles in this debate: on one side, affirmation of the recognition of Muslims based on concepts of religious freedom and the equality of religious denominations in the public sphere and in dealings with the state, on the other, arguments founded in notions of respect for cultural minorities or for a country’s mainstream culture (or Leitkultur, a term introduced into the German debate by the Christian Democratic Union).

2. The Islamic Charta of the Central Council of Muslims in Germany On 20 February 2002, the Central Council of Muslims in Germany (ZMD) published its Islamic Charta, a fundamental declaration on “the relationship between Muslims, their State and their Society”. 15 In its

15 ZMD. Islamic Charta. Edited by the Central Council Office [English version]. Available also .

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twenty-one articles, the Charta confirms the basic principles of Islam, at the same time it affirms the Muslim communities’ faith in the maxims of the German Federal Republic’s constitution. This link between two distinct cognitive and normative spheres is an expression of the paper’s two-fold mission: first, formulating a minimal theological consensus for the largest possible number of Muslims who live in Germany; and second, formulating the political and institutional principles that establish the ZMD’s role as an Islamic religious actor in Germany’s public sphere and a negotiating partner for the country’s governmental authorities. 16 In this perspective Article 11 states: “Whether German citizens or not, the Muslims represented by the Central Council (ZMD) accept the basic legal order of the Federal Republic of Germany as guaranteed by its Constitution, providing for the rule of law, division of power, and democracy, including a multi-party system, universal suffrage and eligibility, and freedom of religion. Therefore they accept as well everybody’s right to change his religion, to have another religion, or none at all.” For Muslims in Germany and other Western European countries, the acceptance of religious freedom formulated in Article 11 of the Charta—including the right to abandon religious practice of Islam—is a progressive and by no means uncontroversial position.17 Theologically, this standpoint is justified with an implicit reference to Qur’an verse 256 of the second sura, which rejects compulsion in questions of faith. Thus, Article 11 ends with the sentence: “The Qur’an forbids any compulsion or coercion in matters of faith.” Here, the Charta authors succeed in linking the basic secular right to freedom of religion to an interpretation of the Qur’an. Norbert Müller, a member of the Board of Directors of the Shura Council of the Islamic Community in Hamburg, has argued at a discussion organized by the Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung: “Muslims should always take a stand in favor of securing and extending democratic rights. They should do so not only when their own interests are at stake, but also quite fundamentally and according to the principle that freedom is always also a question of the freedom of those who believe or think differently.”18 16 For the interpretation of the individual articles of the Islamic Charter and the discussions about them see Friedmann Eissler’s contribution “Christian-Muslim Encounter” in this volume. 17 Fischer, R. Abdullah. (2002). «Die ‘Charta’ ist nichts als Opportunismus.» In Forum “Islamische Charta” [cited 17 June 2005] Available . 18 Müller, Norbert. (2002). Muslime im säkularen Rechtsstaat—Diskussionsbeitrag.

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By upholding freedom of religion, the ZMD recognizes pluralism as an element of the foundation of German society. In its declaration, the ZMD asserts that it is “a partner” of other social groups “in the fight against religious discrimination, xenophobia, sexism, and violence.”19 In this perspective, the Muslim community in Germany—as “a minority that is establishing itself within a democratic, constitutionally-ruled, liberal state”20—has committed itself to striving for universal equality and peace, a commitment that must extend beyond the range of religious matters in general and Islamic affairs more specifically. What is in question here is a concept of pluralism governed by the universalism of human rights. “The Central Council (ZMD) deplores the violation of human rights wherever and whenever this occurs.”21 Article 14 of the Charta, in contrast, refers to the “Qur’anically demanded commitment to religious pluralism”, which only pertains to monotheistic religions. Thus, the theological arguments in the Charta are applied only to traditional book religions and are written into a common genealogy with the Jewish and Christian faiths, according to which “the Qur’an restored and confirmed pure monotheism as the fundamental truth [. . .]”.22 The discrepancy between these two concepts of pluralism that becomes apparent here is indicative of two different perspectives within the Charta. On the one hand, referring to pluralism in the context of a commitment to universal values aims to represent the Muslim community as a moral actor in society with a position comparable to that of the traditional Christian faiths. On the other hand, use of the term pluralism as a theologically justified concept that underpins the genealogy of book religions serves to support and “Europeanize” the group’s cultural discourse about identity. Muslims are described as “[b]eing impregnated by the Judeo-Christian-Islamic heritage and the Enlightenment.” The Charta goes on to note that “Europeans [sic] culture resulted from the classical Hellenistic-Roman heritage, the Judeo-Christian-Islamic one, and the Enlightenment. In fact, European culture has been heavily

[Veranstaltungsdokumentation]. [cited 17 June 2005] Available . 19 Article 18 of the Islamic Charta. 20 Mazyek, Aiman. (2002). Muslime im säkularen Rechtsstaat—Diskussionsbeitrag. [Veranstaltungsdokumentation]. [cited 17 June 2005] Available . 21 Article 18 of the Islamic Charta. 22 Article 4 of the Islamic Charta. Cf. also 1. article.

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influenced by Islamic philosophy and civilization.”23 With this last sentence, the Charta’s authors echo a description of Europe promoted by the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe as early as 1991 in one of its recommendations.24 Regardless of how credible, clever, or convincing one might find the wording chosen by the ZMD, its text has obviously been formulated with the intention of refuting the claim that Muslims in German society are fundamentally different while at the same time establishing the legitimacy of Muslims’ otherness. The text therefore represents an attempt to characterize the Muslim community as a group that is “one of our own” within the community of Germans. The central theological argument employed by the Charta’s authors to tie concepts from secular law to their interpretation of Islamic principles is based on the minority principle in Islamic law. An Islamic minority that lives in a non-Islamic state recognizes the local legal order, as long as they are allowed to practice their religion without persecution. “As a matter of principle, Islamic jurisprudence obliges Muslims in the Occident to respect, and abide by, the local legal order.”25 Article 13 states, in the same vein: “The command of Islamic law to observe the local legal order includes the acceptance of the German statutes governing marriage and inheritance, and civil as well as criminal procedure.” This transferal of legal power and control over Muslims to the institutions of the Federal Republic of Germany means that the Muslim community foregoes applying a version of family law that would conform to the sharia. However, while the text expressly recognizes German secular law, it offers no theological arguments with respect to controversial aspects of issues such as equality of Muslim women in marriage, their rights as legal heirs, or their status as witnesses in court. By upholding the jurisdiction of German authorities with respect to marriage, for example, the signers of the Charta are bound to allow marriages between a female Muslim and a non-Muslim male, even though such a union is considered illegitimate under Muslim law. However, the authors seem unable to justify their position with exegetic arguments. Their responses to such problems, such as the following statement by ZMD President Nadeem Elyas, remain evasive and unsatisfying: “Since we respect [Ger-

23

Article 4 of the Islamic Charta. Recommendation 1162 (1991) on the contribution of the Islamic civilisation to European culture. [cited 19.04.2005]. . 25 Article 10 of the Islamic Charta. 24

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man] marriage law, we cannot forbid it [marriage between a female Muslim and a non-Muslim male; N.T.]. So, we can only try to ensure that no disturbances result from it.”26 The recognition of German family, inheritance, and procedural law with the help of the Islamic concept of minorities demonstrates the limits of this theological argument. Transferring legal competence to national institutions, a process that is taken for granted in the secular logic of the political sovereignty of a nation-state and from the perspective of the majority in society, effectively precludes innovative readings of the Qurʾan and Islamic tenets. Rather than challenging dominant interpretations of Islamic doctrines, the authors have decided that these interpretations simply do not apply to them. These issues are adjourned until some future date, while a call for a new “science of law” capable of responding to the needs of Muslims “within a democratic, constitutionally-ruled, liberal state” is heard. “This kind of science of law has yet to be born; the Islamic Charta is a first step in this direction.”27 Although reference to the minority concept may reassure state authorities in Germany, in so far as it rejects application of the sharia, this orientation robs the “Muslims in the Occident” of a resource that might otherwise be employed to effect important and interesting innovations. Some minority groups among the Muslim populations in Western societies have demonstrated that other “Islamic” readings of the Qur’an are indeed conceivable—readings that go beyond the theological concept of minority and take into account contemporary universal challenges (for example, by formulating a “women-centered” exegesis of Islamic doctrines).28 For Ludwig Ammann, the contradictions in the ZMD’s declaration are an expression of a “tightrope walk” between representatives of classic Islamic thought, who remain loyal to the application of the sharia and divide the world into a dar al harb (house of war), a dar al islam (house of Islam) and—under the conditions described above—a dar alʿahd (house of treaty) and representatives of a reformist orientation, who seek to reconcile theological interpretations with the concerns linked to 26

Elyas, Nadeem.2002. Muslime als gute Bürger. taz, 21 February. Mazyek, Aiman. (2002). Muslime im säkularen Rechtsstaat – Diskussionsbeitrag. [Veranstaltungsdokumentation]. [cited 17 June 2005] Available . 28 ZIF. Undated. Hermeneutische Konstrukte im islamisch weiblichen Theologieverständnis; Hermeneutischer Arbeitskreis. 2002. Vielfältiges Verstehen Hermeneutik im Islam aus weiblich theologischer Sicht. op. cit. 27

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democracy.29 The contradictions and deficits outlined above, however, also testify to the polysemy of the word “Islam”. The wording of the declaration, as the formulation of a smallest common denominator in theological questions, has been carefully chosen with a view to the primary aim of characterizing Muslims as a religious group. What is at stake here is both an internal process of negotiating agreement and the formulation of a declaration addressed to the German majority and the German state. By utilizing religious language in certain articles, the Charta takes on the character of a profession of faith and thus legitimates the authors to voice, in Article 20, demands regarding public religious policy, such as the “introduction of Islamic religious instruction into the school system”, the “establishment of academic professorships for the university education of teachers of Islam and imams,” the “co-option of Muslims into existing media control bodies”, the “implementation of the right to slaughter according to the Islamic ritual as decided, in 2001, by the Federal Constitutional Court”, and so on.30 In other words, through this act of self-constitution as a religious denomination, the Central Council of Muslims can lay claim to a status that enjoys constitutionally guaranteed (Article 140 of the Basic Law and Article 136, 137, 138, 139, and 141 Weimar Constitution), institutionalized privileges in the Federal Republic of Germany (in contrast to the situation in France).31 Besides this religious dimension, the self-description of Muslims as a group is also characterized throughout the Charta by a form of cultural semantics that, as I have shown above, serves as a mode for “Europeanizing” the Islamic faith. Here, religion is no longer seen as a faith, but rather as a “heritage” and a “part of European culture”.32 With this cultural construction of genealogy that explicitly attempts to disprove the notion of Muslims’ otherness, the Charta’s authors take up an argument that is also established in German public discourse. Th e culturization of religion is indeed an important resource for the politics of recognition in Germany, as German society characterizes itself as a Christianoccidental community, as a way of drawing a border with respect to the Muslim population, among other things. But in adopting culturalization

29 Ammann, Ludwig. 2004. Cola und Koran. Das Wagnis einer islamischen Renaissance. Freiburg, Basel, Wien: Herder. 30 Article 20 of the Islamic Charta. 31 Heinig, Hans Michael. 1999. Zwischen Tradition und Transformation. Das deutsche Staatskirchenrecht auf der Schwelle zum Europäischen Religionsverfassungsrecht. Zeitschrift für Evangelische Ethik 43: 294–312. 32 Article 14 of the Islamic Charta.

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of a religion as a strategy, those realms of Islam that are linked to professions of faith are pushed to the background and recognition demands are shifted to the field of identity politics. These shifts, in turn, are not without effects on the construction of difference. Whereas the idea of otherness based on faith is grounded in the institutionally established semantics of religious denominations that are the reference point in formulating demands for equal treatment before the law, the discourse of identity politics necessitates a societal concept of minority (rather than the minority concept defined by Islamic law) that links Muslims’ difference to their cultural contribution to “European heritage”. The zmd formulates its goal as “an integration into society of the Muslim population which will not be detrimental to their Islamic identity”33 and “a constructive co-existence of the Muslim population with the majority and other minorities.”34 But in contrast to self-description on the basis of religious denomination, a minority concept based on identity politics has no equivalent in the legal-institutional realm (with the exception of language groups with “traditional areas of settlement”).35 The use of such a concept based in identity politics in the Islamic Charta is an indication of two intermeshed political dimensions in the constitution of Muslims as a group in Germany. The first dimension involves the passions that characterize public debates about the integration or exclusion of Muslims into German national self-description. The second dimension is the significance of the discourses of authenticity, beyond the actual profession of faith that generally characterizes the self-descriptions of young Muslims and postulates the Islamization of the entire personality.36

3. Institutional recognition: court decisions as one example As noted in the historical survey above, German governmental actors considered issues raised by the Islamic faith to lie solely in the responsibility of the respective country from which Muslims had immigrated; in most cases, this was Turkey. Because of this “extraterritorial” concept, government authorities, like the German public, generally failed 33

Article 19 of the Islamic Charta. Article 17 of the Islamic Charta. 35 Bundesrepublik Deutschland. 1999. Erster Bericht der Bundesrepublik Deutschland gemäß Artikel 25 Absatz 1 des Rahmenübereinkommens des Europarates zum Schutz Nationaler Minderheiten. 36 Nökel, Sigrid. 2002. Die Töchter der Gastarbeiter. op. cit. 34

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to perceive the process of inclusion that began to take shape since the 1990s (at the latest) as a result of relevant decisions passed down by German courts. The constitutionally guaranteed freedoms of religious faith (Article 1, paragraph 1) and religious practice (Article 4, paragraph 2) have become the lynchpin of this development. These rights—guaranteed not only to German citizens but to all persons who live within the country’s territory—have meant that Muslims can call upon the courts to secure opportunities for living according to their religious beliefs in areas where German authorities did not anticipate the specific demands of Islamic life. Thus, the Landesarbeitsgericht [Industrial Court of Appeal of the Land] in Düsseldorf required an employer to reinstate a Muslim man who was fired because the company feared that his leaving the job to pray would lead set a precedent for other Muslim employees. The court charged the company with negotiating a new internal policy that would allow the reinstated employee to resolve his personal conflict between the requirements of his faith and job practices in Germany.37 Since the 1990s, several Muslims girls or their parents have been granted exemption from co-educational swimming instruction following court decisions.38 These controversial rulings were based on the individual right to practice one’s religion and to manifest one’s convictions in public.39 In a judgment handed down by the Oberverwaltungsgericht [Higher Administrative Court] in Münster in 1991, for example, the court asserted: “The basic right of freedom of religion includes not only the internal freedom to believe or not to believe; it also involves the external freedom to manifest one’s beliefs in public, to profess to those beliefs, and to disseminate them. [. . .] On this basis, requirements about clothing are, in principle, also protected by Art. 4 I and II GG [Grundgesetz = Basic Law].”40 The priority given to the individual right to practice one’s religion by such legal decisions has meant, among other things, that various state institutions and social organizations in Germany have been required by the courts to make provisions for people of Islamic faith. In a decision reached in 1994, a Verwaltungsgericht [Administrative Court] in Hamburg rejected a young Muslim’s 37 LAG Düsseldorf. 4 SA 654/85. Quoted in Thomas Lemmen and Melanie Miehl. 2001. Islamisches Alltagsleben in Deutschland. Bonn: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung. 38 BVerwG. 6 C 30/92. 39 Heinig, Hans Michael and Morlok, Martin. 2003. Von Schafen und Kopftüchern. Das Grundrecht auf Religionsfreiheit in Deutschland vor den Herausforderungen religiöser Pluralisierung. Juristenzeitung 58 (15–16): 777–785. 40 OVG Münster. 19 A 1706/90.

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petition for exemption from military service, who had argued that the Bundeswehr would not respect his religious practices; instead the judges called on the German army to secure soldiers’ freedom to practice their Islamic faith by taking appropriate measures.41 The principle of religious freedom has thus functioned as an unobtrusive promoter of the inclusion of Islam in German systems of social order. Moreover, such court judgments have contributed to questioning and renegotiating norms of behavior and order (such as eating habits, official holidays, or breaks at the workplace) previously taken for granted by the majority. In this sense, these legal decisions have played a certain role in establishing the institutional legitimacy of pluralized religious forms of identification in German society and, moreover, have forced the state to take steps to more effectively ensure its neutrality in questions of religious beliefs. But this fragmentary, case-by-case process of recognition is no longer a quiet, little-noticed affair, when the rights of the entire community of Muslims (and not just those of individuals) are at stake. Individual freedom of religion as guaranteed in the German Basic Law has its corporative equivalent in Article 140 of the constitution, which—based on the Articles 136, 137, 138, and 141 of the Weimar Constitution [WV]—provides for the recognition of religious denominations (so-called “religious societies”) and guarantees their autonomy and their rights. Article 137 WV also stipulates that religious groups are granted a special legal status, that of a Körperschaft des öffentlichen Rechts [Corporation of Public Law]. Among the religious communities that enjoy this status are the Catholic Church, the German Evangelical Churches on the level of the Bundesländer, the Jewish synagogue communities, the Danish Sailor’s Church, and the Mormons in Germany; despite public criticism because of the community’s lack of loyalty to the state, the Bundesverfassungsgericht [Federal Constitutional Court] ruled in 2000 that Jehovah’s Witnesses as a group should also have this status.42 Attempts by various Islamic organizations to secure the same privilege have been unsuccessful so far. Other Islamic associations have, however, been recognized as religious communities under other German laws and been allowed to exercise certain corporative rights as a result. One nearly twenty-year legal battle in Berlin ended in February 2000,

41

VG Hamburg. 3 W 2411/93. BVerfG 2 BvR 1500/97. Tillmanns, Reiner. 1999. Zur Verleihung des Körperschaftsstatus an Religionsgemeinschaften. Öffentliche Verwaltung 11: 441–452. 42

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when the Bundesverwaltungsgericht [Federal Adminstrative Court] recognized the Islamische Föderation Berlin e.V. as a religious community under the Berlin School Law.43 And following a series of contradictory court decisions regarding ritual slaughter, the Bundesverfassungsgericht defined religious community in a 2002 ruling such that exceptions to the German animal protection law would be considered applicable to Islamic organizations.44 The passionate debates that have accompanied these prolonged legal controversies and the decisions ultimately reached by German judges are a clear sign of the majority’s changing perception of the inclusion issue. Recognition of an individual’s religious needs met with rather indifferent reactions (except when special professions such as teachers were involved) because these rulings were perceived as solutions to isolated cases with limited relevance. Opening the way to corporative rights, however, implied the recognition of Muslims as a group and, moreover, as a collective German actor. In the cases cited here, this meant that Muslims were to be recognized social actors in Berlin’s schools, or, in the second example, could claim the same status as the Jewish community with respect to ritual slaughter. Public debate now centers on the difficulties encountered in establishing the institutional inclusion of Islam, on the question of tolerating Muslim religious practices, and on Muslim difference; the integration of foreigners, of Turks, Moroccans, “Arabs” and so on—who became potential German citizens after the 2000 reform of the citizenship law—is no longer the key issue. The various dimensions that have shaped and accompanied the institutionalization of Islam in Germany are intermeshed in the controversy over whether teachers at German public schools should be permitted to wear headscarves. Rather than reviewing the details of this public debate and the developments that it has triggered, the following section will focus on the various legal arguments that have been formulated in relevant court cases at different levels. These legal decisions are useful illustrations of the reasoning behind inclusion strategies that draw on the principle of religious freedom (Article 4, Paragraph 1 and 2, GG) as well as the counter-arguments that have been brought forward in attempts to stabilize the cultural self-description of the majority. In 2000, courts in the Bundesländer Lower Saxony and Baden-Württemberg handed down two judgments that were diametrically opposed.

43 44

BVerwG 6 C 5/99. Jonker, Gerdien. 2002. Muslim Emancipation? op. cit. BVerfG 1 BvR 1783/99.

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Judges at the Verwaltungsgericht [Administrative Court] in Lüneburg in Lower Saxony held that a teacher who had converted to the Islamic faith and wore a headscarf had to be integrated into the public school system, whereas their colleagues in Stuttgart considered a women who had successfully completed her practical training as a teacher while wearing a headscarf to be unsuited for further employment as a civil servant in the public schools. The first court argued that the state authorities had to prove that adherence to the Muslim faith rendered an individual unsuitable to become a public school teacher; the applicant was not required to supply evidence that she was suited in spite of her faith. In effect, the decision placed individual freedom of religion above norms and cultural ideas defined by the state with respect to schools. According to ErnstWolfgang Böckenförde, what follows from these arguments is a position of “open and overall neutrality” in schools that leaves “space for questions and professions of a religious nature, [allows for] their freedom to develop, but without identifying with them or evangelizing or indoctrinating in any direction . . .” (Böckenförde, 2001: 725)45 The judgment of the court in Baden-Württemberg, in contrast, narrowed the concept of state neutrality to apply to “Christian and occidental educational and cultural values”, basing its argument on the reference to God in the preamble to the Basic Law and on Article 15 of the constitution of the Land Baden-Württemberg. The latter declares that elementary schools are christliche Gemeinschaftsschulen [Christian community schools]. The judges asserted: “What results in particular on the basis of these value decisions in the LV [Landesverfassung, constitution of the Land, N.T.] is that teachers who profess to non-Christian religions can be allowed to practice their religions while in service only under much stricter conditions than is the case for teachers who profess to Christian religions.”46 In contrast to the decision in Lower Saxony, where the Islamic headscarf was merely perceived as an expression of individual faith, the scarf was interpreted here on the backdrop of the cultural values institutionalized in German schools; in effect, the headscarf was excluded, because it was considered a symbol of other values. In decisions passed down on 4 July 2002 by the Bundesverwaltungsgericht and on 24 September 2004 by the Bundesverfassungsgericht, the

45 Böckenförde, Ernst-Wolfgang. 2001. >Kopftuchstreit< auf dem richtigen Weg? Neue Juristische Wochenschrift 10: 723–728. 46 VG Stuttgart. 15 K 532/99.

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culturalized concept of religion was not upheld. Instead, both courts focused their arguments solely—albeit in opposing ways—on the question of individualized professions of faith.47 In the first case, the judges gave priority to what is termed the negative freedom of religion, which protects pupils and parents from undesired religious influence, and consequently ruled that a teacher who wore a headscarf was to be excluded from civil service. In the second case, the judges arrived at the opinion that wearing a headscarf falls under the positive freedom of religious practice and does not collide with the state neutrality in the school system, at least according to the laws that applied at the time. Of decisive significance in these two decisions is the fact that they both base their arguments on the idea that religion is solely a profession of faith. This argumentative approach means that state institutions can be opened for any belief that is recognized as religious in nature, even when in a second step—as was the case in the first court decision cited here—the principle of freedom from religion or religious influence is given priority over the principle of freedom to (practice) religion. Both the emphasis on negative religious freedom and the judgment in favor of the teacher with a headscarf reached by the Bundesverfassungsgericht stand for the principle of equal treatment of all religions in the realm where the state’s is obliged to retain neutrality in religious matters. In other words, a concept of religion that is limited to a profession of faith and its practice is a basic prerequisite for state neutrality. The intention behind this neutrality is to prevent organizational links between religious groups and administrative structures as well as state identification with specific denominational actors. As Hans Michael Heinig and Martin Morlok have emphasized, these two cases do not apply to teachers who wear Islamic headscarves,48 for neither do the school authorities in question require headscarves (in contrast to the crucifixes that are required in Bavarian schools), nor do the authorities identify themselves with such an Islamic headscarf. The laws currently being drafted or passed by the legislatures in a number of German Bundesländer as a reaction to the 2003 decision by the Bundesverfassungsgericht, which aim to ban symbols of the Islamic faith in schools (e.g. in Baden-Württemberg) or in all areas of civil service (e.g. in Hessen), clearly demonstrate that the constitutional prin-

47

BVerwG. 2 C 45.03. BVerfG. 2 BvR 1436/02. Heinig, Hans Michael and Morlok, Martin. 2003. Von Schafen und Kopftüchern. op. cit. 48

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ciple of equality for all religions and the institutionalization of policies based on culturalized concepts of religions (as exemplified by the judges from the Verwaltungsgericht in Stuttgart cited above) are incompatible. “The historically unquestionable, outstanding formative cultural influence of Christianity on our constitutional order does not constitute an independent object of legal protection; the Basic Law neither formulates a cultural privilege for Christianity, nor does it provide for a legal affinity with respect to a particular religion.” (Heinig/Morlok, 2003: 784)49 Transforming religious semantics into provisos with respect to identity—whether by defining a Christian Leitkultur or an Islamic culture of the minority—may seem plausible in public debate, but from the point of view of legal considerations, such a transformation is out of the question. Seen from this perspective, the second decision handed down on 24 June 2004 (after the change in the school law mentioned above) by the Bundesverwaltungsgericht in the case of a prospective teacher (who first went to court against the Land Baden-Württemberg in 1998) appears to be a precarious balancing act between affirmation of the principle of equality of religions before the state, on the one hand, and conformation of the privileged position of Christian-occidental culture, on the other.50 The judges argued that the dress code established with the change of paragraph 38 of the School Law of Baden-Württemberg was a constitutionally acceptable restriction of teachers’ individual freedom of religion as long as such restrictions were imposed “for the benefit of the rights of freedom of parents and pupils and to secure neutrality and peace in the schools.” They went on to argue: “The legislative has the power to elaborate on general rules for civil servants calling on teachers to demonstrate moderation and restraint, such that they may be required to refrain from wearing in school any clothing or other symbols that allow their membership in a specific religious community to become recognizable.”51 According to this wording, all signs of religious faith are subject to this ruling, including, as several experts for constitutional law have emphasized, the religious habits of Christian teachers.52 At the

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Heinig, Hans Michael and Morlok, Martin. 2003. Von Schafen und Kopftüchern. op. cit. 50 BVerwG 2 C 45.03. 51 BVerwG 2 C 45.03. 52 Böckenförde, Ernst-Wolfgang. 2004. Anmerkung. Juristenzeitung (59) 23: 1181– 1184. Sommer, Berthold. Interview. 2004. “Alle Religionen gleich behandeln.” taz, 15 October.

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same time, however, the court’s decision differentiates between “an individual profession of faith” with “special elements of belief ”, on the one hand, and “Christian and occidental values of education and culture” and Christian virtues, on the other. This differentiation assigns different concepts of religion to the two spheres of influence and regulation that are characterized as societal politics versus state politics. In the sphere of societal politics (which pertains to how individual citizens coexist), a concept of religion that is limited to professions of faith applies; this notion is defined constitutionally in terms of religious freedom and the limitations set by other constitutional rights. In the sphere of state politics, a culturalized concept of religion that is devoid of tenets of belief applies; this idea endows the state with the power to formulate norms and is legitimated with phrases such as “the tradition of value worlds that have emerged from Christian-occidental culture”, which leave considerable leeway for interpretation. It is an open question whether the culturalized closure of religious freedoms effected by such rulings will aid German society in coming to terms with its growing religious plurality and, moreover, whether it will facilitate or hinder recognition of Muslims, who represent the third largest religious denomination in the country today.

4. Muslim Self-Description as Reflected in Institutional Recognition The self-description of Muslims and inclusion of this social group on the level of the legal system oscillate between different meanings of the concept of religion. Islam is at times focused upon as a religious profession of faith, at times as a unit of cultural identity. In some contexts, Islam is perceived in relation to other faiths, in particular Judaism and Christianity, and thus becomes comparable to them; in others, it is considered a form of expression peculiar to a minority that is contrasted with other groups or with the majority and thus treated as a marker of otherness. Both Muslim self-descriptions and recent legal decisions by German courts reflect these two argumentative figures; these two concepts of religion represent divergent models of coexistence in a society characterized by religious pluralism. Limiting the concept of religion to a profession of faith and its practice defines Islam as a religious denomination that can claim, given the current legal and institutional conditions in Germany, the same legal

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rights as any other religious denomination. Here, the concept of religion becomes the key to recognizing a difference that is equal and limited to the sphere of faith and its practice. In other words, this definition of difference is open for identity (in the sense of sameness) in other areas of life and thus to flaws in the demarcation of a specific social group. (This would not be true if political and social life in Germany was organized completely on the basis of religious denominations, as is the case in Lebanon, for example.) The semantics of a profession of faith are clearly integrated into the ZMD’s Charta and serve the authors as a tool for linking their concept of denominational difference with demands for legal inclusion. In principle, German constitutional law does not preclude the fulfillment of these demands; such equal treatment would ensure that the Muslim community enjoyed the same social framework conditions as the majority. This equality “waters down” Muslims’ absolute difference and the remaining distinctions would be limited to issues that pertain to religious denominations. The authors of the Islamic Charta forego the application of Islamic family law—whatever the theological basis for this position may be—and are thus forced to abandon the prohibition of marriages between female Muslims and male non-Muslims (a step that, as press reports have revealed, some signers of the document found difficult to take). Legal recognition of Muslims, while as yet no doubt fragmentary in nature, is also based on a concept of religion oriented around professions of faith. This recognition practice ultimately demonstrates that the concept of freedom of religion is a useful tool in securing inclusion and regulating Germany’s increasing religious pluralism. Although the texts of Article 4, paragraph 1 and 2 of the Basic Law and the prohibitions against religious discrimination in Article 136 of the Weimar Constitution undeniably carry the mark of Christian thought and occidental history, they also constitute a viable basis for dealing with social relations that involve non-Christian faiths, their philosophical traditions, and historical experience. The fact that the Muslims who wrote and signed the Charta have recognized religious freedom as freedom of as well as from religion demonstrates the attractiveness of this mode of structuring social relations as it is defined in Germany’s Basic Law. However, as some of the court decisions on the practice of religion by Muslims show, the regulation of religious freedom forces the state to be more mindful of its neutrality and to make a clearer distinction between the majority’s cultural self-description and the arguments that justify specific state regulations in this sphere.

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The identity semantics linked to the concept of religion—which constructs Muslims as a cultural minority in Germany, above and beyond their profession of faith—defines a more far-reaching kind of difference. For Muslims as a group, this argumentative figure implies boundaries that appear in all areas of life and that are not limited to issues of belief and religious practice. Furthermore, this concept of religious community offers a justification for what is deemed an equivalence of the sexes that does not refer to the secular logic of equality between women and men. The difference of the group becomes an exclusive mode of justification that includes equality only as a collective category in opposition to other collectives. Identity can only be conceptualized within the group and not as sameness in life contexts and social spheres defined by anything other than religion. “Islamic identity” thus becomes the essential core of self-description and Muslims in pluralistic society must constantly reaffirm this core through a discourse of authenticity. The identity semantics in Muslims’ self-description correspond to the culturalized concept of religion that is a central element of controversies over the institutionalization of Islam in Germany. From the perspective of the majority, culturalization of Islam is a means of perceiving Muslims as a group of Others, whose difference cannot be reduced to questions of faith. Muslims become a minority, which has certain rights but must otherwise subordinate itself to the majority. In this process, the meaning of religion as a means of drawing boundaries is heightened. Although this mode of marking difference hardly reflects the reality of religious practice in the German population today, it inevitably leads to inclusion mechanisms that carry Christian connotations. The result is not that Muslims are excluded, in order to realize homogenous religious-cultural structures in society. Rather, the ultimate consequence of a culturalized concept of religion is a hierarchical regulation of religious pluralism, in which the majority—defined as a Christian-occidental community—tolerates its religious minorities. Contrasting self-description of Muslims and their identification with the majority as a social group and societal actor reveals that these two aspects must be viewed as corresponding elements in the process of recognition. In this sense, the discourses on both sides must not be reduced to some immanent peculiarity, however that might be defined. Islam does not offer an unequivocal definition of a community of faith, nor does it dictate how such a community should act in a pluralistic, democratic society. Instead, Islam opens up a multitude of reference points that can

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interact with institutionalized normative expectations in Germany in a variety of ways. The influence of Christianity on Germany, in turn, does not lock the country into a regulatory system that is determined by the cultural prerogative of Christianity. The arguments brought forward by both sides are the product of the process of negotiating recognition.

ISLAMIC INSTRUCTION IN GERMAN PUBLIC SCHOOLS: THE CASE OF NORTH-RHINE-WESTPHALIA Margrete Søvik

1. Introduction Religious instruction in German public schools is a confessional subject, sheltered by Article seven of the Basic Law. Due to the separation between state and church, the state cannot define the content of the instruction, but is compelled to organize it according to the teachings of the religious communities, or Religionsgemeinschaften, which is the wording of the law. The institution has been coveted by Muslim organizations in Germany since the late 1970s, but until present only the Land of Berlin has allowed for confessional Islamic instruction in public schools. Rather than organizing confessional instruction as anticipated by the Constitution, during the 1980s the German Länder opted for interim solutions: religious instruction was given as part of native language classes, organized either by the consulates or by the German Land. The latter model has been officially non-confessional due to the neutrality of the state. Only in very recent time school experiments involving Muslim partners have been carried out in some Länder. The explanation for the different treatment of Muslims, as given by the authorities and legal scholars, has been that the state lacks a negotiating partner, an argument coupled with the absence of a church organization within Islam. Indeed, Islam knows no organizational hierarchy and no intermediary priesthood corresponding to that of the churches. Still, in response to the call for a negotiating partner, Muslim organizations have struggled to appear more unified. The aspiration for public religious instruction has been a major mobilizing force behind the building of federations and umbrella organizations that appeared from the late 1980s. This article argues that the failure of Muslim organizations in being acknowledged as state partners cannot simply be understood as emanating from structural deficiencies on the Muslim side. In order to properly understand the quandary posed by Muslim claims to equal treatment with the established religious communities, most noticeably the Catholic and Evangelical churches, the normative rationale and expectations inbuilt

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in the institution of public religious instruction must also be taken into consideration. Islam as represented by Muslim organizations does not necessarily fit into, or is taken to fit into, this predefined space and functioning of public religion. The first part of the article will sketch out the legal, pedagogical and political aspects of public religious instruction and discuss how the debate on Islamic instruction took shape on this background from the late 1970s. The second part will explore how the issue of Islamic instruction was addressed in one particular Land, North-Rhine-Westphalia. North-Rhine-Westphalia has been a pioneer in the field of Islamic instruction. As early as 1979 a pedagogical program was inducted, designed particularly for Muslim children in Germany. The syllabus was unique in that it was developed mainly by German scholars and the State Institute of School and Education in North-Rhine-Westphalia. It has figured as a national pilot project and remained the most comprehensive Islamic teaching program used in public schools throughout the 1980s and 1990s. The venture is thus apt for shedding light on the pedagogical and political challenges linked to Islamic instruction, that is, the shaped and role assigned to religion in German public education and the assessment of Islam from this perspective. The last part of the article will address Muslim responses to the state initiative. These express different notions of religious education, but also an emerging readiness to adapt to new requirements.

2. Public Religious Instruction and the Challenge of Islam The principles of separation between religion and politics and state and church, so frequently held against Muslims’ claims to a public manifestation of their religion, are not so straightforwardly given as commonly held in public debates. The general European pattern, in which Germany fits, has been a continued close cooperation between state and church, notwithstanding the principle of differentiation. France, with a strict institutional separation and a public ethic excluding the religious, represents the major exception to this pattern, where the traditional alliance between state and church as founding pillars of society has not been discarded altogether but rather been blended with Enlightenment principles. Thus, while all religious groups are assured basic rights and freedoms, the historical denominations enjoy a more privileged position, benefiting from state support and interwoven into public life. The

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justification of this continued cooperation lies in the social and cultural value assigned to church activities and the assumption that religion (Christianity) sustains the civic morality (Ferrari 2002: 6–20). The shape of cooperation and the extent of privileges offered the churches vary between countries. The position of the historical denominations in Germany is particularly strong. Even as state and church were separated in 1919, the churches kept their public legal status (later offered to the Jewish community). While retaining full inner autonomy, they are secured a say in public matters and allowed to receive taxes collected by the state. The division between state and church in Germany has been labeled a limping division. Within the legal discourse this limping division is not, however, held to be contrary to the neutrality of the state. Freedom of belief is interpreted as a positive freedom. True neutrality, it is claimed, requires that the state does not favor secular worldviews, but rather provides appropriate frameworks for religious life (Monsma and Soper 1997: 165–166). The institution of confessional religious instruction in public schools is likewise interpreted from the perspective of positive freedom of belief. Due to the neutrality of the German state, the institutions of public legal status and religious instruction are in principle accessible to all Religionsgemeinschaften, a term that has only been loosely defined in elder legal literature as a group of people, within a given area, gathered to fulfill shared beliefs (Bock 2001: 336). While reasoned in terms of freedom of belief, these institutions are, however, also deeply rooted in a rationale of social benefit. State and society are held to have an interest in the services of the churches and the religious education of citizens, while sustaining their integrity and sense of social responsibility. After the Second World War, the public role of religion has been legitimized as a sort of counterbalance to state power, and religious instruction construed as serving democracy. The democratic potential of religion is still frequently presented as residing in its “authentic” confessional shape; only as such does it represent an alternative energy to totalitarian state ideologies (Kirchhof 1994: 651–666; Link 1995: 508). The issue of Islamic instruction in German public schools has usually been represented as a technical predicament: as Islam knows no church the state lacks a negotiating partner. This account overlooks the normative rationale that gives legitimacy to the German churchstate system. In fact, the alleged illiberal dispositions of “guest workerIslam” has made its impact on the minority population problematic for the same reasons that serve to underpin the legitimacy of public Christianity: rather than stabilizing society, it has been considered a potentially

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destabilizing force, and rather than adding to liberal democratic virtues it has been seen as nurturing an authoritarian outlook. These concerns were evident already in the 1970s, in the debate that arouse over the Koran schools established in the country. Their emphasis on prayer rituals and rehearsal of the Koran was judged to be an external reproduction of knowledge that clashed with notions of religious instruction as Bildung, that is, as a self-reflecting activity generating intellectual maturity. Most alarming was their supposed transmission of political dogma countering the constitutional order of the Federal Republic. Faced with the requests of Muslim organizations for religious instruction, restrictive interpretations of the term Religionsgemeinschaft have ruled. German ecclesiastical law does not exclude the option of voluntary confessional instruction, and more flexible interpretations of the notion of religious community could have been allowed, given its ambiguity. Neither does German law require all adherents of a particular faith to be assembled in one body. Several churches coexist. It appears indeed that restrictive interpretations of the term Religionsgemeinschaft have been a deliberate means of regulating access to the public domain and excluding agents not trusted to be sufficiently mature and socially responsible. The continuing reluctance to acknowledge Muslim organizations as religious communities, entitled to a public assignment, has not, however, implied that Islamic instruction has been rebuffed on principal grounds. On the contrary, as early as the late 1970s this was sketched out as a meaningful way of integrating Muslim children. Situated in a precarious condition, on the edge between different social and cultural systems, Muslim children were taken to be in particular need of the moral comfort and orientation provided by rootedness in culture and religion. Thus, the challenge, as read by German scholars and politicians, was not religion as such, but rather the shape of religion. The Koran schools run by Muslim organizations represented the very counter-image of publicly endorsed religion and subverting their influence came to be the principle argument in favor of public involvement in the field of Islamic instruction. While held to be damaging to the mental health of children, the need to subvert the schools also coincided with concerns for social stability and domestic security. Approving the benefits of a public Islamic instruction but refuting cooperation with Muslim organizations, incorporating the teaching of Islam in native language classes appeared an appropriate interim solution. This way the instruction could either be labeled non-confessional

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and be negotiated between the German and Turkish states, or be left to the Turkish consulates, propagating the Islam endorsed by the laicist Turkish Republic. North-Rhine-Westphalia opted for the prior model.

3. Islamic Instruction in North-Rhine-Westphalia The process in North-Rhine-Westphalia was initiated in 1978 as three Muslim organizations belonging to the Turkish Millî Görüş, Süleymancı and Nurculuk movements turned to the school authorities, requesting religious instruction according to Article 7 of the Basic Law. The German section of the Islamic World Congress, headed by the German Bosnian Muhammad Salim Abdullah, also became involved in talks with the Land authorities on the issue in the late 1970s. Initially, the authorities were receptive but negotiations broke down due to disagreements with the organizations, as well as between the different Muslim organizations. The three Turkish organizations differed from the Islamic World Congress in their approach to the pedagogical standards required by German authorities, the latter appearing more prepared to accept these (Gebauer 1988: 7; Schiffauer 1997: 50–53). The authorities decided to move on independently. The reasons for state involvement were multiple but reflected the discourse in the Federal Republic more generally. As part of the “no-immigration-country” thesis, settlement was considered an historical exception. Still, it was acknowledged that the state had certain obligations towards the prior guest workers and their children. This rationale inspired the double policy of encouraging re-migration while at the same time preparing for the incorporation and integration of those who wished to stay. Thus, teaching Islam in public schools was, on the one hand, construed as a sort of mental Rückkehrhilfe and, on the other hand, as an instrument of integration. In 1979 a workshop gathering German experts in the fi elds of Islam and curriculum development was organized and it was decided to set up a curriculum committee. The curriculum should, according to the committee, both sustain a Muslim identity and enhance democratic skills and tolerance towards other religious communities. The Minister of Cultural and Educational Affairs in the Land, Jürgen Girgensohn (SPD), appointed the State Institute of Curriculum Development and Further Education with the task of developing a curriculum. The curriculum committee consisted of five Turkish teachers, two experts on

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Islam, two scholars of Protestant pedagogy and one expert in the Turkish language. Klaus Gebauer, one of the institute’s employees, became head of the committee and in charge of coordinating its proceedings. He achieved a key role in the process and has appeared as the project’s main external spokesman through numerous publications on the issue. Turkish authorities were invited to participate in the project but displayed little interest at first. This changed after the military coup and the altered policy towards Islam in the early 1980s. In 1982 a written objection to the project in North-Rhine-Westphalia was submitted to the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs by the Turkish embassy in Bonn. This insisted that Turkish children in Germany should receive a religious instruction in accordance with the standards of the Turkish Republic. Although this did not happen, the move led to increased cooperation between the German and Turkish authorities (Søvik 2006: 141). In 1983 the first complete curriculum draft was presented to the public. Muslim organizations were invited to give their opinion at two seminars, but rejected any discussion of the qualitative aspects of the curriculum as long as they were formally excluded from collaboration. They also claimed to have been neglected in the hearings, that no formal invitation had been distributed among Muslim organizations in NorthRhine-Westphalia and that therefore only those with prior knowledge of the project had the opportunity to give their opinion. The churches challenged the legitimacy of the project on the same grounds. The involvement of the state without a Muslim partner was considered a violation of state neutrality. In response to the objections of the churches the project was officially declared non-confessional and baptized Islamische Unterweisung instead of Islamischer Religionsunterricht in order to draw the distinction (Gebauer 1989: 265). The official categorization as nonconfessional did not, however, affect the design and objectives of the program. Moreover, before the first curriculum, covering the first to the fourth grades, was published in 1986, it was subjected to evaluation by theological faculties in Turkey and the Al-Azhar faculty in Egypt. The search for theological legitimacy underscored the quasi-confessional dispositions of the syllabus, also acknowledged by Klaus Gebauer. Islamische Unterweisung differed from confessional instruction mainly in legal terms, rather than in terms of its content (Gebauer 1989: 266). Finding the suitable teaching staff represented a challenge. As Koran school teachers (hodschas) generally were considered incompetent, it was decided to use the Turkish language teachers already present in the Land. The laicist sympathies of many of the Turkish teachers were, however, held to be a problem. A perception of religion as barely of historical

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interest was irreconcilable with the ambition to bring Muslim children closer to their religious roots and make Islam available as a constructive hermeneutic framework. Hence, teachers who wished to participate were required by the State Institute to be declared Muslims (Lähnemann 1988: 17). From 1987/88 the syllabus was in use in the public schools of North-Rhine-Westphalia, as part of native language instruction. In 1999 a school experiment with Islamische Unterweisung, based on the same curricula but given as a separate subject in German language, was launched. Both models were fully optional and given two hours per week. Still, the project remained controversial. Particularly Muslim organizations and the Evangelical and Catholic churches were critical of the monopoly of the state, not least against the backdrop of the obvious quasi-confessional aspects of the program (Schröder 2001: 107). In the course of the 1990s, the Muslim agents appeared more unifi ed. The German Section of the Islamic World Congress also increasingly moved closer to the Turkish Muslim organizations. From 1996 the two umbrella organizations the Islamrat der Bundesrepublik Deutschland and the Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (embracing among others the Nurculuk, Süleymancı and Millî Görüş) sought jointly to be recognized as official partners and a common body was set up with the purpose of negotiating with the state. Reforms also appeared in the pedagogical field. It was gradually acknowledged that “modern” teaching methods and a certain adaptation of Islamic instruction to life in Germany were required in order to gain access to public schools. Hence, in 1999 the Zentralrat published a curriculum draft that drew clear inspiration from the German discourse of religious pedagogy (Jonker 2002: 43). Even so, the joint application was declined. According to the authorities the two failed to fulfill the criteria of a religious community and thus could not be recognized as state partners. Official reasons for continued exclusion of Muslim agents had, however, changed compared with the late 1970s and early 1980s: whereas the initial reason was the lack of a cooperative and representative Muslim partner, the failure in the late 1990s was, in legal terms, justified mainly on the grounds of the federative constitution of the two (Søvik 2006: 144–145).

4. The North-Rhine-Westphalian Perception of Religious Instruction The German scholars involved in the curriculum project from the late 1970s shared the diagnosis of guest worker Islam and the ensuing challenges of integration that prevailed among scholars and politicians in

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Germany at the time. Islam was generally perceived to be a rigid religious system that had failed to keep up with modernity. Islam was still not acquainted with the separation of political and religious domains and the individualization and internalization of the religious, required by political modernity. Accordingly, it was in need of thorough rethinking. The fact that most of the Turkish immigrants in Germany originated from rural districts and generally were poorly educated added to this theological deficiency. Traditional Islamic educational concepts were judged inadequate, particularly in a German setting. “Islamic pedagogy” consisted in conveying a fixed set of rules. It did not deal with human experience and hence was inapt for bringing forward the required Islamic reform. As the Muslim population was largely ignorant about its own religion, in scholarly terms, unable to explain it to the German surroundings and even less so capable of undertaking the required religious transformation in new surroundings, it was felt that conflicts and misunderstandings were bound to erupt. Moreover, it was claimed, traditional forms of religion that were reproduced externally rather than internalized intellectually were failing to provide the children with appropriate tools for interpreting life in a modern complex society. Ultimately, this also threatened the common good of society, as people “without identity” or with perplexed identities were considered to have a destabilizing potential. In other words, assistance from German school authorities and scholars was not merely in the interest of the children but also in the interest of the German state (Gebauer [1995]: 49). The solution to the particular challenges of guest worker Islam in German society was to instigate the development of a new Muslim identity, a religious disposition that allowed for peaceful coexistence with nonMuslims and provided appropriate points of reference in a new setting. This transformation was thought to be within reach if Islamic teachings were explicitly connected to and examined against the backdrop of children’s daily personal experiences in Germany. This implied that Islamic instruction “the German way” was determined to break away from external and “mechanized” rituals and practices, the sort of “nonintellectual” knowledge associated not least with the recitation of the Koran in Arabic (Gebauer [1995]: 96–97). Clearly the project in NorthRhine-Westphalia did not aspire to historicize Islam. On the contrary, it aimed to revitalize religious teachings and bestow them with new meaning. The “lifeless” knowledge and traditions transmitted from parents to children in the shape of daily practices and oral tales from the country of origin, without any proper significance for life in Germany,

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were considered more detrimental than a vital and improved religiosity (Landesinstitut für Curriculumentwicklung, Lehrerfortbildung und Weiterbildung 1982: 5). The perception of religion and religious instruction that inspired the project in North-Rhine-Westphalia not only clashed with the notions of the Muslim agents, an issue that will be explored in the last part of the article, but also deviated from a laicist approach. Due to the perception of religion as a source of personal and societal development, the state curriculum also provoked the Turkish Teachers’ Union in North-RhineWestphalia, which sympathized with Turkish state laicism and considered Islam incompatible with social progression. Unlike the churches and the Muslim organizations, the Teachers’ Union did not criticize the syllabus for violating state neutrality and secularizing Islam from above. Rather, it criticized the syllabus for being too infused with a metaphysical perspective (Søvik 2006: 148–149).

5. The Design of the State Curricula In order to make Islam relevant for life in Germany and to instigate a process of reformation, the curriculum committee set off to establish a systematic communication between Islamic teachings and the lifeworlds of the children. In pedagogical terms this endeavor was labeled the principle of correlation, which involved the interpretation of everyday experiences in the light of religious texts and vice versa. The principle of correlation was brought in from Christian pedagogy, as reformed in the 1960s and 1970s. In the case of Muslim children, living “between two worlds”, the method of correlating tradition and experience appeared of particular relevance. Moreover, it was deemed an efficient means of breaking up the rigid and remote knowledge held to be conveyed by Koran schools and replace it with an internalized and intellectualized moral-ethical apparatus (Gebauer [1995]: 57). Each lesson sketched out in the curricula was designed according to this principle: they addressed different themes, either a religious one (such as notions of God, the five pillars of Islam or religious feasts) or a social one (such as friends, family or drugs). For each theme a selection of suitable religious sources was suggested and possible life experiences that could be associated with it were proposed. In line with the emphasis on the “life-world” and religion as “therapy” and device of orientation, which were incorporated into Christian pedagogical thinking from the 1960s, Christian curricula were typically

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divided into three main thematic fields, all taking the “self ” as the point of departure: the self in relation to God, the self in relation to others and the self in relation to the world as God’s creation. Similarly the movement from the simple to the complex, from basic to advanced knowledge, was configured as a movement from the close, in terms of family, friends and neighborhood, to the distant, in terms of society, global issues and other religions. In contrast to this scheme, Islamic syllabi have typically been divided between the fields of kalam (theology), fiqh (law and jurisprudence) and hadith (the sayings of the Prophet and his followers). The point of departure has been different sources and traditions of knowledge rather than the “self ” and its life-world. Moreover, the simple has been perceived as the rehearsal of corporal movements during ritual prayer and the complex, to be addressed at more advanced levels, as detailed knowledge of prayer texts and rules that make prayers valid or invalid (Mohr 2002: 4–5). The Islamic state curricula in North-Rhine-Westphalia were structured according to the same principles as the German Christian curricula: lessons dealt with the relation between the “self ” and God, between the “self ” and the world as God’s creation and between the “self ” and other humans. These core themes were addressed at all levels, from the first to the tenth grades, only in a different manner. In line with the perception of the simple as the close, human relations would be addressed at lower levels in terms of friends and family, and in terms of peace and war and politics and religion at higher levels. Lessons dealing with notions of God at lower levels sought to stimulate children’s imagination and instigate discussion on the basis of questions such as “does Allah live in heaven?” On the other hand, lessons at the higher level would initiate discussions on different religions and God’s revelation in time, space and language. By addressing the core themes repetitively and from different angles the aim was to establish a growing sense of complex meaning (Özsinmaz 2001: 58). Until the 1960s Christian instruction was seen in terms of mission work and as such essentially different from other subjects. Henceforth it was configured and legitimized as an integrated part of the general educational objectives of the public school. This implied that religious instruction should endorse democratic skills and attitudes, be based on the same academic standards as other subjects and not contradict modern science as a beneficial approach to the world. Religious instruction should also address questions of general societal relevance, such as work, poverty, health, sexuality and environmental problems, and

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provide answers that complied with and sustained a broader social ethics. Public Islamic instruction was also compelled to fit into the general educational objectives of the public schools. Hence, its superior objective should be the education of emancipated, enlightened and responsible citizens; it should focus on personal experience and autonomy, and provide answers to moral-ethical questions concerning the wellbeing of the individual as well as society. Thus, core values to be inserted into the religious morality were social justice, democracy and human rights, respect for cultural differences, freely defined gender roles and the protection of the environment (Gebauer [1995]: 70–71).

6. In Search of an Overlapping Morality Faced with Islamic claims for public Islamic instruction, the essential dilemma was that an overlap with public values could not be taken for granted, as was done in the case of Christianity. Nonetheless, the ambition of the scholars in North-Rhine-Westphalia was to establish an overlapping morality also in the case of Islam. They were convinced that if Islam was practiced and interpreted appropriately it would not only strengthen the moral and mental health of a displaced and vulnerable population, but also sustain the wellbeing and prosperity of society at large. Reflecting an organic perception of socialization, the curricula sought to achieve the twofold task of reinforcing the ties between the children and their religious and cultural “roots”, while at the same time disclosing ways of applying this cultural reservoir in a German setting. The ambition was to interconnect two moral-ethical horizons and establish a new “whole”, at the societal level as well as the individual mental level. For this new whole to appear authentic, a link of familiarity and recognition had to be established between the old and the new, between the private and the public: a terminological and connotative bridge between the two worlds was required (Gebauer [1995]: 53). One means of attempting to make this link appear authentic was to enfold the virtues endorsed by the curricula in an Islamic terminology. For instance, in order to communicate to the pupils the assets of agency and empowerment, the term Khalifa was used systematically in the curriculum for the seventh to the tenth grades: the term, generally used in the sense of a Muslim ruler, was taken to mean the human being as God’s deputy on earth, endowed with a particular responsibility towards other humans and the world as God’s creation (Landesinstitut für Schule

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und Weiterbildung 1996: 16). The virtues of courage and effort were associated with the term Jihad (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1986: 103). The curricula also attempted to reveal overlapping moralities within different areas of life. In cases where such overlap was not given straightforwardly, there were attempts to establish one circuitously. In fi elds such as health, environmental issues, property and poverty, overlapping German and Muslim moralities were held to be easily identifiable or established. Islamic teachings of unity between soul and body by no means contradicted modern medicine. They could even offer a meaningful perception of “modern sufferings” such as psychosomatic diseases. The Islamic philosophy concerning property and poverty was held to be a perfect match with broader societal goals such as social justice and responsible management of resources (Gebauer [1995]: 53). Responsibility towards the environment could be coupled with the image of the world as God’s creation and the human being as the supreme creature endowed with a particular responsibility. Seeing the world as God’s creation was not held to be contradictory to modern science. Rather science could be interpreted as just another way of revealing the marvels of the world (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1991: 30–33 and 1996: 185–190). The Islamic ideal of purity could be associated with personal hygiene and health, as well as an obligation to keep one’s surroundings clean. Thus, in the lesson “Sauberkeit gehört zum Glauben”, designed for first-graders, the Islamic obligation of purity was associated with ritual cleansing but also with acts such as keeping the classroom clean, brushing one’s teeth and not throwing litter on the ground (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1986: 76). Work and sexuality were issues where corresponding interests and moral-ethical standards did not appear equally evident. In these fields a shared morality could materialize only through subtle reinterpretation of sources and religious terminology. A morality of work that was suitable for a modern industrialized society was not directly deducible from Islamic sources. One solution suggested in order to reach an Islamic Werthorizont applicable to modern work, was thus to pass via the Islamic ideal of Jihad, interpreted as effort (Anstrengung). Interrelated with the social reality of work and the necessity of making a living, this ideal could communicate to the children the moral obligation to take responsibility, to not consider difficulties as part of their destiny, but rather to struggle to ameliorate their situation. Specifically, the difficult conditions of Muslims in Germany made a morality of courage

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and initiative imperative (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1986: 103). Another possibility was to make use of Islamic sources that revealed a morality relevant to modern work, if not speaking explicitly of it. One of the religious texts deemed most appropriate in this regard was sura 28.77 of the Koran, speaking of commitment in this world and repayment in the hereafter. Traditionally this sura has been connected to the Islamic duty to pay alms tax for the needy. According to the state curriculum it could also be interpreted from the perspective of work, more precisely it could be read as an obligation to work in and for society, as helping others required work and income (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1996: 126–127). Thus, in the lesson dealing with work in the curriculum for the first to the fourth grades, entitled “Allah belohnt die Menschen, die arbeiten”, pupils were to learn that a good Muslim should strive not to be a burden on society; that work improved the quality of life and that work in this world was a precondition for reward in the hereafter. Gender relations were conceived a particularly difficult field where it was close to impossible to trace an overlapping morality between Islamic and German culture. Only one lesson, designed for tenthgraders, addressed the topic of gender equality explicitly. The method suggested in order to allow for new and flexible interpretations was to approach the Koran as an historical document. Polygamy, for instance, should be interpreted in the context of the vast surplus of women at the time of revelation, due to frequent tribal wars. Rather than seeing it as an expression of women’s inferiority it could be seen as mere pragmatism and a form of pre-industrial social security. Moreover, as Islamic teachings represented a noticeable improvement of women’s position compared with pre-Islamic society, pupils should discuss whether the inclination of the Koran to support women could be read as a universal message of gender equality, as claimed by several reformist Islamic scholars (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1996: 181).

7. Empowerment, Disempowerment and Difficult Living Conditions In addition to themes of general interest, also addressed in Christian instruction, a socially useful Islamic instruction should deal, according

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to the curricula, with the particular problems of minority–majority relations and the supposedly difficult living conditions of Muslim immigrants. Islam should offer adequate answers to a situation said to be characterized by fragility and tension, both within the family and in relation to majority society. In line with the didactical principle sketched out above, construing the simple as the close, the two first lessons for the first-graders dealt with the family and the school as a new environment. Beneath the simple design of the lessons, about how to make new friends at school and how to help parents at home, the morality conveyed was that children should handle difficult human relationships in a courageous and constructive manner. At school, Muslim children were expected to feel alienated and marginalized. The objective of the first exercise, titled “Wir lernen uns kennen”, was thus to reduce prejudges and negative emotions and promote a constructive attitude towards the school and towards non-Muslim children (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1986: 49–56). Similarly the family was depicted as vulnerable, displaced in unfamiliar surroundings and subjected to harsh social and economic conditions. Strengthening the Muslim family unit was deemed of particular importance in order to preserve its socializing potential. Thus, Muslim children should learn to appreciate the family, seeing it as a God-given frame of human existence. They were invited to discuss difficulties at home, exemplified as ranging from small and crowded apartments and unemployment among adults to boring weekends in front of the television (ibid.: 59–64). Most important of all, the children should become aware of their own contribution, the basic moral being that a good Muslim always struggled for the wellbeing of the family. Thus, pupils should accept the difficult conditions of the family, and help and respect other family members. They should be aware that their parents frequently had difficulties in German society, at work and vis-à-vis public servants, and therefore needed the help and understanding of their children. Migration and the minority situation also called for a morality of initiative, responsiveness and good faith, despite difficulties. In a lesson for fifth- and sixth-graders, contemporary migration was compared with the hijra: due to hostilities towards his teachings, Muhammad was forced to leave Mecca for Medina in 622, where he founded the first Muslim community. The morality to be drawn from this historical and religious example was that migration, although painful, could open up the possibility to find a new home and make new friends (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1991: 118–128). Incidents of friendli-

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ness and resentment should be discussed in the light of Koran passages speaking of tribes and coalitions, neighborliness, strife, justice and forgiveness. The virtues to be developed were those of trust, tolerance and willingness to seek constructive solutions despite experiences of anxiety, disappointment and injustice: pupils should learn that living in peace with one’s neighbors was an Islamic virtue (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1986: 95).

8. Practicing Islam in the Diaspora Muslims in Germany were, according to the curricula, exposed to a different degree of societal modernity and a different relationship between politics, culture and religion than in their country of origin. They were transferred from a traditional rural culture, in which religion permeated all aspects of community life, to a society described as modern, urban, industrialized and secularized. Religion was not, however, portrayed as being less relevant in modern societies. On the contrary, pupils were encouraged to gain confidence in God’s almightiness, grace and mercy, and to consider life the will of God (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1991: 33, 148). The pedagogical task consisted of bringing about new and more flexible approaches to the religious. Thus, dealing with the relationship between religion and politics, a lesson for tenth-graders suggested that the Koranic prohibition of compulsion in religion (sura 2.256) was irreconcilable with the formation of a polity based on Shari’a, particularly so in a multi-religious society. With hardly any regulations on public affairs, the Shari’a was presented also as an inadequate constitution of a modern state. Individual religiousness, on the other hand, could be an asset for both state and society (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1996: 165–170). Concerning Islamic ritual obligations, pupils should comprehend their meaning and value but nonetheless be aware of the obstacles that religious practice was likely to meet in modern pluralist and secularized societies: poor economic conditions could hinder a pilgrimage to Mecca, performance of ritual prayers could be obstructed by working and teaching hours, and celebration of religious feasts could disturb German neighbors. Faced with such obstacles, pupils were invited to discuss possible ways of reconciling life in a modern society with that of being a devoted Muslim (ibid.: 140).

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Lessons dealing with the notion of Muslim community were characterized by a similar dual approach, alternating between ideals and historicity. On the one hand the religious and symbolic value of the Umma was accentuated: it represented a supranational brotherhood, united in a shared submission to God and reflecting the unity of God. The Umma offered the Muslim a safe haven of solidarity and belonging (Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1986: 146). On the other hand the Umma was situated in time and space. The community was represented as internally diverse; it comprised different ethnic groups that all had a share in the development of the Islamic civilization. Moreover, Islam had always coexisted with other religious groups, preaching tolerance towards these. The aim of this historicizing approach was to nurture tolerance towards pluralism, which embraced different Muslim groups as well as non-Muslims (ibid.: 146–152; Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung 1996: 154–158).

9. Muslim Responses to the State Curricula Muslim organizations in Germany remained unreceptive towards the state curricula. They criticized both the pedagogical design of the curricula and the exclusion of Muslim organizations from formal collaboration. From their point of view the curricula lacked all legitimacy as not authorized by the “Muslim community” in Germany, of which they perceived themselves to be the lawful representatives. Particularly in the early 1980s, as the curriculum committee was established and cooperation between the State Institute and Turkish authorities was institutionalized, the project was condemned as an obliteration of Islam forced through by an alliance of Christian scholars, laicist Turkish authorities and a German state determined on integration. Moreover, the Turkish language teachers were regarded with deep distrust. They were associated with Turkish state laicism and held to be deeply hostile towards Islam. Muslim approaches to the project have, however, varied over time and between different groups. In the early 1980s there was a noticeable difference between the positions of Millî Görüş and the Süleymancı on the one hand and the German Section of the Islamic World Congress on the other. The two Turkish Muslim organizations conceived Islamic instruction to be a means of keeping the children attached to the Muslim community, preventing them from being assimilated by the Ger-

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man surroundings. They favored traditional Islamic teaching methods and drew no clear distinction between the content of a potential public Islamic instruction and the private Koran schools. Their approach was also distinguished by a Turkish national outlook: in addition to the distinctly religious purpose of Islamic instruction, it was considered important in order to convey a Turkish identity to the children. For this reason they also favored Islamic instruction in the Turkish language (Herget 1983: 5). In contrast the German Section of the Islamic World Congress favored a notion of Islamic instruction that came closer to the German. The Islamic World Congress shared the Turkish Muslim organizations’ fear that the children might be lost to Islam, but had a different view on the required remedial actions. Seeing Turkish Islam from the outside, Muhammad Salim Abdullah shared, indeed, the diagnosis of German scholars: Turkish Islam was distinctly rural, rigid and anti-intellectual. Thus, rather than fighting for the maintenance of a traditional (Turkish) Islam, Islam should be acquainted with its new surroundings. It should be reformed in order to be protected. In line with this view, the Islamic World Congress advocated a public Islamic instruction with the same academic and pedagogical standards as the Christian instruction, taught in the German language by teachers educated in Germany. Moreover, Islamic instruction in public schools was conceived as different from that of the Koran schools. Within the public school religious instruction was also Identitätsunterricht and thus in need of addressing the social reality of Muslim children in Germany (ibid.: 5–22). Yet another voice that appeared in the debate in the early 1980s belonged to a group of erudite and strongly orthodox Muslims, frequently German converts. Like the Turkish Muslim organizations their position appeared defensive, though not in terms of protecting a particular “religious-national culture”. Rather their agenda was to protect the purity of Islamic teachings from all cultural intermingle, Turkish as well as German. They conceived Islam as universal and themselves as members of a truly global community, and hence strongly objected to the incorporation of Islam in Turkish-language classes. Thus, unlike the Turkish Muslim organizations they claimed Islamic instruction in the German language. Concerning the content of the instruction, it should contain the elements of classical Islamic education, such as prayer rituals, rehearsal of the Koran, and introduction to the biography of the Prophet and the Shari’a. Most important of all was the notion of a religious instruction exclusively directed towards God. Its object was not

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socialization or adaptation to a particular historical society, but submission to God. Islamic instruction should not prepare for life in this world, but for the life to come (Søvik 2006: 162–163). Towards the late 1980s the Muslim voice appeared more cohesive. In 1988 ten organizations (Turkish and non-Turkish), referring to themselves as practicing Muslims, signed a joint position paper on the first North-Rhine-Westphalian curriculum. Their exclusion from formal partnership was still a major criticism held against the project, only this time the illegitimacy of non-collaboration was coupled explicitly with a new perspective on life and settlement in Germany. The alliance depicted the lack of cooperation with the Muslim agents as symptomatic of the insufficient readiness of the German authorities to acknowledge that enduring settlement was a state of fact and that the destiny of Muslim children and youth was tied to Germany. Against the backdrop of this new emphasis on permanency they denounced the inclination of the German authorities to negotiate with foreign states, most noticeably Turkey, rather than representatives of civil Islam in Germany. Th e attention devoted to the permanent settlement of Islam in Germany, detached from the country of origin, was also expressed in a new emphasis on a shared Muslim identity: Islamic instruction should not be part of Turkish-language classes, but should assemble Muslim children of all nationalities and should thus be given in the German language. Teachers should be acquainted with the everyday surroundings of the children and not be recruited from abroad for a limited period of time, as was the norm in several German Länder (ibid.: 163). The new emphasis on permanency and life in Germany did not, however, bring about increased receptiveness to the pedagogical design of the state curriculum. The underlying assumption that religion would function as device of orientation only if absorbing and reflecting social and historical “reality”, was seen as diluting the attentiveness towards God that should lie at the heart of Islamic instruction. Moreover, the inclination of the state curriculum to focus on difficult life conditions, social tensions and marginalization was not considered a constructive way of integrating Muslim children. Rather this approach, described as a “pedagogy of conflict”, was held to generate apprehension and put across the image that Muslim children were “patients in need of treatment” and not a normal and legitimate part of German society.1

1

Cibedo 1988: 177–178.

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The condemnation of the so-called “pedagogy of conflict” reflected indeed a different interpretation of the relationship between the social and the religious and hence a different perception of the source of a religious morality and the basis of a religious socialization. From the orthodox Muslim point of view, faith in God was the only true source of morality. Morality reflected a ray of God’s light. It did not derive from society, or an analysis of a particular social context, but was rooted in an eternal truth situated outside the social realm and outside the socially constituted “self ”. For this reason incorporating a reality exterior to the religious into the religious, through the didactical methodology of correlation, appeared intolerable. To some the attention that was devoted by the state curricula to “historical society” even came close to the gravest of all sins, that is, the sin of shirk, which implied worshipping or serving anything other than God. A further criticism of the state curricula was their insufficient treatment of Islamic practices and ritual obligations. These were, indeed, moderated consciously in the state curricula in order to endorse an internal and intellectualized religious identity and encourage flexibility and pragmatism regarding ways of living Islam. To the strictly orthodox Muslim agents, however, this implied a misinterpretation of Islam, whose essence in comparison with Christianity was its binding rules of conduct. Moreover, questioning the practicability of Islamic rituals and obligations in modern industrialized societies, due to obstacles such as working and teaching hours, was seen as contradictory to the universality of Islam and its claim to validity across time and space (Søvik 2006: 166–167).

10. The Muslim Alternative The joint position paper on the North-Rhine-Westphalian curriculum in 1988 reflected a new awareness of enduring settlement and therein an aspiration to negotiate a permanent and legitimate place for Islam in German society. In the 1990s signs of a further accommodation with the new surroundings were visible. A noticeable discursive assimilation had taken place: henceforth the political requirement and legitimacy of public Islamic instruction were presented in terms of identity construction and integration. In fact, the new Muslim discourse bore striking similarities to the discourse of Christian agents concerning the value of Christian instruction: in order to act responsibly and in the interest of

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the common good of German society, Muslim children required a positive self-perception and a solid moral-ethical basis. In the pedagogical field an analogous discursive assimilation occurred. The notion of a didactics of correlation, dealing with the experiences of Muslim children in Germany, was now incorporated into reformed concepts of Islamic instruction. Accordingly a new emphasis was also put on the “self ” and its life-world as a reference and point of departure in religious education, as well as a more intellectualized approach to religious sources (Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland 1999: 3). Steps towards a reformed religious pedagogy were taken in the early 1990s as groups (frequently women’s groups) attached to the major Muslim umbrella organizations embarked upon the process of developing Islamic teaching programs as an alternative to the officially nonconfessional instruction in native-language classes. In the late 1990s both the Islamrat and the Zentralrat officially adopted the new educational concepts (Jonker 2002: 43). In addition to the curriculum draft presented by the Zentralrat in 1999, an Islamic syllabus was presented by the Institut für Internationale Pädagogik und Didaktik (IPD) in Cologne in the following year. Although officially an independent institution, the IPD had close ties to the Millî Görüş.2 The two drafts bore witness to a new awareness of the need to approach German pedagogical standards if Islamic instruction in public schools should ever be a reality. Although both curricula made claims to the didactical principle of correlation and took the “self ” as their pedagogical point of reference, they still differed from the state curricula in North-Rhine-Westphalia, as well as from each other. They represented two different strategies as to how to convey the essentials of Islam and respond concurrently to the requirements of the German surroundings. The approach chosen by the Zentralrat in order to deal with the minority position of Islam and the required adjustment to a non-Muslim society was, in the words of the German scholar of Islam, Irka-Christin Mohr, to reduce Islam to its few most basic elements. These were, however, removed from pupil discussion. The draft excluded the teaching of mu’amalat, that is, the regulations of the Shari’a concerning human 2 The institution was founded in 1993 by German converts, attached to the group Deutschsprachige Islamische Frauengemeinschaft, which also had close ties to Millî Görüş. Lemmen 2001: 72–73.

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interrelationships. As such it appeared compatible with a secular worldview. On the other hand the obligations of worship directed towards God (‘ibadat), most basically the five pillars of Islam, were presented as the unquestionable hard core of Islam. The draft thus remained focused on the transmission of religious obligations and prohibitions, though within a more limited sphere (Mohr 2002: 12–13). The community was also presented as a hard core essential to Islam. Whilst tolerance towards those not belonging to the Muslim community was emphasized, the communitarian aspects of Islam were nonetheless stressed. Islam was unthinkable without the community and in non-Muslim surroundings the community gained a particular significance: it offered the Muslim security and self-esteem, in turn required for the successful adaptation to broader society (Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland 1999: 3–4). Compared with the North-Rhine-Westphalian curricula, the principle of correlation did not involve a “historical reading” of Islamic sources. References to life in Germany were indeed incorporated, but in a different manner than in the state curricula. Where the latter assumed that Muslim life in Germany was characterized by tensions and agony, thus seeking to establish a morality of courage and initiative despite difficulties, the draft of the Zentralrat sought to convey an image of Muslim life as a priori harmonious. The teaching unit on the Muslim family, for instance, did not take the vulnerability of immigrant families as its point of departure. Rather the Muslim family was idealized as a small Umma, characterized by shared religious activities, solidarity and good feelings (ibid.: 14). The syllabus put forward by the IPD addressed the relationship between individual and community and the religious and the secular in a different way than the Zentralrat had done. Rather than reducing Islam to its most basic teachings and obligations, compatible with a secular worldview but devoid of dynamism, the holistic aspects of Islam were attended to in a new and flexible manner. If no clear distinction was drawn between the secular and the religious, more emphasis was put on pluralism and on the individual, detached from the Muslim community. In other words, where the strategy of the Zentralrat was to reduce Islam to a compressed core, the strategy of IPD was to maintain Islamic holism but coupled with looseness and flexibility. At heart of the IPD program was a notion of divine creation as common to all humans, the aim being to situate the Muslim child at the centre of humanity rather than within a particular community. Moreover,

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where the Zentralrat located identity, security and protection within the Muslim community, the IPD draft derived this from an individual bond with God. In line with the holistic perspective of the IPD program, the Koran was also represented as a valid guide to all aspects of life but concurrently an individual and flexible approach to the religious sources was emphasized. Like the state curricula in North-Rhine-Westphalia, the IPD program sought to establish a link of recognition and familiarity between Islam and modernity, and a new intellectualized approach to religion. Thus, democracy was represented as overlapping with the Koranic notion of shura (consultation) and natural sciences as revealing in new ways the marvels of God’s Creation (Mohr 2002: 16–19; Müller 2000: 88–96).

11. Conclusion In political and academic debates on Islam in Europe the focus has been on the Enlightenment aspect of church-state traditions, that is, the principle of differentiation between the realms of religion, law and politics. However, the distinction between these realms is not given straightforwardly, but is historically and continuously negotiated. With France as a major exception the public role of religion has not been discarded altogether in Western Europe. Religion (Christianity) remains important to notions of civility and social cohesion. In Germany the social utility of religion is even tied explicitly to its “authentic” expression: only if allowed to prosper freely, without state intervention, is the public benefit of religion prone to unfold. Faced with Muslim claims to equal treatment this normative rationale inbuilt in the German churchstate system is challenged. The failure of Muslim organizations in being acknowledged as state partners must also be understood on this background. Opening up the public realm to Muslim agents on an equal footing with the churches, exceeds the question of representation in a technical sense. Rather it touches deep-seated notions of religion’s space and socio-cultural purpose. The reluctance in acknowledging Muslim organizations as legitimate public agents has not, however, implied that Islam “as such” has been repudiated as to have a function and impact on public life. Rather the established discourse on religion and religious education has shaped perceptions of the challenge posed by Islam to German society. This challenge consists above all in adjusting Islam to the predefined space

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and role of religion, which is not understood as the privatization or unawareness of the religious but the harmonization between public and religious virtues. Heavily influenced by the German tradition of religious pedagogy the project in North-Rhine-Westphalia may be read as an effort to make Islam fit into the pre-defined space of publicly sanctioned religion. This did not involve historicising it, nor limiting it to the strictly private realm. On the contrary, the ideal integration of Islam appeared to be in the shape of a particular civic ethic, embracing liberal virtues while drawing on religion as a source of personal integrity and social responsibility. The quasi-confessional aspects of the project and the aspiration to domesticate Islam from above clearly made it questionable from the perspective of state neutrality, and it remained for this reason contentious. Still, the kinship with the confessional approach was no coincidence. Approaching Islam from a quasi-confessional angle and seeking to fuse it with the norms and values of broader society, the program aimed to breed a new sense of wholeness and subjective identifi cation, connecting the inner mental universe of the children with larger society. Clearly the ultimate objective was to prepare Islam for a legitimate public role, alongside the historical denominations. The shortcomings of Muslim organizations in Germany have above all resided in their alleged social and political “immaturity”. Awaiting the transformation of Islam and the emergence of Muslim agents trusted to sustain a socially responsible and beneficial program of value instruction, the state (in cooperation with the laicist Turkish state) has intervened in their place. The barriers by which Muslim organizations have been countered have, however, not only pushed forward structural and organizational transformations but also political and pedagogical changes. In the course of the 1990s the idea that certain reforms concerning teaching methods and pedagogical perspectives were required for Islam to become a part of public education alongside Christianity, gained gradual acceptance. Moreover, the image of Islam and German society as opposite poles was replaced increasingly by a representation of the two as compatible. Keeping the children in touch with Islam was now presented as a benefit to German society, much in the terms used by German scholars and politicians: an Islamic morality would provide the children with a sense of security and self-esteem and thus make them good citizens. The example of North-Rhine-Westphalia defies the widely accepted dichotomy between Islam and a Western political modernity, distinguished by state neutrality and a differentiation between private and

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public virtues. It not only reveals how these principles remain indistinct and contestable, but also how Muslim discourses inevitably comply with their new surroundings.

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Landesinstitut für Curriculumentwicklung, Lehrerfortbildung und Weiterbildung (ed.). 1982. Entwurf: Religionsunterricht für Schüler islamischen Glaubens—zwölf Unterrichtseinheiten. Neuss. Landesinstitut für Schule und Weiterbildung (ed.). 1986. Religiöse Unterweisung fürSchüler islamischen Glaubens. 24 Unterrichtseinheiten für die Grundschule. Soest. —— (ed.). 1991. Religiöse Unterweisung für Schülerinnen und Schüler islamischen Glaubens. 12 Unterrichtseinheiten für die Klassen 5 und 6. Soest. —— (ed.). 1996. Religiöse Unterweisung für Schülerinnen und Schüler islamischen Glaubens. 24 Unterrichtseinheiten für die Jahrgangsstufen 7 bis 10. Soest. Lemmen, Thomas. 2001. Muslime in Deutschland: Eine Herausforderung für Kirche und Gesellschaft. Baden-Baden. Link, Christoph. 1995. „Religionsunterricht“. In Listl, Joseph and Dietrich Pirson (eds.) 1995. Handbuch des Staatskirchenrechts der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Band II, 2nd ed. Berlin. Mohr, Irka Christin. 2002. „Islamic instruction in Germany and Austria: A comparison of principles derived from religious thought. In Cahiers d’études sur la Méditerranée orientale et le monde turco-iranien. No. 33. Monsma, Stephen V. and J. Christopher Soper. 1997. The challenge of Pluralism: Church and State in five Democracies. Oxford. Müller, Rabeya. 2000. „Islamischer Religionsunterricht—einmal anders“. In Beauftragte der Bundesregierung für Ausländerfragen (ed.). 2000. Islamischer Religionsunterricht an staatlichen Schulen in Deutschland: Praxis—Konzepte—Perspektiven. Dokumentation eines Fachgespräches. Berlin. Özsinmaz, Metin. 2001. „Zum Curriculum der Islamischen Unterweisung: Erfahrungen und Grenzen“. In Gottwald, Eckhart and Dirk Chr. Siedler (eds.). 2001. “Islamische Unterweisung in deutscher Sprache“: Eine erste Zwischenbilanz des Schulversuchs in Nordrhein-Westfalen. Neukirchen-Vluyn. Schiffauer, Werner. 1997. Fremde in der Stadt: Zehn Essays über Kultur und Differenz. Frankfurt am Main. Schröder, Bernd. 2001. „Islamische Unterweisung in Nordrhein-Westfalen“. In Schreiner, Peter and Karen Wulff (eds.). 2001. Islamischer Religionsunterricht: Ein Lesebuch. Münster. „Stellungnahme zum Curriculumentwurf ‚Religiöse Unterweisung für Schüler islamischen Glaubens’ aus der Sicht praktizierender Muslime“ in Cibedo. Vol. 2, no. 6, 1988. Søvik, Margrete. 2006. The Social Benefit of Domesticated Religion: Islamic Instruction in German Public Schools, 1979–2001. PhD thesis. Bergen. Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland (ed.). 1999. Lehrplan für den islamischen Religionsunterricht (Grundschule). Cologne.

DIFFICULT IDENTIFICATIONS: THE DEBATE ON ALEVISM AND ISLAM IN GERMANY Martin Sökefeld

“There are five conditions1 for Islam. We do not comply with them. We do not pray in the mosque, we do not fast in Ramadan, we do not go to Mecca. Why then should Alevism be a part of Islam?” “In cem we invoke Allah Mohammed Ali. How could we assert that Alevism is not a part of Islam?”

1. Introduction Is Alevism Islamic? This seemingly innocent question poses a major problem of self-identification to Alevis in Germany. It has lead to bitter and ongoing disputes within Alevi communities. From the vantage point of the history of religions, the question is almost non-existent as it is obvious that Alevism derives from Islamic traditions—especially from traditions related to the Shi’a—although Alevism has integrated a number of “heterodox” elements in faith and ritual. Yet, doctrines and practices can be interpreted in contradicting and mutually exclusive ways. The essence of the theological debate about the question of whether Alevism belongs to Islam is succinctly captured in the two statements quoted above, which I recorded during fieldwork among Alevis in Germany.2 However, the problem is not simply a matter of dispute about different versions of belief and contradicting theological perspectives. It is intimately and inextricably entangled with highly politicized issues that

1

In Turkish, the “five pillars” of Islam are referred to as the beş şart, “five conditions.” 2 Fieldwork was carried out from 2000 to 2004, mainly in Hamburg, but also in Cologne and other German cities as well as in Turkey. Results of this research have been presented in my Habilitationsschrift, which is published as Sökefeld, 2008. I thank the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft for the generous support of fieldwork.

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relate to the relationships of Alevis with Islamic groups, to their positioning in the debate on Islam and immigration in Germany and to the problem of recognition of Alevism in Turkey. In this article I will disentangle some of these issues and focus especially on the significance of the question of Islam in the ongoing politics of recognition of the Alevi movement in Germany. Accordingly, the topic of this article is not the direct relationships between Alevis and (Sunni) Muslims in Germany or elsewhere but the question of how to categorize Alevis and Alevism in specific contexts. Indirectly, however, relations between Alevis and Muslims as they have been historically experienced and represented are deeply implicated in the issue of categorization.

2. Alevis and Alevism Alevis are a religious and cultural minority that has developed in Anatolia since the 13th century.3 Sufism and mystical teachings, especially as they were represented by Hacı Bektaş Veli, played a significant role in this development. Alevis relate themselves back to the Imam Ali, the cousin and son-in-law of the prophet Mohammad, and to the chain of twelve Imams. Also Kerbela and the martyrdom of the Imam Hüseyin (Arabic: Husayn) provide significant points of reference. From a perspective of the history of Islam, they can therefore be regarded as an offshoot of the Shi’a. In belief and particularly in ritual, however, Alevism is fundamentally distinct from the “orthodox” versions of both Shi’a and Sunni Islam. Alevis do not accept most of the “five pillars” of Islam. They neither keep the fast in Ramadan, nor do they undertake the pilgrimage to Mecca or pray five times a day. Generally, mosques are rejected as places of prayer. Alevis do not recognize the Sharia. The distinctiveness of Alevism is most apparent in the Alevi ritual which is called cem and which is in almost every respect an antithesis of Muslim prayer. Cem is a communal ritual in which men and women jointly participate. In the

3 For a general introduction to Alevis and Alevism, see Kehl-Bodrogi, 1988; Vorhoff, 1995 and Dreßler, 2002.

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past, the ritual mostly took place in normal houses in the villages. The participants in cem do not sit oriented towards Mecca but are seated in a circle, facing one another. Ideally, the ritual is a kind of a Durkheimian sacralization of community in which the social relationships within a local group are strengthened and renewed. In the initial phase of cem, conflicts among the members of the congregation therefore have to be revealed and settled. Religious hymns accompanied by the Turkish lute saz are a significant element in the ritual, as is a ritual dance called semah which is performed by women and men together. Cem closes with a congregational meal which again underlines the communal character of the ritual. Today, Alevis emphasize that cem is also an expression of the equality of the sexes. The ritual is led by a religious specialist called dede. Dedes are members of clans and lineages that mostly relate back to the twelve Imams. That is, dedes are seyits. Religious authority in traditional Alevism is genealogically legitimized. Dedes are to be distinguished from “ordinary” Alevis who are called talips (students, pupils). Alevis were not recognized as a religious community in the Ottoman empire. Rather, they often faced discrimination and persecution. As a consequence, Alevis mostly receded to marginal mountainous tracts that were difficult to access. For fear of discrimination and persecution, most Alevis practiced takiya, that is, they dissimulated their affiliation and took pains not to reveal their being Alevi to the general, non-Alevi public. As a consequence of takiya, no outsiders were allowed to be present in Alevi rituals. The congregation of cem was a close-knit local community of talips that was by hereditary connected to a particular dede family. In principle, only the dedes of this particular line were allowed to conduct cem in the particular local community. Alevis are found among Turkish, as well as among Kurdish (especially Zaza but also Kurmancı), speaking people. The establishment of the Turkish republic in 1923 conferred on Alevis the status of Turkish citizens. Political marginalization of individual Alevis ended therefore while religious discrimination continued. Still today, Alevis lack all formal recognition in Turkey. Formally, through the establishment of the state authority on religion, the Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı (DİB), Islam was put under the surveillance of the state, but this state-controlled religion did not allow any “deviation” from what was considered the orthodoxy. Thus, a law of 1925 prohibited all “heterodox” religious organizations and practices, notably the tarikats (Sufi orders).

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The transformation of Turkish society through processes of ruralurban migration since the 1950s has deeply affected the traditional Alevi social organization of dede-centered local communities. These local communities and especially the hereditary relations between the dedes and their talips were to a considerable extent dissolved. Ritual life subsided as the social structure that was required in order that cem could take place could not be replicated in the cities. Alevism suffered a further blow since the late 1960s as a consequence of the political reorientation of especially younger Alevis towards the radical left. Leftist Alevis blamed dedes as exploiters of the people. In the 1970s, Turkish society became deeply polarized between right and left political factions, and violence between these groups became the order of the day. In the late 1970s and early 1980s, Alevis suffered pogrom-like violence in a number of Anatolian cities, notably in Sivas, Çorum and Maraş.4 The military coup of September 1982 resulted in the persecution and large-scale imprisonment of leftist Alevis. Even today, Alevis continue to lack any kind of formal and collective recognition as Alevis in Turkey. Earlier, Alevi associations were prohibited because the Turkish law of associations prohibits any organization that is based on shared (minority) religion, ethnicity or language as separatism that endangers the unity of the Turkish state and nation. For about fifteen years, Alevis have established a large number of associations in Turkey which also have revitalized Alevi ritual, but these associations are mostly not allowed to refer explicitly to Alevism in their names and in their statutes.

4

On the massacre in Maraş see Sinclair-Webb, 2003.

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3. Alevi migration to Germany and the rise of the Alevi movement Migration of Alevis to Germany started with the beginning of labor migration from Turkey to Germany in the mid 1960s. Three phases of migration can be distinguished: a first phase of labor migration, supplemented by family reunion, that lasted from the sixties to the mid-1970s, then a phase of politically-induced migration from the late 1970s to the mid-1980s which was instigated by the political upheavals in Turkey, including the military coup, and finally another phase of politicallyinduced migration related to the Kurdish struggle and its repression by Turkish forces which between the late 1980s and the mid-1990s brought mainly Kurdish Alevis to Germany. Until the late 1980s, Alevis were hardly visible in Germany society. They continued to practice takiya and abstained from establishing associations or performing their rituals. Takiya was also a strategy of protection from libelous prejudices and accusations that were voiced by Sunni Turks in Germany as in Turkey. Such libel referred especially to sexual orgies that were alleged to take place during cem. From the mid-1970s, many Alevis became engaged in political associations of the Turkish left in Germany. Within these groups and parties they did not become visible as Alevis. A gradual transition to the public sphere started after the Maraş massacre in which more than a hundred Alevis were killed in late 1979.Then, some people broke away from general political associations and established separate associations which, however, did not figure explicitly and unequivocally as Alevi associations but took other names. In the mid-1980s, cem was for the first time publicly performed in Germany. Alevism became a public issue in Germany in 1989. In this year, an “Alevi Culture Group” was established in Hamburg and organized the “Alevi Culture Week” which took place in October of that year. This was the first time that the label “Alevi” was used for an association and a public event. The Alevi Culture Week which drew up to 5,000 participants can be regarded as a collective break with takiya. Even earlier, in the summer of 1989, the Alevi Culture Group published the “Alevi declaration” (Alevi bildirgesi) which demanded the public and formal recognition of Alevis and Alevism in Germany as well as in Turkey. With this step, the Alevi movement was born which began the struggle for the recognition of Alevism in both countries.

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The transition of Alevism from a hidden to a public affair is related to three developments that led to an emphasis of “Alevi identity”. These developments converged with a global move towards identity politics that began in the 1980s. The first of these was the increasing importance of Islam in political life in Turkey. After the military coup of 1982, the government attempted to overcome the polarization of Turkish society by proposing the “Turkish-Islamic synthesis”, a new emphasis on Islam as a basis of the Turkish nation. One practical step towards achieving this synthesis was the introduction of mandatory religious classes in schools. These religious classes referred exclusively to the Sunni version of Islam. While before religious classes had been optional, students were now forced to attend them. Alevis considered this a move towards assimilating Alevis and turning them into Sunnis. Also, the rise of political Islam was viewed with great suspicion by Alevis. Thus, Alevism was considered as a beleaguered identity and tradition that needed protection. The second development was the rise of the Kurdish movement and Kurdish separatism in Turkey. Kurds suffered from a similar policy of official non-recognition and discrimination in Turkey. Although Alevis never envisaged a kind of militant struggle for the recognition of Alevism, the Kurdish movement nevertheless provided a strong impetus towards “defending” a besieged identity. The third development was the rise of identity politics in the context of migration discourse in Germany in the 1980s. As a reaction to an increasing incidence of racism and violence against immigrants, multiculturalist discourse framed migrants’ cultures and identities as an “enrichment” for German society that deserve protection and that need to resist assimilation. Both German and immigrant activists raised their voices in this discourse and, on the political left, the consensus was that migrants should maintain their identities in Germany. In relation to migrants from Turkey, this discourse referred first to Turkish and then to Kurdish identity. It was a quite natural step that in this context Alevis claimed an Alevi identity that needed both continuation and protection. From the Alevi declaration onwards, the Alevi movement was conceived as an identity movement that aimed at the recognition and protection of Alevi identity. Among Alevis, however, it was never totally clear what “Alevi identity” precisely meant and how it should be conceived. Disputes about “Alevi identity” continue to characterize the movement up to the present and engendered a number of significant conflicts and cleavages. One such dispute relates to the question of whether Alevism is part of Islam or a separate religion.

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The Alevi Culture Week was replicated by similar events in many German cities. All over Germany, Alevi associations were established. The collective break with takiya was experienced as a liberation and empowerment. Many Alevis took up commitments within the associations and organized panel discussions on the history and future of Alevism, Alevi culture festivals and rituals. The movement experienced a further boost of mobilization when in July 1993 an Alevi culture festival in the Turkish city Sivas was violently attacked by Islamists. This “Sivas massacre” was perceived in Turkey and in Germany as proof that Alevis were besieged and victimized. Sivas provided a strong momentum that united Alevis across Germany and Europe. An umbrella association was established, the AABF (Avrupa Alevi Birlikleri Federasyonu, Federation of Alevi communities in Europe) which within a year had more than a hundred membership organizations. In a way, the AABF became the embodiment of the Alevi movement, not only because it is the most visible association that organizes large-scale events, but also because it became the arena of disputes that several times threatened to tear the movement apart.5 After several steps of re-organization, the AABF is now the German umbrella association which, together with similar associations in France, Switzerland, Belgium, the Netherlands, Austria, Denmark and Sweden, forms the European Confederation of Alevi Communities (Avrupa Alevi Birlikleri Konfederasyonu, AABK). While during the first years of its existence the AABF had largely been engaged in Turkey-oriented politics, issuing statements that condemned the discrimination of Alevis in Turkey and demanded its recognition there, the association subsequently added strong commitments in Germany that can be categorized as oriented towards “integrating” Alevism in German society. Among these was a campaign for naturalization in Germany, a project for the integration of disadvantaged youth and the efforts for Alevi religious classes in German schools. The Alevi movement in Germany is closely connected with the Alevi movement in Turkey which developed coeval. In the early 1990s, Alevism became a public issue in Turkey too, especially after a series of

5 However, not all Alevi associations in Germany have become members of the AABF. There are about twenty independent associations. Some of these independent associations are loosely related with CEM-Vakfı, the Turkish-Alevi association which is rather close to the Turkish state and which maintains a representation in Essen. Further, there are about twenty Kurdish-Alevi associations in Germany that have formed their own umbrella association.

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newspaper reports on Alevism in the Turkish press. In Turkey, Alevis were “discovered” and praised as a secular-minded and largely Kemalistoriented section of society that could provide a certain balance against the growing political significance of Islamist groups.6 Yet, as this perception never resulted in a formal recognition of Alevism in Turkey, the Alevis’ position in the country remained ambivalent at best. In Turkey, the Alevi movement is much more diversified than in Germany because up until now, no strong overall umbrella-association emerged. Rather, Alevi associations in Turkey reflect different political stances that range from a statist and rightist position of CEM Vakfı to a leftist position of the Pir Sultan-associations. The Alevi movement has produced a deep transformation of Alevism. Alevism has been turned from a secluded affair into a public issue. Further, the social organization of Alevism was radically transformed. The dedes as central institutions of Alevism were to a certain extent replaced by the associations. Legitimacy of institutions thereby shifted from a genealogical model to a democratic model (Sökefeld, 2002a). Largely, dedes were also replaced as teachers and transmitters of Alevi knowledge by intellectuals, the so-called araştırmacı-yazar (researcherwriter), whose credentials are not based on belonging to certain holy lineages but on secular education and on experience with the media. Finally, Alevism was changed from an oral tradition into a literate discourse, embodied in hundreds of books, journals, websites and other written sources.7

4. Identity and the politics of recognition I have introduced the Alevi movement as an identity movement that struggles for the recognition of Alevism. Identity has become one of the most popular concepts in the social and cultural sciences but, after years of anti-essentialist critique, it still remains a difficult concept. Writings on identity movements easily slip into the language of fixed, essentialised identities that is used by movements’ activists for the purpose of achieving recognition as a community, as a collective subject. In order

6 7

On the Alevi movement in Turkey see Kehl-Bodrogi, 1992 and Vorhoff, 1995. See Sökefeld, 2002b on the role of websites for Alevi identity.

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to avoid that, I regard a short discussion of the concept of identity to be necessary. Analytically, I certainly employ an anti-essentialist, processual concept of identity. This conception, nevertheless, has to accommodate the fact that concepts of identity used by the people involved are essentialist. I propose to frame identity within three interrelated dimensions, namely difference, multiplicity and intersectionality (Sökefeld, 2001, 2008). First, an identity makes sense only because there are other identities. To claim an identity is an assertion of difference. To insist on Alevi identity is to emphasize that Alevis differ from Sunnis, for instance. Second, every individual embodies many different identities. An Alevi is not only an Alevi but also a Turkish (or German) citizen, a person from a particular region in Turkey, a Kurd or a Turk, an adherent of a particular political perspective, a man or a woman, to mention just a few possibilities. That is, identifying as Alevi does not exhaust a person’s range of possible identification. Third, the various identifications that a person may assume intersect with one another. Identities have effects upon one another, they form relations of mutual transformation and intrusion. Identities may be mutually reinforcing but also competing and subverting. For instance, as a consequence of the unitary Turkish idea of the nation, to assume an identification as a Turk may have the effect of playing down Alevi identity. Or, conversely, identifying as Alevi may be perceived as subverting Turkish national identity. In short, I conceptualize identities as a field of multiple intersecting differences. In such a field, identity politics aims at stabilizing a particular identity (as Alevi, as Turk, as Muslim), and this almost necessarily occurs at the expense of other identifications. Identity politics, therefore, frequently breeds resistance and the assertion of other, competing differences. Thus, the emphasis on Alevi identity at the beginning of the Alevi movement provoked the resistance of Kurds that endeavored to relegate Alevi identity, in contrast to Kurdish identity, to a level of minor importance. Similarly, the relationship between Alevism and Islam, or Alevi and Muslim identities, is a relationship of intricately interwoven and in many respects competing or even mutually exclusive claims. The intersection of these two identifications is also affected by other crosscutting identifications, most importantly by identifications ascribed in Turkish national and German migration discourses.

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martin sökefeld 5. Alevis are not Sunnis: The master difference

As more and more people in Germany learn that there are people called “Alevis” in the country, Alevis are increasingly required to explain what Alevism is and what features characterize Alevis. Such statements of self-identification can be found in many different forms: as oral explanations in personal encounter, as remarks made in passing, as formal speeches in public events, or as written documents published by Alevi associations in print or on the Net. It is difficult to come across any such statement that does not refer to the difference between Alevis and Sunnis. Accordingly, I call this difference a master difference. This master difference is of much greater importance than, say, the difference between Kurds and non-Kurds among Alevis. It is impossible to discuss what Alevis are without referring to the difference between Alevis and Sunnis (and, to a lesser extent the difference of Alevis and Shi’as). On its Internet homepage, the AABF published a short introduction to Alevism titled “A summary: Alevilik—Alevism.” After a sentence about the number of Alevis, the text turns to the difference: Alevism was formed in Anatolia between the 13th and 16th centuries. Because Alevis in Anatolia maintained a strong relationship with preIslamic culture (. . .) they differ from orthodox-Islamic Sunnis as well as from Iranian Shi’as. A difference from Sunni and Shi’a orthodoxy is that Anatolian Alevis do not accept the sharia, the Islamic legal system, as the word of God.8

This paragraph locates the origin of the difference between Alevism and Sunni/Shi’a Islam in history, that is, it is emphasized that Alevism has right from its origin been different from Sunni and Shi’a Islam. The text continues to describe Alevis by referring to Sunni Islam. It mentions that the official representation of Islam in Turkey, the Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı (DİB), is exclusively oriented towards Sunni Islam as are the compulsory religious classes in the Turkish school system. Subsequently, the text turns to religious practice: Alevis pray individually in the evenings and on Thursday evenings in the community, the reunion of cem. They do not go to the mosque but normally have their own places of worship (cemevi) (. . .). Alevis do not fast in the month of ramadan but [hold fast] for twelve days during the month of muharrem. Alevis do not undertake the pilgrimage to Mecca (ibid.).

8

(2/9/04). Translation of this and all other quotations from German or Turkish by Martin Sökefeld.

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This is a relatively elaborate statement because the text says not only what Alevis in contrast with Sunnis do not do, but also what they do instead. Frequently, when an Alevi explains Alevism to somebody else, explanations of Alevism are purely negative and content themselves with saying that Alevis neither pray in Mosques, nor fast in Ramadan nor travel to Mecca. Very importantly, it is also emphasized that Alevi women do not wear the headscarf. Alevism is defined in contrast with Sunni Islam. This contrast is mostly expressed in a quite general but still ambivalent manner. That is, in identifying themselves by contrast, Alevis often do not specifically refer to Sunnis but to Islam and Muslims in general. In discussions with Alevis, it is not rare that in one moment they emphasize the difference between Alevism and Islam (and between Alevis and Muslims) while in the next instance it is asserted that Alevis are “of course” Muslims. In Alevi discourse, therefore, the relationship between Alevism and Islam is characterized by a considerable degree of ambivalence and ambiguity. The rules of Sunni Islam are a central point of contrast. Sunni Islam is defined by Alevis as a religion with a fixed set of rules that prescribe prayer, pilgrimage, etc. A shorthand for these rules is the sharia (Turkish: şeriat), the Islamic system of law that, ideally, is meant to govern all aspects of human action. Yet the sharia does not apply to Alevis. In Alevi mystical teaching the Alevi path (Alevi yolu) is divided into four parts or “gateways” (kapı) that have to be passed until the human being finally encounters God. The first kapı is şeriat and it is assumed that all Alevis, by definition, have already passed this gate.9 The rules of Sunni Islam therefore do not apply to Alevis. Sunnis, however, are seen as sticking to this rather preliminary step on the way to God. Alevism is defined as a religion that does not center upon rules but upon the human being. This is expressed in a frequently quoted saying of Hacı Bektaş Veli: Benim Kaabem insandır. My Kaaba is the human being. While the Sunnis have to direct their prayer towards the Kaaba in Mecca, the practice of Alevis has to be directed towards the fellow human being. More precisely, whereas Sunnis have to abide by myriad rules—there is, for instance, not only the rule to pray five times a day but also the specific and detailed rules of how to clean the body before 9 The other three gateways are tarikat (mysticism), maarifet (knowledge) and hakkikat (truth). Each kapı is governed by ten rules (makam) (Bozkurt, 1988: 92ff.). It is understood that ordinary Alevis are found on the stage of tarikat while only saintly persons that devote their complete life to religion reach the latter stages.

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prayer and how to perform the prayer itself—Alevis have to keep one commandment only which again was formulated by Hacı Bektaş Veli: Eline beline diline sahıp ol! Be the master of your hands, your loins and your tongue! That is, Alevis are called upon to control their actions, their sexuality and their words. In Alevi understanding, this commandment also focuses on the human being. Its intention is to enable a social life free of conflicts. A booklet published by the youth wing of the Alevi Culture Center Stuttgart puts this idea of Alevism and its contrast with Sunni Islam into the following words: In contrast with orthodox-Islamic teaching, Alevi teaching has to be designated as liberal because it allows reason within religion. Alevis reject the sharia (the Islamic system of law) and do not go to the mosque for prayer but have their own places of prayer (Cem houses). In Alevism, fundamental values like justice, human love, tolerance and freedom of religion and opinion play a central role. This is expressed especially in the definition of an Alevi as a person that accommodates human love in his or her heart.10

This major difference has several consequences for the understanding of Alevism. One is that the difference is frequently emphasized further by equating Sunni Islam with fundamentalism. Another consequence is that a significant section of the Alevis identify Alevism not specifically as the other of Sunni Islam but, simply, as the other of Islam in general. Many and perhaps most Alevis, however, express a considerable ambivalence in their relationship to Islam.

6. Is Alevism Islam? The question whether Alevism is part of Islam or not is presently the most bitterly disputed issue among Alevis in Germany. In many associations there are endless debates about this question; sometimes members leave their association because no unanimity can be achieved and associations are at times even on the verge of splitting up. The basic arguments for both positions in this dispute do not require theological expertise. They are neatly summarized in the statements quoted at the beginning of this article and they are easily understood. The statements form an aporia that cannot easily be solved. The majority of Alevis in Germany are of the opinion that Alevism is part of Islam. Given that this position is held almost by default by Alevis in Turkey, it is at first 10

Jugendgruppe des Alevitischen Kulturzentrums Stuttgart, 2001: 6.

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6,0% yes

7,7%

no I don’t know 51,1% 35,2%

no answer

Figure 1: Is Alevism today part of Islam? 6,9% 8,2% yes 26,2%

58,8%

no I don’t know no answer

Figure 2: Did Alevism originate historically from Islam? Results of a survey among the members of Alevi associations in Hamburg (n = 233)

sight surprising that a significant minority of Alevis in the diaspora has accepted the point of view that Alevism is independent from Islam and constitutes a religion in its own right. In a survey conducted among the members of Alevi associations in Hamburg in 2002/2003, I found that more than one third of the respondents expressed the opinion that Alevism is not a part of Islam today (fig. 1). As a second question on this topic, I asked whether historically Alevism originated from Islam. More than a quarter of the respondents even denied this historical relationship between Alevism and Islam (fig. 2). Yet, while the position that Alevism is independent of Islam is held today by a significant section of the leadership of the AABF, this idea is bitterly opposed by many Alevis in Germany.

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Especially at the beginning of the Alevi movement in the late 1980s, many activists expressed the idea that Alevism was not simply a religion but that it was culture in a much broader sense (Sökefeld, 2004a). To conceptualize Alevism as culture instead of taking it as a religion enabled the affiliation of many persons who before had been committed to the political left and who as leftists had rejected religion outright. The conceptualization of Alevism as culture subverts the truth claims of religion. In the first place, such “culturalist Alevis” are today of the opinion that Alevism is not Islam but an independent body of belief and tradition. The majority of those Alevis who regard Alevism as part of Islam hold this opinion rather by default, as the continuation of an identification acquired in the Turkish context, without deriving specific consequences for Alevism and Alevi practice from this identification. That is, even those who identify Alevism as Islam do not demand that Alevis should pray five times a day. The identification of Alevism as Islam does not supersede the Alevi-Sunni master difference. This “identification by default” is mostly characterized by the ambivalence to which I referred above, which easily—and practically unnoticed—slips from the assertion of contrast and difference from Islam to the assertion of affiliation with Islam. Others, especially some dedes, endorse a quite different identification of Islam and Alevism. In their view, Alevism is real, true Islam while Sunni Islam is a distorted version of the original revelation. One proponent of this idea was dede Şinasi Koç, a dede who frequently toured Germany in the 1980s and who also presided over the first public cem that took place in Hamburg in 1984. In a book that is aptly titled Gerçek Islam Dini (True Islam Religion) (Koç, 1989), he argued that in consequence of the struggle about succession after the death of the prophet Mohammad, the Muslim community was led astray by the Umayyads and that for 1,400 years Muslim scholars hid the truth and spread hypocrisy in order to please those in power (ibid.: 10–14). In this work, emeviler (Umayyads) is almost a synonym for Sunnis. Koç makes every effort to prove Sunni Islam wrong: Sunni Islam is not true Islam. It is significant that Koç’s arguments are based on the Qur’an. He argues, for instance, that the Qur’an (and thus true Islam) neither prescribes namaz (ibid.: 105) nor prohibits alcohol (ibid.: 144). The word Alevism does not appear in the book, it is simply true Islam.

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This line of argumentation that defends Alevism on the basis of the Qu’ran is also supported by other dedes in Germany. Scriptural knowledge is regarded by them as a sine qua non of Alevi religious authority. For example, dede Derviş Tur, who played an important role especially at the beginning of the Alevi movement in Germany, has always insisted that Alevis is religion and not simply culture. He has become a leading antagonist of those who reject the idea that Alevism is part of Islam and argues from the Qur’an that Alevism is the mystic, inner path of Islam that was established by the Imam Ali. As such, it is opposed to the “external” Islam of şeriat. Present-day Sunni Islam, according to Derviş Tur, is not based on şeriat as it had been established by the Prophet Mohammed; this original şeriat was distorted and turned upside down by the Umayyads (Tur, 2002: 279ff.). Derviş Tur defines Alevism as “a faith that interprets Islam differently from Sunni şeriat, that does not accept what has been added to Islam by icma11 and that is not bound by the backward and fanatical rules of şeriat” (ibid.: 285). Alevism is again presented as true Islam that is free from the distortions of Sunni religion. For many years, Derviş Tur headed the dedes council of the AABF. In consequence of many disputes which cannot be detailed here, relationships between the dedes council and the managing committee of the AABF were quite strained. An unspoken issue of conflict was also the question as to what counted more, the genealogical legitimacy of the dedes or the democratic legitimacy of the elected committee. In spring 2003, the committee re-organized the dedes council and implicitly solved this dispute in favor of the committee as starting then the members of the dedes-council had to be elected by the membership associations of the AABF. Another dede, Hasan Kılavuz, was elected chairman of the new dedes council. He decidedly was of the opinion that Alevism is not part of Islam but an independent religion and that the Qur’an, due to its distortions, is not a source of Alevism. He emphatically endorsed the idea that Alevism is a separate religion in its own right, completely unrelated to Islam. Hasan Kılavuz repeated the argument that Alevism did not accept the principles of Islamic religion and that the rules of Islam reject central elements of Alevism like music and dance in ritual, the consumption of alcohol, the legality of images and the equality of the sexes (Kılavuz, 2003). In an interview, he said: 11 Icma (Arabic: ijma) is the knowledgeable consent of the ulema that beside the Qur’an and the sunna is accepted as a source of law in Sunni Islam.

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martin sökefeld The people think we have Allah, Mohammed, Ali, they belong to Islam and therefore we belong to Islam too. But Islam is not only Allah, Mohammad, Ali; Islam is much more! And all that has nothing to do with us!

Hasan Kılavuz has been severely attacked for his views by other dedes, in the first place by Derviş Tur.12 He countered these attacks with reproaching those who include Alevism in Islam for having become assimilated by Sunnis, arguing that in calling Alevism Islam they have succumbed to centuries of pressure exerted by the Sunni powers in the Ottoman Empire. In the interview, he said about the dedes who include Alevism within Islam: Their [Alevi] faith is rejected by Islam but they do not have the courage to say that. Alevis have nothing to do with Islam. They are blind Alevis! They look into the mirror but are unable to recognize themselves. Islam has fought against Alevism and tried to annihilate it. Now the Muslims say: You have Ali, Mohammed, Hüseyin, therefore you belong to Islam. But Islam murdered Ali and Hüseyin! We have preserved their memory against Islam! (. . .) If we are Muslims too and if the Qur’an is also our book, then why were we never accepted by Islam, why then all those massacres in history?

This statement by Hasan Kılavuz indicates that the question as to whether Alevism is Islam is neither a purely inner-Alevi issue nor simply a matter of faith. Relations with others like Sunnis—but, as I will show, also with non-Alevi Germans13—are deeply implicated in the issue. From an analytical perspective, the issue has to be interpreted within the framework of discursive, social and political context in which it is debated. This is in the first place a diasporic context.

12 Partly, these attacks have been published by the German edition of the Turkish daily Hürriyet (e.g. on April 18 and 19, 2004). Hürriyet has been very critical of the AABF and, during the years 2000 and 2001, the daily published a veritable campaign against the association that was largely based on false accusations. See Sökefeld 2004b. 13 In many cases it is wrong to oppose Alevis to Germans because many Alevis have become naturalized German citizens. According to my survey, more than 50% of the members of Alevi associations in Hamburg have assumed German citizenship. The percentage of naturalization among Alevis is much larger than among migrants from Turkey in general (Sökefeld, 2003). To put Alevis in contrast to Germans bears the danger of ascribing Alevis a fixed and perpetual identity as “foreigners” in Germany. Whenever I employ the opposition of “Alevis” and “Germans” in this article, I do this only for reasons of convenience in order to avoid the longer expression “non-Alevi Germans”.

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7. Alevis, Islam, immigration and strategies of integration in Germany The question as to whether Alevism is part of Islam is mainly an issue which concerns Alevis in the diaspora. In Turkey, the overwhelming majority of Alevis simply takes for granted that Alevis are Muslims. Among the Alevi associations in Turkey, only the leftist Pir Sultan Abdal associations express a more equivocal position and emphasize Alevism as a syncretistic culture and religion that has absorbed elements and influences of many different religions.14 In Turkey the idea that Alevis are Muslims is strictly enforced by the state. Turkish passports state the religious affiliation of their bearers and identify Alevis as Muslims. The identification of Alevis, as Muslims is also the main argument for the present policy of the DİB: The DİB caters to the needs of Muslims; Alevis are Muslims and therefore there is no need that the DİB gives specific attention to the demands of Alevis, or that another authority is established for Alevis. This inclusive policy of the Turkish Republic reverses the previous exclusive policy of the Ottoman state where Alevis were mostly regarded as heretics and where fetvas of ulema that categorized Alevis as apostates were enforced also by the state. But in the Kemalist endeavor to weld a unified Turkish nation, Alevis were taken by default as Muslims. Kemalist “laicism” notwithstanding, a state-controlled Islam is an important dimension of the dominant national self-understanding in Turkey: “(. . .) to be Islamic has become as important as to be Turkish,” writes David Shankland (1999: 25).15 Yet, the religiously inclusive policy of the Turkish Republic implies that Alevis are subjected to the Sunni version of Islam. In no realm of official policy are there special provisions for Alevis. As a consequence, although Alevis in Turkey regard themselves as Muslims, they insist on being a particular kind of Muslims that differs fundamentally from that version of Islam that is endorsed by the state. In the German diaspora, the parameters of religious and national identity have changed. Some Alevis do not continue to regard them-

14 Only recently. Ali Doğan, the chairman of the Hacı Bektaş Veli Anadolu Kültür Vakfı, a large Alevi association in Ankara, emphasized that Alevism is different from Islam (see Hürriyet October 1, 2004). 15 Cf. Seufert, 1997c: 204ff. and Cetinsaya, 1999. On laicism in Turkey see Davison, 2003.

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selves as members of the Turkish nation in the first place,16 and even for many of those who do so, the connection of Turkish national identity with Islam has become highly questionable. Thus, all theological considerations aside, the necessity to identify as Muslim has weakened considerably. On the contrary, in the context of the German discourse on and policy toward Islam and immigration, the disjunction of Alevism and Islam almost recommends itself. Immigration continues to be a highly controversial topic in Germany. It is largely regarded as a “dangerous” phenomenon that creates all kind of social and political problems. “Integration” is the most frequently employed concept in German migration discourse. Yet the way in which the issue of integration is discursively constructed equals a large-scale denial of integration. In migration discourse, “deficits” of integration on part of the migrants are constantly emphasized. According to this discourse, migrants have no (or only insufficient) proficiency in German language and they live in “Ghettoes” secluded from the German population, to mention only the two most frequently expressed stereotypes. In Germany, migrants are incorporated as others. German migration discourse suffers from a paradigm of cultural difference (Sökefeld, 2004c) which continually reconstructs migrants as foreign and potentially dangerous others. Turks and Muslims—in Germany both categories converge to a very large extent—are the paradigmatic migrants and “foreigners”. Especially the headscarf became a synecdoche for the negative image of Islam. For many Germans, the headscarf embodies all kinds of negative stereotypes that are associated with Islam, like the discrimination and seclusion of women, a patriarchal family structure, the self-segregation of Muslims and a general anti-modernity. The Alevi debate on Islam has to be interpreted also within this discursive context. Alevis take pains to introduce themselves as well-integrated migrants in Germany. It is continually emphasized that Alevi culture rejects fundamentalism and endorses universal human rights and modernity, including the equality of the sexes. Alevis never tire of pointing out that Alevi women do not wear the headscarf (Mandel, 1989). In the context of the gross distinctions put forward by the German migration discourse which categorizes Muslims as anti-modern and the most different and difficult of migrants, Alevis position them16 A large number of Alevis have become naturalized Germans (see note 13) and the AABF has explicitly called on its members to accept German citizenship.

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selves firmly on the side of modernity, that is, on the German side of the divide. Thus, the emphasis of the Alevi-Sunni master difference can also be interpreted as an effort to represent Alevis as non-foreign (or not so foreign migrants) in Germany. Beside this discursive strategy for integration which highlights the compatibility of German and Alevi cultures, the Alevi associations also employ another strategy which I have called institutional integration (Sökefeld, 2003, 2008). By institutional integration, I mean the establishment of cooperative relationships with German governmental institutions and civil organizations, including trade-unions, churches and parties. Also, institutional integration favors the distinction of Alevism from Islam. This is especially obvious in the most significant project of institutional integration which Alevi associations and especially the AABF have been undertaking for several years: the introduction of Alevi religious classes in German public schools. Religious instruction in schools is, the proclaimed secularism of German society notwithstanding, one of the most obvious instances of the close cooperation of the state with the churches. Religious instruction is even constitutionally guaranteed. Due to the federal setup of the German educational system, there are various legal frameworks for religious instruction. In general, religious classes are financed by the state, while the curriculum and the teachers require the approval of the respective religious community. This system is still restricted to the large Christian (i.e. Protestant and Catholic) churches and to the Jewish community. Since the late 1970s, Muslim groups have demanded Islamic classes. Although the demand is mostly regarded with favor, applications for Islamic classes in schools have consistently been rejected on the grounds that the applying Muslim organizations do not constitute “religious communities” in the German legal sense.17 Alevi efforts towards religious classes started much later, after the commencement of the Alevi movement and the formation of Alevi associations. These efforts were not simply a demand for the recognition of Alevism in Germany but also a response to the introduction of mandatory (Sunni) religious classes in Turkey that was considered a Sunni Muslim encroachment. Protest against compulsory religious instruction

17 On the debate about Islamic instruction in German schools, see Kiesel, 1986; Özdil, 1999; Baumann, 2001; Anger, 2003 and Stock, 2003. None of these works refers to Alevis.

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in Turkey is a constant element in the discourse of Alevi associations in Germany and in Turkey. In Germany, Turkish pupils were offered Turkish language classes sponsored by the Turkish state that in the beginning were meant to facilitate the reintegration of migrants’ children after their projected “return home”. Alevis report that in many cases the language classes were mixed with religious instruction to the effect that Alevi children were taught Sunni Islam. As a consequence, many Alevi parents declined to send their children to these classes. Accordingly, the demand for Alevi classes in school always presupposed the distinction of Alevism from Islam. The Alevi Culture Center in Hamburg started a campaign to collect signatures in support of Alevi classes in the schools of the city in 1991. The outcome of the campaign was not separate Alevi instruction but the involvement of the association in a project of interfaith religious classes that was sponsored by the Protestant church. In this project, delegates from different religious communities (Protestants, Buddhists, Muslims, Jews and Alevis) devised a curriculum for religious instruction that does not separate children according to their denomination but that teaches all religions with the purpose of promoting mutual knowledge, understanding and tolerance. Yet this model is limited to the city of Hamburg. It is an exception because of the inter-faith character of the religious classes in which different religious traditions come together. It therefore does not entail the idea that Alevism is not different from Islam. In the other Bundesländer (the federal states of Germany), Alevis have strictly insisted that Alevi children must not be put together with Muslim pupils in a general kind of Islamic instruction. In Berlin, separate Alevi classes were established in autumn 2002. In contrast with the other Bundesländer, religious instruction in Berlin is organized by the religious communities themselves, although controlled and largely funded by the authorities. An application for Islam classes filed by the Islamic Federation Berlin was rejected by the authorities because this association was assumed not to be a religious community in the sense of German law but a political association closely related with an Islamist party in Turkey. In November 1998, however, the Higher Administrative Court in Berlin ruled that the Islamic Federation had to be recognized as a religious community that was entitled to organizing religious classes in the schools of the city. As this decision was upheld by the Federal Administrative Court, the Islamic Federation could start its classes. This constituted a precedent for the Culture Center of Anatolian

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Alevis in Berlin, the largest Alevi association in the city, which was able to start its own classes in 2002. The AABF filed a joint application for religious classes in the Bundesländer North Rhine-Westphalia, Bavaria, Baden-Wurttemberg and Hessen that was dealt with under the overall charge of the administration of North Rhine-Westphalia (NRW). The approval of the application depended on two conditions: the recognition of the AABF as a religious community and the recognition of Alevism as a separate religion in its own right, that is, as different from Islam. In order to substantiate its decision, the NRW administration commissioned official expert opinions on these issues. The first of these reports argues that the AABF is a religious community in the sense of German law (Muckel, 2004) while the other one, authored by a historian of religions Ursula SpulerStegemann argues that measured by the strict criteria of history of religion, Alevism should be judged to be a separate, syncretic religion that has special relationships with Islam. Yet because most Alevis regard themselves as Muslims and because the Turkish state as well as the World Muslim League consider Alevis as Muslims, a scientific report cannot exclude them from Islam but has to categorize them as a separate dimension within Islam (Spuler-Stegemann, 2003: 41).

This judgment clearly mirrors the ambivalence of identifying Alevism as part of Islam. It emphasizes the difference of Alevism from (Sunni) Islam but at the same time leaves space for including Alevis within a however-defined general Islam. Spuler-Stegemann also alludes to the possible political consequences of formally separating Alevism from Islam. In her statement, she refers to the case of the Ahmadiyya, a religious minority in Pakistan that was officially declared as outside of Islam by the Pakistani government in 1974. Discrimination and at times violent persecution of Ahmadis has been the consequence. To declare Alevis non-Muslims in a scientific statement might be taken by radical Islamic groups as a further argument for regarding Alevis as apostates, a position that in the past, for instance in Sivas, was employed as legitimation of violence against Alevis. In the last instance, Spuler-Stegemann bases her statement that, somehow, Alevism is part of Islam, on the idea that the categorization of a religion should be based on the self-categorization of its adherents (ibid.: 20). Among Alevis, however, such self-categorization is by no means agreed upon but rather bitterly disputed. In fact, a growing disjunction of identification can be perceived. Among the leading activists

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of the Alevi associations (especially in the AABF), the idea of Alevism as a separate religion in its own right has gained much prominence while many of the normal membership of the associations strictly oppose this idea. The change of perspective that is involved in this development is well exemplified in the person of Ismail Kaplan. As one of the organizers of the Alevi Culture Week of 1989 in Hamburg, he has been a leading activist of the Alevi movement since its inception. Ismail Kaplan has been continually committed to initiatives for interdenominational dialogue and to the issue of Alevi religious instruction. Until a few years ago, he clearly categorized Alevism as part of Islam.18 Yet in a recent book which is also a kind of self-representation of the AABF, Kaplan avoids this categorization and opposes instead a “modern” version of Alevism to the idea that Alevism is (true) Islam (Kaplan, 2004: 29ff.). In line with Hasan Kılavuz’s argument, he writes that the identification of Alevis as Muslims is in part a consequence of assimilation by Sunnis. He clearly favors “modern” Alevism which categorizes Alevism as a religion in its own right, without regard as to whether some elements might have been taken over from other religions including Islam. Kaplan states that the majority of Alevis today professes this version of Alevism and emphasizes that Alevism does not need to employ elements from other religions (ibid.: 29f.).19 Within the AABF, Ismail Kaplan centrally coordinates programs towards Alevi religious classes in schools and programs for interfaith dialogue. In this function he is almost permanently involved in communication on Alevism with German counterparts. To a lesser extent, this also applies to the representatives and activists of the local Alevi associations in the country. However, it is difficult to explain to German authorities or to representatives of the churches why Alevis should need religious classes separate from Muslims if Alevism is part of Islam. Therefore, this discursive commitment clearly favors a perspective that explicitly categorizes Alevism as a separate religion. German authorities frequently demand that Muslims in Germany have to establish a joint representation or umbrella association that could become the counterpart of the authorities, especially for the question of religious instruction. The self-categorization of Alevis as part of Islam would imply that

18 Kaplan, 1992. The title of this article translates as “Alevism—the unknown face of Islam.” 19 Unspoken, this refers to elements like Sunni funeral rituals that are practiced by many Alevis.

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Alevis as well have to join with Muslim associations. Yet because Alevism is defined in contrast with (Sunni) Islam, this is completely unacceptable for them. Ismail Kaplan insists that his shift in categorizing Alevism does not entail a changed idea of what Alevism is. Ultimately, he says, the question of categorization is utterly insignificant for Alevism itself. What is important is to know what Alevism is, not how to categorize it. Yet the question of categorization is raised time and again as a consequence of the discursive and institutional environment in which Alevism is situated. Kaplan describes his own perspective as a “pragmatic approach”. In an interview he said: “Fifteen years ago, Alevism was completely unknown in Germany. To frame it within Islam enabled some initial understanding.“20 Yet the parameters of understanding have changed with the increasing integration of Alevism in Germany: But it would be very tiring to always have to explain: ‘Alevism is part of Islam but . . .’ and then to insist on difference. Today, when people hear ‘Islam’ they have lots of stereotypes and preconceived ideas in mind; they think that they already know everything. This is very different when you speak about Alevism. Then people are interested, they listen then.21

Yet for “ordinary” Alevis who are not directly involved in such discourses or institutional relations, the shift of categorization is much less self-suggesting. Accordingly, this shift is not readily accepted by all Alevis in Germany and the disputes about the question in the local communities continue.

8. Fundamentalizing Islam Certainly, the increasing dissociation of Alevism from Islam is not simply a consequence of diasporic discursive environment. It is also a consequence of increasingly fundamentalized images of Islam among Alevis which, however, neatly parallel similar images held among Germans. Islam is largely equated with “fundamentalist Islam” or “Islamism”. This does not imply that all Sunnis are “fundamentalists”. The idea is rather that the essence of Islam is revealed in fundamentalism. Often, individual Sunnis are explicitly exempted from such an ascription. It is said, for instance, that a particular person is “Sunni, but he is a democrat”. The categorization as a “democrat” generally means that 20 21

Interview with Ismail Kaplan, by telephone, July 1, 2005. Ibid.

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such a person does not stick to the rules of Islam that he or she does not go to the mosque, for instance. “Democrats” are not really Sunnis, then. Or, conversely, “real Sunnis” can hardly be democrats, according to the Alevi understanding. The Alevi image of Islam as fundamentalism is grounded in specific experiences which include the exclusion, discrimination and violent persecution by (Sunni) Muslims. For Alevis, the fundamentalist essence of Islam has been most clearly revealed in the Sivas massacre. Sivas has become a central topic of Alevi identity, an event that plays a central role in defining both Alevis and their others, the Sunni/Muslims. In the Turkish public, explanations of the massacre generally referred to Aziz Nesin, the Turkish writer who had translated part of Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses and who took part in the festival. Alevis, however, insist that Alevis were not simply victims by chance in Sivas, because they had invited Nesin, but that an Alevi festival was attacked because Alevism was an embodiment of values and practices that were rejected by Islamism. The Sivas massacre provided a very strong impetus of mobilization and self-organization among Alevis both in Turkey and in Germany. Every year, the Alevi associations commemorate the Sivas massacre (Sökefeld, 2008). In the context of these commemorative ceremonies, Alevi identity and the Alevi-Sunni master difference is re-created and reenacted. Texts and speeches that are issued for commemoration invariably underline the contrast of Alevism and Islam(ism) and emphasize Islam as a danger. As an example of this discourse, I quote a passage from a booklet on Sivas that was published by the Baden-Wurttemberg section of the AABF in 2001: At a time when the discussion about Islam in Germany has reached new heights, we perceive the necessity to cling to the heritage of the victims [of the Sivas massacre] which is the declaration of belief in western democracy and freedom. Due to political considerations, the German public largely approves the integration of Islam in Germany. At first sight, this is to be appreciated. But the public overlooks the imminent and potential danger for German and European society that emerges from certain Islamic circles that have successfully disguised their real intentions. They present themselves as tolerant and signal their readiness to accept the western way of life. Yet in reality, they hardly tolerate persons of a different faith. This is a consequence of their archaic ideas that their own religion is the best religion. In the service of this religion they intend to establish a theocracy that that is to be ruled by the Sharia. Nothing else is their ultimate goal also in Germany. (AABF, n.d.: 5f.)

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In this quotation, a “tolerant” appearance of Islam is denounced as the dissimulation of Islam’s “real” intentions.22 In the discourse on Sivas, intolerant and violent Islamism is not presented as a rather exceptional phenomenon of Islam. Instead, Islamism is represented as the rule and the essence of Islam while “liberal” and “tolerant” Muslims appear to be the exception. The passage quoted above was published in early summer 2001, that is, before September 11 of the same year. Subsequently, both events have been joined together in Alevi discourse. In a recent article on Sivas in Alevilerin Sesi (“Voice of Alevis”), the journal published by the AABF, Seydi Koparan, the then vice chairman of the organization drew this connection, writing that only since September 11 the general public realized the menace from which Alevis already suffered before (Koparan, 2005). Here, the Alevi discourse on Islam neatly connects to the global discourse on Islam as a potential or actual threat that endangers the values of Western democracy.

9. Transnational space of identifications To conceptualize identity in the three dimensions difference, multiplicity and intersectionality is to emphasize that identity depends on context. Difference, multiplicity and intersectionality always make up a specific framework in which identifications are formulated and practiced. Identifications have to position themselves in view of particular others, for instance. Therefore, I have argued that the categorization of Alevism as outside of Islam makes sense in a German discursive and institutional environment while it poses particular problems in a Turkish context. In a globalizing world, however, national contexts of identification cannot be neatly kept apart. In particular frames or events, national frames intersect and are turned into transnational spaces of identification in which contradictions may become particularly obvious. This became visible in an encounter between the prime minister of Turkey and the general secretary of the AABF in Berlin.

22 The idea of disguise and dissimulation again parallels a significant figure of discourse in German discourse on Islam. It is doubted, for instance, whether a certain re-orientation in the outlook of Millî Görüş, the largest Turkish-Islamic association in Germany, is “real” or whether it is just a disguise of Islamism (Ewing, 2003).

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In September 2003, the Turkish Prime Minister Tayyıp Erdoğan visited Berlin. Part of his visiting program was a meeting with representatives of migrant organizations in which also Hasan Öğütcü, the then general secretary of the AABF, took part. Hasan Öğütcü took this opportunity to demand the formal recognition of Alevism in Turkey. Referring to Article 10 of the Turkish constitution which guarantees the equality of religions, he demanded in particular equal legal status, including financial support, for Alevi cem-houses and Muslim mosques. Erdoğan replied to this demand: You are referring to inner-Turkish questions. Whichever Alevi I meet says, [Alevis] are Muslims. The prayer place of Muslims is the mosque. Alevism is not a religion [din]. Therefore one cannot compare [Islam and Alevism]. If we made this distinction, why should we divide Turkey. One is a house of prayer, the other is a culture house. Cem houses cannot receive the same [financial] support that the mosques receive. If there is somebody who wants to support cem houses this cannot be hindered. Yet you are also a Muslim, you should go to the mosque.23

The prime minister’s statement was a blunt rejection of demands of equality. It repeated the frequent objection that the recognition of Alevism would endanger the unity of the Turkish nation (Sökefeld, 2004b). Here I would like to point out that in this exchange between the general secretary of the AABF and the Turkish prime minister, two contradicting frames of identification clashed. For the prime minister, speaking from the dominant Turkish framework, Alevis are Muslims and Alevism is not on par with Islam, it is not even a religion. The inclusion of Alevism within Islam here denies the particularity of Alevis; it erases a specific Alevi identity. By calling cem houses “culture houses” he categorizes Alevism as “culture”. At first sight this replicates and affirms the categorization of Alevism as culture that has been prominent among many Alevis in Germany. Yet in the Turkish discursive context, the classification of Alevism as culture is not a neutral categorization but a denial of recognition and equality. While Alevis are included as Muslims within Islam, Alevism is firmly excluded even from the realm of religions. The prime minister’s statement succinctly expresses the dilemma of Alevi

23 Quoted from the website <www.aleviyol.com/cemevikultur.html> (4. 9. 2003). See also Hürriyet and Milliyet, September 4, 2003.

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identification in Turkey: If Alevis identify and are recognized as Muslims, the recognition of any specific difference is denied. Yet the insistence on difference bears the danger of being excluded from the Turkish nation or of being regarded as separatists. In the German context, the “costs” of not identifying with Islam are much less—there may be even more benefits than costs, as we have seen. Alevis in Germany, therefore, strongly protested against Erdoğan’s statement and also boycotted a similar meeting with the prime minister during his next visit to Germany in April 2004. Through an encounter in an emerging transnational space, created by a Turkish Prime Minister meeting migrants in Berlin, the incompatibility of two national frameworks of identification became visible.

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martin sökefeld 10. Conclusion

In this article I have discussed the question of whether Alevism should be categorized as a part of Islam or as an independent religion. I have shown that for Alevis, this is not an academic issue but that the problem of categorization is deeply entangled with politics of identity and recognition. The Alevi movement that has emerged since the late 1980s can be framed as a movement that struggles for recognition (Sökefeld, 2008). Alevis have been denied official and legal recognition throughout history in Turkey, and in Germany Alevis have simply been overlooked in the mass of Turkish immigrants. Identity and recognition are implicated in a complex game of inclusion and exclusion and of intersection with other, in part competing, identifications. Claims for recognition therefore require answering the question: recognition as what? Further, they need to explicate to a certain extent the relationship with other categories of identification. For Alevis, the relation of Alevism with Islam is of particular importance here. It has become apparent that the politics of recognition is highly context-specific. While in Germany efforts to become discursively and institutionally integrated have favored the emphasis on the difference from Islam, also in order to distinguish Alevism from the largely negative image of Islam that prevails in Germany and that is shared by Alevis, Alevis in Turkey are rather by default identified as Muslims, yet they struggle to be recognized in their particularity within Islam. In the present world which is characterized by transnational encounters, by the exchange of people, media and meaning across borders, and by increasing supranational integration, national contexts and perspectives, however, cannot be kept separate. The redefinition of Alevism by a growing number of Alevis in Germany as outside of Islam supports Yasemin Soysal’s thesis that the way migrants organize and establish themselves in residence countries is much less determined by the “cultural baggage” and “traditions” which they “carry” from their country of origin than by the discursive and institutional contexts of the residence countries into which they integrate (Soysal, 1994). Yet the example of the Alevis’ relationship with Islam in Germany also shows that such processes of integration and redefinition may engender lasting disputes over identity and categorization within the migrant community. Finally, I would like to point briefly to the problematic relationship between social science and its subjects as it becomes apparent from

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the discussion of Alevism and Islam. During my field research I was often asked by Alevis to issue a judgment, from a “scientific point of view”, as to whether Alevis are Muslims or not. This is an instance of what Anthony Giddens (1976) has called the “dual hermeneutics” of the social sciences, that is, the permeability of the boundary between the discourses of social sciences and those discourses that are the subject matter of social science. Scientific concepts and ideas intrude into and change the life world of those people they attempt to describe and to analyze. Frequently, they are transformed by this process of appropriation. I was asked, then, to intervene in the discourses that I wanted to study. Of course, I refused to do so—although due to the nature of the endeavor of social sciences, an inadvertent intervention can never be ruled out. When I was asked by the editors of this volume to contribute a chapter on Alevis, I first hesitated because the inclusion of Alevis in a book on Muslims in Germany might be taken as a statement on the inclusion of Alevism within Islam. It is not meant as such. Accordingly, I thought, the only befitting topic in relation with Alevis in this volume could be an analysis of the debate involved. The inclusion of Alevism within Islam—or its exclusion from Islam—is a matter of faith and certainly a political question, as Islam has become a very powerful symbol for both those who identify with Islam and for those who reject this identification. But it is not a question that could be decided “objectively” and unequivocally from a scientific perspective.

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Kahramanmaraş 1978.” In: Turkey’s Alevi Enigma: A Comprehensive Overview. Edited by: Paul J. White and Joost Jongerden. Leiden. Brill: 215–236. Sökefeld, Martin (2001): Reconsidering Identity. Anthropos 96: 527–544. —— (2002a): Alevi Dedes in the German Diaspora: The Transformation of a Religious Institution. In: Zeitschrift für Ethnologie (127): 163–186. —— (2002b): Alevism Online: Re-Imagining a Community in Virtual Space. Diaspora 11: 85–123. —— (2003): Alevis in Germany and the Politics of Recognition. New Perspectives on Turkey 28/29: 133–161. —— (2004a): “Religion or Culture? Concepts of Identity in the Alevi Diaspora.” In: Diaspora, Identity and Religion. New Directions in Theory and Research. Edited by: Waltraud Kokot, Khachig Tölölyan and Carolin Alfonso. London. Routledge: 143–165. —— (2004b): Über die Schwierigkeit, dem türkischen Nationaldiskurs zu entkommen: Aleviten in Deutschland und Hürriyet. In: Jenseits des Paradigmas kultureller Differenz: Neue Perspektiven auf Einwanderer aus der Türkei. Edited by: Martin Sökefeld. Bielefeld. Transcript: 163–180. —— (2004c): Das Paradigma kultureller Differenz: Zur Forschung und Diskussion über Migranten aus der Türkei in Deutschland. In: Jenseits des Paradigmas kultureller Differenz: Neue Perspektiven auf Einwanderer aus der Türkei. Bielefeld. Transcript: 9–33. —— (2008): Struggling for Recognition: The Alevi Movement in Germany and in Transnational Space. Oxford, New York. Berghahn Books. Soysal, Yasemin (1994): Limits of Citizenship: Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe. Chicago. University of Chicago Press. Spuler-Stegemann, Ursula (2003): Ist die Alevitische Gemeinde Deutschland e. V. eine Religionsgemeinschaft? Religionswissenschaftliches Gutachten erstattet dem Ministerium für Schule, Jugend und Kinder des Landes Nordrhein-Westfalen. Marburg. Stock, Martin (2003): Islamunterricht: Religionskunde, Bekenntnisunterricht oder was sonst? Münster. Lit. Tur, Derviş (2002): Erkânname. Aleviliğin Islam’da Yeri ve Alevi Erkânları. Rüsselsheim. Erenler Yayın. Vorhoff, Karin (1995): Zwischen Glaube, Nation und neuer Gemeinschaft: Alevitische Identität in der Türkei. Berlin. Klaus Schwarz Verlag.

PHILOSOPHERS, FREEDOM FIGHTERS, PANTOMIMES: SOUTH ASIAN MUSLIMS IN GERMANY Claudia Preckel

The Muslim community in Germany seems to be dominated by Turkish Muslims—but almost nothing is known by the German public about the fascinating history of South Asian Muslims in Germany. This article tries to demonstrate the closeness of Indo-German relations and the importance of South-Asian Muslims in the wider Muslim community in Germany. It further traces the diversity of South Asian Muslims in this country—from scholarly movements to philosophers, actors to freedom fighters.

1. Muslims in Germany Before and During World War I 1.1

Iqbal

Long before the Partition of the Indian Subcontinent in 1947, a man studied in Germany, who can be considered as the “intellectual father” of Pakistan, namely the philosopher and poet Sir Muhammad Iqbal (d. 1938). Iqbal was born in 1877 in Sialkot, Punjab (today Pakistan). From his youth, Iqbal was an admirer of German philosophy and literature, especially of Goethe. After he finished his studies in Arabic and philosophy in Lahore, he decided to travel to Europe. First, he went to England, afterwards he came to Germany. First, Iqbal was a student at the Ruprecht-Karls-University in Heidelberg, afterwards he studied philosophy at the Ludwig-Maximilians-University in Munich. In 1907, he wrote a dissertation on Persian metaphysics in Munich and was awarded the doctoral degree. At this time, Iqbal was deeply influenced by the ideas of the German philosophers Hegel and Nietzsche. In 1923, Iqbal published his Payam-i mashriq (“Message of the East”), which is clearly influenced by Goethe’s West-östlicher Diwan. In this work, Iqbal also wrote some very interesting verses about important German personalities, like Hegel, Karl Marx and Wilhelm II. Iqbal’s stay in Germany, however left some traces in the country. The city of Heidelberg commemorated the famous student with a “Muhammad

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Iqbal professorship” as well as even with naming a street on the banks of the river Neckar after him. This was mainly because Iqbal wrote the famous verses Ek shaam (“An Evening”) there. This poem clearly aesthetically resembles Goethe’s poem Wanderers Nachtlied and definitely shows Iqbal’s admiration for the German poet. But the most visible traces of Iqbal’s life and work in Germany can be found in the works of the famous German orientalist Prof. Dr. Annemarie Schimmel (d. 2003). She edited and translated several works of Iqbal into German and English. Although Schimmel being awarded the Friedenspreis des Deutschen Buchhandels was a controversial decision, the merits in establishing a dialogue between Germany and the Indian Subcontinent are undoubted. Rewarding her activities in translating Iqbal and other famous Pakistani poets, the Pakistani Government named a street in Lahore after her. Recently, the German cultural center in Lahore was named Annemarie Schimmel Haus and has become a point of German-Pakistani cultural exchange. 1.2 Indian Freedom fighters At the beginning of the 20th century, the South Asian Muslims community was concentrated around the Berlin area. Many South Asians came as students, as German universities had a very good reputation in India. Indian students were active in academia as well in their efforts to free India from British rule. World War I changed this situation completely. Germany, Indian freedom fighters thought, would be the fiercest enemy of the British. It was as early as September 1914 that the India Independence Committee was founded in Berlin by V. Chattopadhyadhya (brother of the famous Indian poet Sarojini Naidu) and A. Battacharya and supported by German authorities. The German Emperor, Wilhelm II, had a strategic interest in destabilizing the British Empire in India. The idea was to instigate Indian Muslims to a jihad against the British colonial power. The two German allies Austria-Hungary as well as the Ottoman Empire supported this plan. The Afghan Amir Habibullah (killed 1919) also cherished his interests in the region. Thus, Wilhelm II and the German Chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg (d. 1931) planned to use Afghanistan as a base for jihad activities. For this reason, they supported and even financed the activities of two Indian freedom fighters, Raja Mahendra Pratap (d. 1979), and a Muslim, Barkatullah Bhopali (d. 1975). Barakatullah was born in the Muslim Princely State of Bhopal around 1864 (Preckel 2000). His first trip to Europe was in 1895, when he traveled to London as well as to Liverpool. In 1909, Barakatullah left for Japan,

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where he worked as teacher of Hindustani at the University of Tokyo. Finally, the British terminated Barakatullah’s appointment in the University because of the publication of “seditious material” in 1914. Barakatullah had to leave Japan and shortly afterwards accompanied Pratap to Germany. Pratap and Barakatullah arrived in Berlin from Switzerland in 1915, and were even received by Wilhelm II. The Emperor decided to send Pratap and Barakatullah to Kabul. The mission was led by the young German diplomat Werner Otto von Hentig (d. 1984). Military decisions were made by the German captain Oskar Niedermayer. Von Hentig’s diary about his journeys to Kabul, Shanghai and in later years from the USA back to Germany was published only five years ago (Von Hentig 2002). Von Hentig included details about the problems within the group. Barakatullah was of the opinion that the Afghans would help their Muslim brothers in India, Niedermayer was less optimistic. Von Hentig also hinted at the fact that in his eyes Barakatullah drank too much alcohol (Appleton 2003). The mission, however, was not successful. The Amir was not interested in invading India. He used to receive a great amount of money from the British. Von Hentig and his group spent more than ten months in Kabul, hoping to change the Amir’s mind. During this time, Pratap formed a “Provisional Free India” government, with Barakatullah as Prime Minister and himself as President. But soon it became clear that the mission was a failure. The Afghans would never support an Indian jihad. Having realized this, von Hentig left Kabul and reached Germany after a turbulent journey of ten months. Pratap later returned to Germany, where he was awarded the Roter Adler Orden (“Order of the Red Eagle”) by Wilhelm II in 1918. Barakatullah’s hometown Bhopal named its University Barakatullah-University after its most famous Muslim freedom fighter. The hopes of the Indian freedom fighters, however, were fulfilled as early as World War I. Germany became the enemy of the British and entered the war against them. Following the battles, British and French Muslim prisoners of war (PoW) were brought to Berlin. The majority of them came from colonies in Africa and Asia. Two camps in the South of Berlin—Wünsdorf and Zossen were established (Höpp 1997: 2000). Most of the prisoners were Muslims, but there were also lots of Hindus and Sikhs. German authorities heavily supported anti-British propaganda in the so-called “Halbmondlager”. The Ottoman Sultan particularly hoped to recruit Muslim fighters for the cause of Islam and for this reason, Germany encouraged the anti-British propaganda in the camps.

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A special paper, which spread anti-British sentiments, was published in Urdu as well as in Hindi. Its title was Hindostan—Newspaper for the Indian Prisoners of War and was published from 1915–1918. The texts were lectured and partly translated by the German indologist Prof. Dr. Helmuth von Glasenapp (d. 1963). The paper was widely distributed among the PoWs, but not a single South Asian Muslim wanted to fight for the German-Ottoman allies. Germany nevertheless continued to promote religious activities for the Islamic prisoners of war. In the camp of Wünsdorf, a mosque was built within only five weeks in 1915 (Höpp 1997). It was the first mosque ever built on German soil.

2. The inter-war period 2.1

The Khairi brothers

The years between the wars witnessed further activities of the Indian Muslim freedom fighters. It was also a time of Indian-German cultural exchange and a certain reciprocal fascination. Among those who were politically active Muslims were of great importance. The publication of anti-British newspapers and pamphlets particularly flourished during those years. A certain Shaikh ʿAbd ul-Rahman Saif published the newspaper Azadi Sharaq (“Way of Freedom”), partly in German, partly in Urdu. The famous Indian brothers ʿAbd ul-Jabbar and ʿAbd ul-Sattar Khairi from New Delhi published the newspaper Islam—ein Wegweiser zu Rettung und Wiederaufbau (“Islam—a signpost to salvation and reconstruction”) in German. Due to their financial problems, the Khairi brothers were only able to publish two issues of their newspaper—one in October 1922 and the second in May 1923. This was not the only activity in which the Khairi brothers were involved. ʿAbd ul-Jabbar Khairi was elected the first imam of the Islamische Gemeinde von Berlin e.V. established on June 27th, 1922. The community was open to all Muslims in Germany, but was dominated by South Asian Muslims. Friday prayers were still took place in the small mosque in the former PoW camp in Wünsdorf. This mosque was later pulled down and has not been replaced but its existence is recalled in the name of the street Moscheestraße (“Mosque Street”) and the soldiers’ graves continue to remind us of community which worshipped there. The Khairi brothers also founded the Islamischer Dienst (“Islamic Service”) in order to promote friendship between Muslims and Germans.

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Salim Ali

There were several other prominent South Asian Muslims enrolled in Berlin universities during the 1920s. The reasons for students to come to Berlin from India was the good reputation of the professors, the quality of technical equipment and their desire to receive a sound vocational training. For example, the famous Indian ornithologist Dr Salim Ali (d. 1987) came to Berlin to study with Prof. E. Stresemann. Ali was born in Mumbai into a middle-class Shia1 family in 1897. After taking his B.A. in zoology in Burma, he decided to continue his studies in Berlin. On his return to India, Ali was able to start a unique career as an ornithologist and environmentalist. His career was closely connected to the Bombay Natural History Society. Salim Ali was known as the “Birdman of India”, and he was even honoured by having a postage stamp released in recognition of his work. In his autobiography Fall of the Sparrow (1985), he described his time in Germany very positively (Oesterheld 2004). Although he was in contact with other students from India, it seems that Ali was not directly involved in the activities of the freedom fighters, but focused on his studies.

Illustration 1: Dr Salim Ali. 1 The Tyabjis belong to the community of the Sulaimani Bohras, an Ismaili Shia Muslim group. Most of the Tyabjis are traders.

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claudia preckel Zakir Husain

The most eminent Indian Muslim student of Berlin University, however, was Zakir Husain (d. 1969), who later became the third President of India (Oesterheld 2004). Husain received his doctoral degree by writing a research dissertation on the agrarian system of British India. Th e time in Germany was also the time he became interested in paedagogics and educational questions. Thus, it was his aim to find a new kind of modern education for India (Oesterheld 2001). In 1925, Husain and his two friends Dr Mohammad Mujeeb (d. 1973) and Dr Abid Husain decided to leave Germany in order to continue their work in India. They took an active part in the foundation and development of the Islamic University Jamia Millia Islamia in Delhi. Zakir Husain was Chancellor of the Jamia for six years until his death. He was also Chancellor of the famous Aligarh Muslim University, and thus promoted Muslim education in India. In addition to his political career, Zakir Husain was also a profound writer and essayist. During his time in Germany, Husain also was influenced by European philosophy. For example, he translated Plato’s Republic into Urdu. After his return to India, he actively propagated German-Indian cultural exchange. 2.4 Meeting Hitler: Inayatullah Mashriqi In 1926, a strange meeting is said to have taken place in the famous National Library: Adolf Hitler—who was at this time at the beginning of his political career—accidentally met the Indian Muslim political leader Inayatullah Khan, better known as “al-Mashriqi” (“Man from the East”). Only five years later, Mashriqi (d. 1963) became renowned as the founder of a new Muslim movement in South Asia, the Khaksar (literally “humble as dust”). Mashriqi was deeply impressed by Hitler and his SA-organization, which was in its infancy. Thus, it seems to be no coincidence that Mashriqi chose a lot of Nazi symbolism and rhetoric for his own movement. The Khaksar propagated discipline, military training and self-sacrifice for the Indian nation. Like the Nazis, Khaksars wear a khaki uniform with a badge with the word ukhuwwa (“brotherhood”) written on it. They carry a spade as a symbol for labor and work and their will to fight. According to Mashriqi’s memoirs, the Tadhkira, his conversation with Hitler included the principles of jihad and the will to fight. Mashriqi further wrote that Hitler allegedly knew the Tadhkira and that he—Mashriqi—was a source of inspiration for Hitler’s political ideas.

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It is worth mentioning that Mashriqi considered Hitler’s Mein Kampf (1926) to be a masterpiece. And, likewise, Hitler seemed to be full of admiration for Mashriqi. The legend continues that in the 1940s, Hitler sent Mashriqi an expensive luxury car. This car is said to be a 1942 model Renault Benz.2 According to the sources, this car was one of only 1000 ever produced. These cars were produced after Hitler invaded and occupied France and had Mercedes Benz cars manufactured in Renault factories. Hitler’s present, however, was forgotten and started to decay. It is only recently that it has been planned to open a Mashriqi museum in Lahore and the car will be part of the exhibition. Undoubtedly, Mashriqi was full of admiration for Hitler and the achievements of fascist regimes in Europe. He even supported the idea of a “benevolent dictator” for India. These statements were not due to extremist, fascist or racist ideas, but because of Mashriqi’s feelings of frustration for India’s perceived backwardness. believed in technocratic achievements, in military organization and the success of administration. To the present day, there is no proof that Mashriqi supported Hitler’s racist ideology or knew about the genocide of the Jews. It is also not known what he thought about the establishment of Israel after World War II. Mashriqi also was not convinced by the idea that Islam might be superior to other religions. On the contrary, he strictly rejected sectarianism and communalism. His movement was open to members of all religions. He regarded the Khaksar to be a “party in the country above all parties” (Baljon 1954) and explicitly non-communal. This might be a reason why the Khaksars lost a lot of support after Partition. Today, Khaksars still exist in Pakistan or in India, but they are small in numbers. All in all, it might be doubted that the meeting between Mashriqi and Hitler ever took place. Malik (1982: 36) correctly pointed out that no Hitler biography ever mentioned this meeting. Further, in his Tadhkira, Mashriqi wrote that G. Weil, who was a Jew, introduced him to Hitler. It is difficult to credit the fact that this man might have insisted on a meeting between Hitler and Mashriqi. Nevertheless, it is quite interesting to see that Mashriqi himself tried to construct his personal network and to link himself with Adolf Hitler.

2

In a personal communication, Daimler Chrysler Germany stressed that Mercedes indeed enacted a considerable influence on Renault. They further added that the name Renault-Benz was not probable. Further, the model year of 1942 cannot be confirmed because in that year the production was exposed to several air raids.

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claudia preckel 3. Fighting for freedom: World War II

On September 3rd, 1939, Great Britain entered World War II against Germany. The consequence was that India and Germany were enemies in this war as they had been only twenty-five years earlier. Approximately 40 Indian students lived in Berlin at this time. As in World War I, these Indians hoped to obtain German support for their freedom struggle. Most of these students from this point worked for the cause of Indian freedom. 3.1

Subhas Chandra Bose

It was not easy for Indians to live in Germany under the Nazi regime. The press was full of fascist and racist propaganda, and Hitler as well as Goebbels often made negative remarks about Indians. Nazi propaganda also often denounced Indians as “Untermenschen” in their journal Völkischer Beobachter. Some Indian students were arrested by the German authorities. The Indian freedom fighters, however, wanted to continue their mission: the freedom of India. In contrast to World War I, this time Indian freedom fighters were even supported by Indian officials. The most famous of them was Subhash Chandra Bose (died probably in 1945). Bose was born in present-day Orissa in 1897, but later started his political career in Bengal. In the late 1920s, Bose became General Secretary of the Indian National Congress, along with Jawaharlal Nehru. From 1933 to 1937, he traveled around Europe and in 1937, he married the Austrian, Emilie Schenkl (Bose 1982: 175ff.). The couple had one daughter, Anita Bose Pfaff, who later became a professor in Augsburg. After his return to India in 1937, Bose became one of the most prominent Indian freedom fighters of that time. He was imprisoned several times by the British. In 1941, Bose escaped from Calcutta to Kabul. There he received a false passport in the name of Orlando Mazotta. He set out for Russia and finally arrived in Berlin on March 28, 1941 (Bose 1982: 165–205). The German Foreign Office welcomed Bose, as they had their own ideas about co-operation with Indian freedom fighters. As in World War I, the German authorities hoped to motivate Indian freedom fighters to fight against the British. Again, the German authorities supported Bose’s plans. Bose even received some money. With this support, Bose founded the Free India Centre (“Zentrale Freies Indien”) in Berlin, which he regarded as the Indian government-in-exile. Its major purpose was to

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propagate anti-British sentiments among Indians. For this reason, Bose founded the Azad Hind (“Free India”) Radio. It could be listened to in India as well as in Europe, where lots of Indians fought for the British. An Azad Muslim Radio, moderated by Dr Sultan, was part of this project. Most of the people working for Azad Hind Radio were Muslims, including a relative of the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem and a former Minister of Afghanistan (Bose 1982: 182). A new journal Azad Hind also was founded. It was not until 1942 that Bose met Hitler in personal. He is also reported to have met “Duce” Mussolini. It was these meetings with both dictators which made Bose a controversial figure. His opponents maintain to the present day that Bose sympathized with fascist ideas. Bose’s honorary title was “Netaji”, which is the equivalent of the German “Führer”. However, it seems clear that Bose criticized Hitler’s racist and fascist ideas. He is even reported to have complained about these racist theories and practices in several letters to German officials (Goel 2003). But all his criticism did not prevent Bose from a close military co-operation with Hitler. Bose was of the opinion that only the alliance with Germany, Italy and Japan could bring freedom to India. Hitler, incidentally, was of the same opinion. He did not regard Bose’s mission favorably, but he had a completely negative view of Nehru’s and Gandhi’s politics. This was the reason why he advised Bose to leave Germany for Japan— because “Japan is nearer to India than Germany is”. 3.2

The Indian Legion

In contrast to Gandhi, Bose was of the opinion that the British would never leave India without violence. He pleaded for the establishment of a German-Indian military unit. The German authorities decided to support Bose’s idea. This was the beginning of the German Wehrmacht’s Indian Legion, also known as the Tiger Legion. The German authorities started recruiting Indian civilians living in Germany and Indian prisoners of war, who were brought to Germany by Rommel after his successful military campaign in Africa. These PoWs were brought to the camps in Königsbruck and Annaburg (Günther 2003). In these camps, they were trained to fighting for the German side. This allegiance was also seen in their uniform: the members of the Indian Legion wore the standard Wehrmacht uniform with a badge depicting a leaping tiger on it. The words Azad Hind were also written on the badge. The soldiers had to swear their oath of allegiance either to Hitler or to Bose.

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It is said that two thirds of the members of the Indian Legion were Muslims, the rest were Hindus. Bose himself also often emphasized that he did not regard his work to be communal. He hoped to find support among the Hindus as well as with the Muslims and Sikhs. His main aim was the freedom of India (Chakrabarty 1990: 66). It has been stated before that Hitler was not convinced of Bose’s mission. For this reason, he suggested that Bose travel to Japan. His mission was to strengthen the axis between Berlin and Tokyo. Another reason might have been that Hitler wanted to get rid of Bose, who was very demanding in his desire to free India. After some consideration, Bose decided to go to Japan in 1943. The way to get there caused a heated discussion among the German authorities. Finally, they decided that Bose might leave with a submarine from Kiel. His journey was accompanied by an Indian Muslim, ‘Abid Hasan. Coming from a noble “Nawabi” family in Hyderabad, Hasan became one of the earliest supporters of Bose in Germany and was a kind of personal assistant during Bose’s time in Germany. Arriving in Japan after a ninety-three day journey in the U-boat, Bose and Hasan were welcomed enthusiastically. As in

Illustration 2: Azad Hind Flag.

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Germany, he formed another Indian Legion, called the Indian National Army in Japan, consisting of 40,000 Indians. The story of the Tiger Legion is almost forgotten in Germany. Several German soldiers wrote down their memoires of that time (Hartog 2003; Rose 1979). In 2003, the German-Indian author Merle Kröger (b. 1967) wrote the detective story Cut!, in which the Indian Legion plays an important role (Goel 2003). The general public in Germany, however, does not know much about the Indians soldiers who fought for Germany. In India, Bose, on the other hand, became a legend, especially in Bengal. He was reported as missing when his plane crashed over Taiwan in 1945. His body has never been found. In 2005, Shyam Benegal’s Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose—the forgotten hero came to the Indian screen. It was a big blockbuster in India. The German actor Udo Schenk (b. 1953) played Adolf Hitler—a role he played only a year earlier in the film about the German resistance fighter Stauffenberg. The film will be screened in German cinemas, and hopefully will contribute towards raising awareness of the history of Bose and the Indian Legion in Germany.

Illustration 3: Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. Copyright: Eros Entertainment, India (Poster).

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claudia preckel 4. The emergence of Islamic scholarly movements after the War

After World War II, many Muslims who were in exile or refugees decided to live in Germany. The immigration of students, “guest-workers”, intellectuals and scholars shaped the image of Muslim life in Germany. Islamic community life, however, was no longer concentrated in Berlin, but also in other bigger cities like Hamburg or Frankfurt. The diasporic communities in Germany have been trying to organize themselves since the late 1960s. Of course, the Partition of the Indian Subcontinent has left its mark—for the people living in the diaspora as well as those still living in the subcontinent. After Partition, the thinking of South Asians in Germany was often along the same lines as their counterparts still in South Asia, even after the terrible events of Partition, for example dividing their former countrymen into specific categories—“Hindu” versus Muslim, “Indian” versus “Pakistan”. At the same time, the influence of religious scholarly movements began to increase. These movements adhere to the traditional system of Islamic education, in a madrasa. They further stress the authority of the Muslim scholar, the shaikh, in wordly and religious matters. Today, many movements can be found in India, in Great Britain and in Germany. The Ahmadiyya movement was the first Muslim missionary movement in Europe. Its history in Germany dates back as early as the 1920s. 4.1 The Ahmadiyya movement Among the Muslim community in Germany, the Ahmadiyya movement is of great importance. Since the Ahmadis were declared to be non-Muslims in Pakistan in 1974, many of them came to Europe. In Germany, the Ahmadiyya claims to have more than 60,000 members. The Ahmadiyya is one of the most controversial Islamic movements. Many people do not even believe that the Ahmadis are Muslims at all. Due to the controversial reception of the Ahmadiyya, this article will give a short overview of the history and teachings of the movement. Subsequently, its spread and mission in Germany will be analyzed. The Ahmadiyya Community in Islam was founded at the end of the 19th century in Qadiyan, India, by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad Qadiyani (d. 1908). At the beginning of his career, Ghulam Ahmad heavily defended Islam and Muhammad against Christian missionaries and Hindu preachers. From 1864, Ghulam Ahmad’s teachings received a new eschatologi-

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cal and messianic impetus. His claims can only be understood in the context of the expectations of the End of the World at the beginning of the Islamic year 1300/1884 (A.D.). Ghulam Ahmad, however, held the opinion that he himself was a mujaddid (renewer of the faith), the mahdi and the promised messiah in one person. Later, he even described himself “like Jesus” and an incarnation of the Hindu God Krishna. The Muslim community of India was shocked by these claims. The worst claim, however, was when Ghulam Ahmad declared that he was a “shadow of the prophet Muhammad”. This—in the eyes of most Muslims—made him an unbeliever (kafir). Ghulam Ahmad wrote in his defense that he would help Islam to overcome the Christians’ supremacy throughout the world—not only in India. In his view, Jesus Christ did not die after his crucifixion. God himself saved him and sent him to India where he ruled the Lost Tribes of Israel. According to the Ahmadiyya, the tomb of Jesus can be found in Srinagar (www.tombofjesus.org). Ghulam Ahmad said that a Muslim believer could not really believe that Muhammad had died, whereas Jesus was alive after his resurrection. Almost the whole Muslim community denied Ghulam Ahmad’s theological ideas, but the Ahmadiyya managed to win many supporters with its new methods of mission and preaching. The Ahmadiyya da’wa targeted specific groups such as women and young people and used methods such as street-corner preaching and the use of the printing press (Preckel 2005: 330ff.). After several theological controversies, the Ahmadiyya movement, however, split into different branches. The Ahmadiyya Muslim Jamaat had its headquarters in Qadiyan. After Indian Partition in 1947, the majority of its supporters migrated to Pakistan and established the world headquarters in Rabwah near Lahore. The German headquarters of the Qadiyanis are in Frankfurt/Main. The second branch is called Ahmadiyya Anjuman Ishaat-e Islam—, also known as AAII. The German headquarters of the “Lahoris” are in Berlin. The Lahore branch does not support Ghulam Ahmad’s claim to be a prophet, and its supporters are not as persecuted as are the “Qadiyanis”. The Ahmadiyya started their daʿwa in Europe as early as in the 1920s, so one can say that the Ahmadiyya is one of the oldest Muslim movements in Germany. At that time, the AAII was very active (and to some extent more successful in mission) than the other branch. The AAII had successfully started their mission in Woking/Great Britain. (Germain 2006). So a decision was made to open another

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mission in Germany. In August 1923, the plans for founding the LahoreAhmadi mosque in Berlin-Wilmersdorf proceeded. These plans gained a lot of support from Muslim women and German converts. Several rich ladies from Lahore contributed money to the mosque. Also, the AAII managed to win a lot of German converts for its cause, for example Dr Arif Griffelt or Dr Marcus, to just mention two (Germain 2006). The Qadiyani fraction of the movement also planned the construction of a mosque in Berlin. This plan did not come to fruition either because it lacked support, or for financial reasons. In 1922, they had sent their first missionary—Maulawi Mubarak Ali Bengali—to Germany. This was also the time that the first translation of the Holy Qur’an into German by a Muslim was planned and begun. It took another seventeen years before the German translation of the Holy Qur’an was published Maulana Sadr ud-Din who was the first imam of the Lahori mission. His translation is said to be the first German translation made by a Muslim (Lemmen/Miehl 2001: 18). After World War II, the Ahmadiyya resumed its activities in Germany3 with the opening of the new Ahmadiyya mission in Hamburg in 1949. In 1954, another Ahmadi translation of the Qur’an was published in German—this time by the Qadiyani fraction. The 1950s were also a time of growing interest in the movement in daʾwa in Germany. In 1955, the Khalifat ul-Massih II traveled to Germany. Three years later, the NuurMosque in Frankfurt was erected. It was the centre of the Ahmadiyya in Germany until the Baitus Sabuh became the German headquarters in 2002. Presently, the German convert Hadaytullah Hübsch (see below) is the Imam of the Nuur Mosque. Since the 1970s, the number of Ahmadis coming from Pakistan increased. The reason was that the Ahmadiyya was “excommunicated” from the Islamic belief by the Muslim World. The consequence was that Hazrat Mirza Tahir Ahmad, Khalifat ul-Massih IV emigrated from Pakistan to London. Western Europe became more and more important to the movement. In Germany, being an Ahmadi could assist in obtaining asylum on political grounds.4 So how does one become an Ahmadi? The website (www.ahmadiyya. de) heavily promotes the teachings of the Ahmadiyya and can be consid-

3 The following passages focus on the Qadiyani fraction of the Ahmadiyya, without denying the success of the AAII. The reason for this is that the Qadiyanis are more visible in German public than the Lahore fraction. 4 This decision was taken back in 1999.

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ered as part of their mission. Almost every text of the German section of the Ahmadiyya can be read online. If somebody decides to become an Ahmadi, he can download a letter to Hazrat Khalifat ul-Massih V in German from the internet. It contains the Muslim creed of faith and then the declaration stating his wish to become an Ahmadi. This letter contains a translation of the original “oath” (baiʿat) of 1889, in which the members promised to be faithful to Ghulam Ahmad. With a signature under this baiʿat, someone officially becomes an Ahmadi. The Ahmadiyya Jamaat is structured hierarchically. Within the organization several sub-groups exist, addressing children, men and women. 4.1.1 The Ahmadiyya and the media According to the Ahmadi’s own description, there were more than 200 Ahmadi communities in Germany in 2004. The Ahmadis have a very active mission in Germany; their plan is to build more 100 new mosques by 2010. Recently, the plans for constructing a mosque in the eastern part of Berlin (Heinersdorf) have evoked fierce protests, which have been fuelled by right wing parties. This example shows the deeply rooted fears of Islam in Germany since 2001. Following its past history, the Ahmadiyya is renowned for its active use of the media. Presently, the movement edits four publications in German. The first one is called Weißes Minarett (“White Minaret”). Its aim is to discuss issues of modern Islam in general and Islam in Germany in particular. The Jugend Journal (“Youth Journal”) addresses teenagers and young adults. It discusses for example the proper behaviour of young Muslims during class trips and criticizes young people for taking such an opportunity to embark on or further their sexual experiences. The magazine for younger boys is called Gulshan-e Ahmad. It encourages children to promote their religious and worldly education. Women are the target group of the fourth magazine, Nuur für Frauen (“ ‘Light’ for Women”). It discusses questions of Muslim marriage and divorce or the controversial debate of Muslim women wearing a head covering. The Ahmadiyya advocates the veiling of women, and endogamous marriage within the group. Since 1994, Ahmadiyya has been running an international TV station in Qadiyan: Muslim Television Ahmadiyya International (MTA). It broadcasts 24 hours a day throughout the world. MTA broadcasts speeches and sermons by Khalifat ul-Massih V, including the Friday sermons. In Germany, the central studio for the German programme is in Frankfurt, but there are also studios in Kassel, Hamburg and Cologne.

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4.1.2 Jalsa Salana and financial support of the community The phrase Jalsa Salana means “Annual Convention”. The Ahmadiyya has been holding an annual meeting in Qadiyan since 1891. Originally, only the inner circle of the Ahmadiyya attended this meeting. Just over a one hundred years later, the German Jalsa Salana 2005 was attended by more than 30,000 Ahmadis! According to the Ahmadiyya, the Jalsa Salana strengthens the spirituality of the whole community. Further, every single individual should renew his faith. Indeed, all members of the Ahmadiyya describe the Jalsa Salana as a very inspiring moment of their religious life. In 2005, the Annual Convention took place in Mannheim. H. Kazim describes this event as “Little Pakistan in Mannheim,” as many of the participants have a South Asian background. It cannot be denied that the Jalsa Salana also is of great importance for the financial health of the community. The Jalsa Salana is regarded as another opportunity to give money to the Ahmadiyya. For the members, however, the spiritual aspect is more important than material aspects— although those should not be neglected. Visitors usually like the atmosphere of this event. Meetings take place in big tents, whereas women— usually in purdah—have their separate tents and they are addressed on spiritual matters solely by female speakers.

Illustration 4: Jalsa Salana, Mannheim 2005. Copyright: Shahid Abbasi, Frankfurt.

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4.1.3 Fascination of Ahmadiyya for German converts Both the feeling of community and exclusiveness of the Ahmadiyya seems to make the movement attractive to German converts. Two of the most influential persons of the Ahmadiyya in Germany are Germans. The present National Amir of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jamaat in Germany is Abdullah Uwe Wagishauser (b. 1950). Wagishauser became a member of the Ahmadiyya in 1977 after he visited the Jalsa Salana in Qadiyan. Since then, he has fulfilled several tasks within the community. In 1982, Khalifat ul-Massih IV made him the leader of the movement within Germany. Hadayatullah Hübsch (b. 1946) is the person who represents the Ahmadiyya in Germany in the most visible way. Hübsch is an author and also the managing director of the Ahmadi publishing house Der Islam. Hübsch has written a great number of the German publications which have been edited there. In several publications, Hübsch describes how he became an Ahmadi. In his autobiography Mein Weg zum Islam he wrote about his journey from being a hippie consuming alcohol and drugs to becoming a pious Ahmadi. Hübsch often speaks about Islam being a peaceful religion, and is often a guest in several discussions or talk shows. With his rising popularity, there have also been some very critical voices railed against him and the Ahmadiyya in general. 4.1.4 Hiltrud Schröter’s criticism The German sociologist Dr Hiltrud Schröter has written one of the few German works on the Ahmadiyya movement, entitled Die AhmadiyyaBewegung des Islam. Schröter is one of the fiercest critics of the Ahmadiyya Jamaat in Germany. She argues that the Ahmadiyya denies the separation of state and religion and even wants to establish a “God state” in Germany (p. 154). Schröter further argues that a certain cult around the Khalifa exists, which can be compared to that around the “Führer” (p. 42). She further maintains that there are certain fascist tendencies among the Ahmadiyya (p. 107). First, Schröter argues that the Khalifa has recommended reading Hitler’s Mein Kampf to all Ahmadis. Second, she says that the Ahmadiyya writings contain lots of extremely antiJewish and anti-Christian passages. Schröter also criticizes the Ahmadiyya’s attitude concerning women and Muslim marriages. She says that the Ahmadiyya continues to maintain the traditional South Asian purdah (veiling) system in Germany (p. 155), whereby in her eyes, this system violates women’s rights. Furthermore, women are only allowed to marry Ahmadi men. Schröter

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maintains that women are prevented from making their own decisions—first by their parents, later by their husbands. Schröter concludes that the Ahmadiyya is a brainwashing sect comparable with Scientology. Finally, she asks if it would not be better to forbid the Ahmadiyya in Germany because of its anti-democratic tendencies. Hadayatullah Hübsch refutes all these reproaches. He argues that Schröter has completely misunderstood the teachings of Ghulam Ahmad (Hübsch s.d.). He sees the reason for this as being Schröter’s inability to read the Arabic texts. Hübsch further denies that the Ahmadiyya is antiJewish, anti-Christian and anti-democratic. He stresses that the motto of the Ahmadiyya is Love for all, hatred for none. He describes the Ahmadiyya as a peaceful and tolerant way of Islam. He also denounces Schröter for enforcing anti-Islamic sentiments among Germans after the terrorist attacks on 11 September 2001. Undoubtedly, Schröter portrays a very negative image of the Ahmadiyya. Her arguments and (partly incorrect) assumptions fuel the rightwing Christian Party, Christliche Mitte. This party, which advocates a “Germany according to God’s requirements”, is known for its negative views concerning homosexuality, abortion and Islam. The Christliche Mitte supports an organization which is trying to prevent the construction of a new Ahmadi mosque in Schlüchtern (http://www.moscheeschluechtern.de). Islamic teachings concerning the end of the world indeed contain traditions with an anti-Jewish and an anti-Christian undertone. But these teachings do not automatically imply anti-Jewish or anti-Christian or anti-Western sentiments of the modern Ahmadiyya. They can only be seen in the context of religious confrontation in 19thcentury Punjab, where the Ahmadiyya was very active in Muslim apologetics. The Ahmadiyya was one of the few Indian Muslim movements stressing that a jihad against the British was not legal. Further, Islam did not allow aggressive acts, but the only interpretation of jihad could be “defense”. The Ahmadiyya, however, continues to uphold its position to the present day that an armed jihad is not permitted within its teachings. In addition, the Ahmadiyya has always stressed that they act within the framework of the legislation of the country they live in. It should be clear from the arguments presented in this paper that the Ahmadiyya regards itself as a peaceful religion, which supports the cause of freedom and democracy. On the other hand, it is also true that the Ahmadiyya (especially in South Asia) entered the Islamic discourse and the theological debates in a controversial style. They regard them-

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selves to be practising true Islam. They differentiate themselves from other Muslim groups in South Asia and beyond. Very often, Ahmadis have a high degree of education and/or have earned a lot of money in trade. This often evokes the impression that they are elitist and want to distinguish themselves from other Muslim groups. Of course, this can never justify the persecution the Ahmadiyya have had to face for more than 100 years. The movement itself publishes a journal about the world-wide persecution of Ahmadis, with a special focus on Pakistan and Bangladesh (see http://www.thepersecution.org). With the increasing number of Ahmadis in the European diaspora, the number of groups working against the Ahmadis has also grown in numbers. The most famous of them is the Khatm-e Nubuwwat Movement. 4.2 Khatm-e Nubuwwat Movement The name Khatm-e Nubuwwat means “Seal of the Prophethood”. According to the (mainstream Sunni) Islamic belief, Muhammad was the seal of the prophets, and the last one. There can be no other prophet after him. The Khatm-e Nubuwwat Movement claims that the Ahmadiyya permanently violates the dogma of Muhammad as being the last pro-phet by declaring Ghulam Ahmad to be a prophet. In their eyes, Ahmadis are kuffar (unbelievers) and even apostates, therefore they could even be killed. In Germany, the Khatm-e Nubuwwat Movement has been active in Hessen and Baden-Württemberg. These are the German regions in which the Ahmadiyya is strong in numbers. They are said to be responsible for violent attacks on Ahmadis and even for attacking a mosque. In 2004, the Pasbān-e Khatm-e Nubuwwat (“Guardians of the Seal of the Prophethood”) in Heilbronn was banned after its leader was imprisoned. According to the statutes of this association, all the organization’s possessions were to be given to the Turkish association Milli Görus, which is also under observation by the German authorities. There are also further allegations of suppression of donated funds. Although the Khatm-e Nubuwwat has been banned by German authorities, it can be assumed that the organisation is still active in Germany. 4.3

Tablighi Jamaat

In the last three years, another missionary Islamic movement has come to the notice of the German public: the Tablighi Jamaat (“Missionary

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movement”). The principle of the Tablighi Jamaat is to strengthen the faith of every single Muslim. The group’s aim seemed to be to focus its efforts solely on Muslims. During the past few years, however, they seem to be active in doing tabligh among non-Muslims. The Tablighi Jamaat was founded around 1926 by Muhammad Ilyas (d. 1944) in Mewat near Delhi. Ilyas’ idea was to counter the growing Hindu missionary activities. Ilyas wanted to achieve his aims by a socalled “six point programme”. The first two points are identical with the basic creed of a Muslim: to pronounce the Muslim creed of faith and to perform the five daily ritual prayers. The third point is to achieve religious knowledge. This means to study important works which belong to the curriculum of the Tablighi Jamaat. The most important of these was written by Muhammad Zakariya Kandhelawi (d. 1982) and published under the title Fazaʾil-e Aʾmal (“The advantage of good deeds”). The first volume contains the accounts of the lives of the companions of the Prophet, and treatises on the advantage of mission, prayer or the month of Ramadan. The second volume comprises texts on giving alms and on performing the pilgrimage to Mecca. The members of the movement consider the Fazaʾil-e Aʾmal to cover the relevant issues in sufficient depth. According the movement, it contains a collection of all relevant Qur’anic verses and hadiths. The Fazaʾil-e Aʾmal is read during group meetings. According to Faust, the Fazaʾil-e Aʾmal is not only a medium, but also serves for the strengthening of the community (Faust 1998: 222). The remaining aspects of the six-point programme contain ethical issues. A member of the Tablighi Jamaat should always show his “respect of all other Muslims” and his sincerity. The sixth point is called tafrigh-e waqt in Urdu, which means spending time for the cause of Allah. This also means to perform Tablighi mission—which is to take an active part in mission for at least forty days a year. This kind of mission is the most important work of the Tablighi Jamaat. There is a requirement to travel to a certain city and to visit every single Muslim there. Members of the Tablighi Jamaat are encouraged to join Friday prayers in the local mosque and to become a (visible) member of the local Muslim community. The motto is: “Making Muslims better Muslims!” (Stark 2005). After World War II, the Tablighi Jamaat began its mission around the world. Some people say it is the biggest Muslim organization in the world. People speak of almost one million people in the big congrega-

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tions taking place in Raiwind (Pakistan) or Bhopal (India). In addition to their headquarters in Nizamuddin (India) and Raiwind, the European headquarters can be found in Dewsbury, Great Britain. Since the 1960s, the Tablighis have been trying to establish their mission in Germany. Today, their number is estimated to be around 1000 members according to the German authorities. Tablighi preachers from Great Britain, India and Pakistan preach in German mosques in Nuremberg, Munich, Frankfurt and Cologne (Faust 1998: 231). In Germany, great ijtimas have been taken place during the last years. The members of the Tablighi Jamaat in Germany have a very different cultural and ethnic background, so the group can be called heterogeneous. As mentioned before, the majority of Muslims in Germany have a Turkish (migration) background. As a consequence, the Fazaʾil Aʾmal was translated into Turkish, as some Turkish people became interested in the Tablighi Jamaat and their teachings. The movement also seems to be attractive to German (female) converts. Tablighi women have their own circles where they meet and read the Fazaʾil Aʾmal together. A greater percentage of Tablighi women in Europe are converts to Islam, married to Muslim immigrants or men of the second generation of immigrants. Following personal communication with the author, it has been established that these women have made a conscious choice to take up the life of a Tablighi. This choice often includes gender segregation, the purdah system or breaking ties with her own family. Of course, this makes it extremely difficult for Tablighi women to return to their “old” life in the event that they wish to reverse their decision and leave the movement. Like the Tablighis in France has stated that Tablighis in Germany distinguish themselves from other Muslim groups by their outward appearance. Young men with long beards, most of them are wearing white tunics, a calotte and sneakers. They also want to distinguish themselves from the “the others” by their explicit code of behavior. This means that they reject consumer and earthly pleasures and instead focus on their religious education by meditating, praying and their ascetic lifestyle. Cinema, TV and listening to music are forbidden to them. The aim of these young men—most of them between 18 and 35—is to find a new Muslim identity, which helps them to overcome the frustration of unemployment or discrimination (Khedimellah 2000/2001: 93). As in the case of the Ahmadis, new members of the Tablighi Jamaat have the feeling of “belonging to something”. This makes the Tablighis

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also very attractive to German converts and children of the children of (Turkish) immigrants. German domestic intelligence authorities have observed several young Turkish men who have contacts with Tablighi preachers. Some of these young men have traveled to Afghanistan or Pakistan to receive military training or a madrasa education. The German public has become aware of the Tablighis because of the destiny of the “Taliban from Bremen”, Murat Kurnaz (b. 1982). Kurnaz is the German-born son of Turkish immigrants, who seemed to be well integrated in Germany. He regularly visited the Abu Bakr Mosque in Bremen, where the Tablighis preached. He seemed to be fascinated by the stories about Islam in Pakistan. For this reason, he traveled to Pakistan in order to receive a madrasa education. He was arrested by US soldiers in 2001 and detained at the camp in Guantanamo Bay. The authorities failed to provide an evidence for Kurnaz’s contacts to al-Qaida. After five years, Kurnaz was released in August 2006 and arrived in Germany in the same month. Since then, Kurnaz made several alligations against German authorites. The first one is that German soldiers were allowed to interrogate him in Afghanistan. The second was that German authorities prevented his release from Guantanamo although it was known to them that there was no evidence against him. The political affair caused by Kurnaz’s reproaches also involves German Foreign Minister Steinmeier, who has also been Chief of the Chancellery from 1998–2005. The case of Murat Kurnaz shows that the intelligence authorities fear that the Tablighis might be the first step of a young man’s journey towards fundamentalism. The Tablighis have world-wide connections which might serve as links to extreme groups such as Ansar al-Islam or al-Qaida. It has to be further questioned if having contact to the Tablighis is really the first step of an “extremist career”—or merely the motivation on a voyage of discovery towards a peaceful Islamic way of life.

5. Indian Muslims’ life in Germany—outside Islamic scholarly movements Of course, not every Muslim from South Asia is a member of a religious (scholarly) community. For example, only 10% of Turkish Muslims are members of religious communities, but there is no reliable statistical data available concerning South Asian Muslims. There are several cultural organizations, which promote cultural exchange between Germany and South Asian countries. The first organization in this field was

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the Deutsch-Indische Gesellschaft (“German-Indian Society”), founded in 1953. The DIG organizes concerts, theatre and lectures. It also supports several projects in the South Asian countries. The German Pakistan Forum was founded in 1960. Its aim is to promote economic, cultural and political relations between the two countries. The organization Netz e.V. pro Bangladesh supports development projects in Bangladesh. Its current project is actively working against the practice of child marriages in Bangladesh. Of course, there are Muslims from other countries like Nepal or Sri Lanka living in Germany. These groups cannot be discussed here at length. 5.1

South Asian life in German media

It has been stated several times before that Turkish Muslims dominate the discourse about Islam in Germany. Several German TV productions or cinematic films (“Kebab Connection”, “Gegen die Wand”) are shown in German media, showing the life of Turkish immigrants. The films or theatre plays in German, portraying South Asian Muslim life in our country, are very few. The following pages name some of them, without being a complete list. The film Drachenfutter (“Dragon’s feed”; director Jan Schütte, Germany/Switzerland 1987) reflects the difficulties of a young Pakistani man in Germany. In the 1920s, the roses drunken men bought in the pubs in order to appease their wives at home, were called Drachenfutter. Today, many asylum seekers from Bangladesh or Pakistan sell roses in pubs. Drachenfutter relates the story of the life of the Pakistani asylum seeker Shehzad (Bhasker) in Hamburg, who sells Drachenfutter on the Reeperbahn. He is also illegally employed in a restaurant. When Shehzad begins to suffer increasingly from his feeling of loneliness, he begins a friendship with Xiao (Ric Young), the Chinese cook in the restaurant he works in. This film describes the problems of asylum seekers in Germany in a very poetic and sensitive way. The film was awarded the prestigious German Adolf-Grimme-Preis in 1989. The second film, Grüße aus Kaschmir (“Greetings from Kashmir”; director Miguel Alexandre; Germany 2004) is an impressive TV play about the Indo-Pakistan conflict and the love of a German woman for an Indian Muslim man. It was awarded the Adolf-Grimme-Preis in 2005. The film is about Lisa (Bernadette Herwagen), a young German woman. She falls in love with Sharif Mishra (René Ifrah), a young Muslim from the Kashmir region. Lisa becomes pregnant, but does not want to tell

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Sharif about the baby. The reason is that she realizes that something has changed in his life. When Sharif ’s brother Tajjab comes to Germany for a visit, it becomes obvious that both men were involved in jihad activities in Kashmir . . . German-Pakistani relations are also reflected in the recent play Yeh Zindagi (“This life”) by director Amir Mansoor. The play was staged in Urdu by the Pakbaan Theater Group, which has 13 members of Pakistani origin from the Frankfurt area. Yeh Zindagi is about the young Pakistani woman Zoya (Salma Mansoor), who marries a Pakistani unknown to her—living in Germany. When she arrives in Germany, it becomes clear that she is expected to be a housewife. Her husband Kamal (Shahid Iqbal) does not approve of her making contacts with German people. But finally, Zoya finds her own way. The play discusses the issue of integration into a foreign society and questions how far integration may go. Should a person ever forget his/ her own cultural or religious background? Yeh zindagi tries to answer these questions in a humorous way, and therefore was a big success. The country of Bangladesh and the Bangladeshi immigrants to Germany are not a common subject of German media in general. So it is quite surprising that the German theatre group Berliner Compagnie staged a play about Bangladesh in 2005. The title of the play is Kredit für Taslima (“A credit for Taslima”). The setting is a village on the banks of the Brahmaputra, where women are planning to receive micro-credits in order to buy seeds. The men in the village reject the women’s plan. The women face problems with the Islamist mullahs, the machos—and a German manager sent by the World Bank. Although the subject of the play—big development projects versus micro-credits for women—is serious and there are no South Asian actors on the stage, the play is a melodrama à la Bollywood. It contains a lot of music and dance—and the obligatory happy end! The play gains further importance by the fact that Muhammad Yunus was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for the support of the concept of micro credits. The success of Kredit für Taslima might also reflect the German enthusiasm for the Bombay film industry, nicknamed Bollywood. Bollywood films are becoming more and more attractive to German audiences. The German television station RTL2 has noted “Bollywood hype” among German people. The number of Indian / Bollywood parties is increasing steadily, and fitness studios propagate Bollywood dancing as a new fitness trend. The German TV station RTL2 brought several Bollywood blockbusters to the German audience. Almost all the films

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Illustration 5: “Kredit für Taslima” (“A Credit for Taslima”). Copyright: Berliner Compagnie, Berlin.

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star the Bollywood Muslim superstar, Shah Rukh Khan (b. 1965). Khan is celebrated by the Muslim Afghan, Turkish, Arabic and South Asian communities in Germany as their hero. His appearance on the German stage, such as during the revue Bollywood Temptations in 2004, is enthusiastically received. 5.2 The Internet The enthusiasm of the South Asian community in Germany for the media can also be seen on the internet. In recent years, the South Asian Muslim community has begun to organize itself as a virtual (ethnic) community. The website www.theinder.net for example, started as a hobby (Goel 2004), has more than 1700 registered users. The community contains information and articles—ritten by members—on the one hand, and a discussion forum on the other hand. The website www.pak24.de is built upon the same principle. One part of the site is to provide information to the users on different areas of life, the other part is a forum. The forum has more than 500 members. In both forums, subjects such as society, religion, recipes, and Bollywood films are discussed. It cannot be stated that the inder.net is an Indian Hindu forum, whereas pak24.de is exclusively for Muslims. One can assume that many people use both forums. In both forums, religion is a subject heavily discussed. The theinder. net contains a thread about “Prejudices against Islam”, in which users try to explain the rulings of Islam. Islam is defended against common accusations such as the situation of women in Islam, polygamy or terrorism. Most of the statements are written in a neutral tone, but it can be assumed that offensive statements and flames are deleted by the moderators. All in all, the organization of South Asian Muslims in forums, which are not explicitly religiously motivated, deserves further scientific attention. The threads, in which religion becomes an important subject of argumentation, deserve special attention.

6. Prominent people of South Asian background living in Germany Although the South Asian Muslim community is not as large in numbers as the Arabic or Turkish communities, for example, there are how-

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ever some prominent people with a South Asian Muslim background living in Germany. Some of them have taken German citizenship, some of them have not. Most of them would also stress that the label “Muslim with South Asian background” is not the most important point of their identity. Some of them would surely define themselves as “Germans”— because of “being based in Germany, being socialized in Germany and planning their lives in Germany” (Goel 2005)—and some of them would reject this. Several South Asian Muslims with whom I have spoken said that they are Muslims—but stressed that they are not supporting the scholarly interpretations of Islam, e.g. by the Tablighis or the Ahmadiyya. The majority observes the fast during Ramadan, pays zakat or prays regularly—but only a few are members of local mosque organizations. All the people with whom I have spoken, have stressed that they regard themselves as tolerant Muslims rejecting communal or even fundamentalist ideas. Those who have lived in India emphasise that they have always been friends and good neighbors with Hindu families. They also continue their Hindu-Muslim friendships in Germany. In addition, they also have established friendships with the German Christians, and some of them are married to German partners. For this article, I chose two men with South Asian backgrounds who have lived in Germany for a long time. One was born into an Indian Muslim family, the other one is of Pakistani origin. Both of them are known to millions of Germans. 6.1

Prof. Dr. Mojib Latif (b. 1954)

Professor Dr Mojib Latif of the University of Kiel in Northern Germany is one of the most renowned experts of climate dynamics in the world. His main research interest is climatic change. He has published several books and articles on this subject and appeared on several German talk shows. Prof. Latif was born in Hamburg, where his father migrated in order to be the imam of a local mosque. Despite this, there is no official statement confirming that Prof. Latif is an active member of the Muslim community (personal website of Prof. Latif). Prof. Latif is married to Elisabeth Latif, a Norwegian by birth. 6.2

Irshad Panjatan (b. 1931)

The mime artist, Irshad Panjatan, is known to a broad German public through his role as the Red Indian “Listiger Lurch” in the famous

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German comedy Der Schuh des Manitu (directed by Michael “Bully” Herbig, Germany 2001). It is not commonly known that Panjatan is a well-known Indian actor and mime artist. Panjatan was born into a noble Shia family in Hyderabad, India in 1931. His family name Panjtan, which is corrupted into Panjatan, is a common Shiite name, meaning “Five sacred bodies” (Allah, Muhammad, Ali, Fatima, Hasan and Husain). After the completing high school, Panjatan worked as an engineer at the Hyderabad Airport. He himself states that he “found more interest in mankind than in machines”, and left for Bombay. From 1953–59, Panjatan worked as assistant director to the noted filmmaker, journalist and writer, K. A. Abbas. His first solo pantomime performance took place in Delhi in 1962, followed by tours through Asia, the Middle East and several European countries. From 1968–1971, he was guest professor at the Film Institute of India in Poona. During that time, he also acted in several films highlighting specific social issues, for example on family planning in India, or for the Children’s Film Society. In 1971, Panjatan settled in West Berlin, where he was performed mime shows. From 1974–1995, he taught and held workshops in his own Pantomime School. In 1994, he produced and

Illustration 6: Irshad Panjatan. Copyright: Irshad Panjatan, Berlin.

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directed a short film Namak ki kankari in mime format on the occasion of the 125th anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi’s birth. In 1995, Panjatan “broke his 32 years of silence” in a solo story-telling performance in a theatre in Bombay. Apart from traveling to India or the USA, Panjatan worked extensively in German theatres, doing choreographies. Irshad Panjatan is married to a German, Ingrid, whom he met in India. They have one daughter. The biographies of all these people—mostly men—of South Asian background have shown the great variety in the approach to the religion of Islam in Germany. The Indo-German history of close co-operation and cultural exchange is also active to the present day. It has also been demonstrated that South Asian Islam in Germany is neither limited to theological discussions on Islam nor to images of a Bollywood film. Scholarly movements such as the Ahmadiyya, the Tablighis as well as advocates of a multicultural, multi-religious society exist side by side. Presently, the South Asian Muslim “community” is very heterogeneous concerning its ethnic origins and its interpretations of Islam. Th e future will show if communal conflicts like those prevalent in South Asia, will be overcome by the South Asians (in general) living in Germany.

References Appleton, Tom. 2003. Ein deutscher James Bond in Kabul, http://www.telepolis.de/ deutsch/inhalt/co/14080/1.html Bates, Crispin. 2001. Community, Empire and migration: South Asians in diaspora. Basingstoke, Palgrave. Bredi, Daniela. 2004. Islam in South Asia. Roma. Chakrabarty, Bidyut. 1990. Subhas Chandra Bose and middle class radicalism: a study in Indian nationalism, 1928–1940. London: LSE. Faust, Elke. 2000. Close ties and new boundaries: Tablīghī Jamāʿat in Britain and Germany. In Travellers in faith, ed. Muhammad Khalid Masud, 139–160. Germain, Eric. 2006. The first Muslim missions on a European scale: Ahmadi-Lahori networks in the interwar period. In Islam in Europe in the interwar period, eds. Eric Germain, and Nathalie Clayer (Forthcoming). Goel, Urmila. 2003. Die indische Legion—ein Stück deutsche Geschichte, http://www. urmila.de ——. 2004. Die Internetplattform theinder.net—Das Medium der 2. Generation. Meine Welt, 21(1): 66–67. Günther, Lothar, and Hans-Joachim Rehmer. 1999. Inder, Indien und Berlin: 100 Jahre Begegnung Berlin und Indien. Berlin: Lotos. ——. 2003. Von Indien nach Annaburg—Indische Legion und Kriegsgefangene in Deutschland, Berlin: Verlag am Park. Hartog, Rudolf. 2001.The Sign of the Tiger: Subhas Chandra Bose and his Indian Legion in Germany, 1941–45. New Delhi: Rupa.

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Heidrich, Petra, and Heike Liebau, eds. 2001. Akteure des Wandels. Lebensläufe und Gruppenbilder an Schnittstellen von Kulturen. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch. Höpp, Gerhard, and Brigitte Reinwald. 2000. Fremdeinsätze. Afrikaner und Asiaten in europäischen Kriegen, 1914–1945. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch. ——. 1997. Muslime in der Mark. Als Kriegsgefangene und Internierte in Wünsdorf und Zossen, 1914–1924. Berlin: Das Arabische Buch. Hübsch, Hadayatullah. Eine Entgegnung auf Frau Dr. Schröters Schrift „Ahmadiyya Bewegung des Islam“, http://www.ahmadiyya.de. ——. Mein Weg zum Islam, http://www.ahmadiyya.de. Jacobsen, Knut A., and P. Pratap Kumar, eds. 2004. South Asians in the diaspora: histories and religious traditions. Leiden: Brill. Kandhelawi, Muhammad Zakariya. S.d. Faza’il A’mal. Lahor: Maktaba Rahmaniyya. Kazim, Hasnain. 2005. Little Pakistan in Mannheim. Der Spiegel. August 28th. Khedimellah, Moussa. 2000/2001. Islam and public space: Young preachers of the Tabligh movement in France. Jahrbuch des Kulturwissenschaftlichen Instituts im Wissenschaftszentrum NRW, 92–112. Lemmen, Thomas, and Melanie Miehl. 2001. Islamisches Alltagsleben in Deutschland. Bonn. Malik, Safdar Jamal. 1982. Al-Mashriqi und die Khaksars. Eine religiöse Sozialbewegung indischer Muslime im 20. Jahrhhundert. Unpubl. M.A. Thesis, University of Bonn. Masud, Muhammad Khalid, ed. 2000. Travellers in faith: studies of the Tablīghī Jamaʿat as a transnational Islamic movement for faith renewal. Leiden: Brill. Oesterheld, Joachim. 2004. Aus Indien an die Alma mater berolinensis—Studenten aus Indien in Berlin vor 1945. Periplus 14: 191–200. ——. Zakir Husain. Begegnungen und Erfahrungen bei der Suche nach moderner Bildung für ein freies Indien. In Akteure des Wandels, ed. P. Heidrich, and H. Liebau, 105–130. Preckel, Claudia. 2000. The Begums of Bhopal. New Delhi: Roli Books. ——. 2005. Islamische Bildungsnetzwerke und Gelehrtenkultur im Indien des 19. Jahrhunderts: Muhammad Siddiq Hasan Khan und die Enstehung der Ahle hadith-Bewegung in Bhopal. Unpublished PhD-Thesis, Ruhr-Universität Bochum. Reetz, Dietrich. 2004. Keeping busy on the path of Allah: the self-organisation (intizām) of the Tablīghī Jamāʿat. In Islam in contemporary South Asia, ed. Daniela Bredi, 295–305. Riess, Monika. 2002. Die deutsch-französische industrielle Kollaboration während des Zweiten Weltkrieges am Beispiel der RENAULT-Werke (1940–1944). Frankfurt: Peter Lang. Rose, Eugen, ed. 1979. Azad Hind: ein europäisches Inder-Märchen oder Die 1299 Tage der Indischen Legion in Europa. Wuppertal: Bhaiband-Verlag. Schimmel, Annemarie. 1963. Gabriel’s wing. A Study into the religious ideas of Sir Muhammad Iqbal. Leiden: Brill. Schröter, Hiltrud. 2005. Ahmadiyya-Bewegung des Islam. 4th ed. Frankfurt: Dr. HänselHohenausen. Sikand, Yoginder. 2002.The origins and development of the Tablighi Jamaat (1920–2000). New Delhi: Orient Longman. Stark, Holger. 2005. Missionare des Dschihad. Der Spiegel 2/2005, pp. 54–56. Von Hentig, Werner O. 2002. Von Kabul nach Shanghai: Bericht über die AfghanistanMission 1915/16 und die Rückkehr über das Dach der Welt unddurch die Wüsten Chinas. Konstanz: Libelle. Werth, Alexander, ed. 1971. Der Tiger Indiens: Subhas Chandra Bose; ein Leben für die Freiheit des Subkontinents. München: Bechtle.

PART IV

CULTURE

TURKISH-GERMAN FILMMAKING: FROM PHOBIC LIMINALITY TO TRANSGRESSIVE GLOCALITY? Viola Shafik

(. . .) in February 2004 Fatih Akin’s human relations’ drama Crashing the Wall was awarded the Golden Bear, as the first German film since 18 years. On the backdrop of the revived German Leitkultur-debate you could only pose the polemical question if films by directors of Turkish origin may be counted as part of the Leitkultur? Or if a parallel cinematic society has developed? However, much more telling and interesting is the question of transnational cinema.1

1. Turkish-German cinema: What culture? In February 2005 the Filmmuseum Potsdam dedicated an entire film retrospective to German Turkish Cinema. Trying to position the works within a German context the introduction to the series first posed the question whether the films are ‘a well-achieved synthesis between two worlds’ ( gekonnte Synthese zweier Welten) or something else such as the product of a parallel society. Herewith it raised some of the main controversies related not only to Turkish-German cinema but also to Turkish community in Germany in general. May they become part of German culture—whatever this is—through a synthesis or are they a marginal namely a distinct, (parallel) cultural appearance? Even though the Potsdam retrospective defiantly threw into the field the notion of ‘transnationalism’ as a solution, it opened up even more questions in particular as it failed to illuminate the very meaning of it further. Does transnational culture blend the German and the Turkish element into a kind of combined bi-national product or does it rather transgress the 1 „(. . .) im Februar 2004 erhielt Fatih Akins Beziehungsdrama Gegen die Wand den Goldenen Bären, als erster deutscher Film seit 18 Jahren. Vor dem Hintergrund der wieder aufgewärmten deutschen Leitkultur-Debatte könnte man nun polemisch fragen, ob Filme von türkischstämmigen RegisseurInnen eigentlich zur Leitkultur zählen? Oder hat sich hier eine Parallel-Kino-Gesellschaft entwickelt? Aufschlussreicher und interessanter ist aber die Frage nach einem transnationalen Kino.“ (www.filmmuseum-potsdam.de/deutsch-tuerk.html)

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idea of synthetic or marginal culture into an ‘international’ global culture that leaves behind all national boundaries—or is it even something very else? Some of those notions and queries evoked by the Potsdam retrospective have been hotly debated in cultural studies since the early 1990s, particularly the idea of ‘cultural identity’ as it involves issues of cultural hegemony, migration, diaspora and hybridity. Yet, for a while theory has been confined to two not entirely distinct ‘models of oppression’, the ‘colonial model’ setting apart oppressor and oppressed, and the ‘transgression model’ based on the idea of oppression and resistance’ (Grossberg, 1996: 88). One of the overt problems of these oppression models are their reliance on binarist difference, something that Homi Bhabha, for instance, one of the most influential scholars in this respect has tried to transcend by perceiving cultural hybridity as dialogical and not binarist (Bhabha, 1996: 58). He further regarded hybridity as essentially non-hegemonic. Thus, his model seemed to foster the image of a synthesis that is qua nature disengaged from power, or to put it differently, the marginal and dominated is believed to be inclusive rather than exclusive, something that more recently has been strongly contested by social science fi eld studies as we will see below. Quite in general the ‘oppression models’ suffer from their static and binarist fixation of meaning. This is why Grossberg suggested that they should be “moved towards a model of articulation as ‘transformative practice’ ” (Grossberg, 1996: 88). For these models ‘cannot tell us how to interpellate various fractions of the population in different relations to power into the struggle for change (Grossberg, 1996: 88)’. Instead of difference he speaks in favor of ‘a theory of otherness which is not essentialist, a theory of positivity based on notions of effectivity, belonging and (. . .) ‘the changing same’ (Grossberg, 1996: 97). The inadequacy of the post-colonial binarist models in an age of mounting social mobility and displacement has been also demonstrated by Arjun Appadurai who suggested understanding the ongoing globalization as a set of disjunctures between five dimensions of global flow: ethnoscapes, mediascapes, technoscapes, fianscapes and ideoscapes (Appadurai, 1990: 296). To him in particularly media- and ideoscapes seem at times to oddly dis- and reconnect with the ‘landscapes of group identity’ or global ethnoscapes offering new imagined lives and communities as ‘the link of imagination and social life [. . .] is increasingly

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a global and deterritorialized one’ (Appadurai, 1991: 200) engendering among others also global fundamentalisms. Needless to say, these findings and the debate on the issue of powerrelations had implications for the comprehension of transnationalism. Anita Häusermann Fábos for instance calls in the critique of Luis Eduardo Guarnizo and Michael Peter Smith (Transnationalism from Below) that some most distinguished cultural studies representatives have been too celebratory of transnationalism with their ‘emphasis on ordinary people escaping control and domination through transnational activities’, stating that some transnational practices that include the production of creolized or hybrid cultural, political or social forms may be counter-hegemonic, but not necessarily resistant and last but not least they may even perpetuate hegemonic structures at home (Häusermann Fábos, 2002: 35). Kevin Robins, too, a frequent writer on Turks in Europe has warned to misunderstand transnationalism as counter-nationalist (Robins, 2004: 115). Doubtless social science has been eager to come to terms with the notion of transnationalism. US-American social science used the term originally in relation to new immigration, while Paul Kennedy and Victor Roudometof have preferred to perceive transnational culture in correlation with second or third-generation ethnics of immigrant nations. Quite in accordance with Appadurai’s views they have made clear that these transnational cultures may engage in very different activities regarding to their culture, either reproducing a kind of deterritorised nation giving birth to a long-distance nationalism (Kennedy, 2002: 15) or quite in contrast linking themselves to an ethnospace, “a deterritorised space” like the ‘global city’ that is delocalized and organized around certain common ideas, activities or interests (Kennedy, 2002: 13). Thus they also have started questioning the traditional connection between culture and locality, refuting culture as being essentially localized, self-contained, internally coherent with well-defined borders taking into account the social actor’s refl exivity, that is her agency in choosing and altering cultural practices, something that relates this view to Grossberg’s idea of transformative practice. No wonder that the most pivotal German-Turkish films that will be discussed below are as varied and ‘disjunctive’ in their approaches and messages. For analyzing them on a textual level it becomes clear that they prove to be themselves deeply embedded in some of the different above mentioned ‘models’ either reinforcing or refuting them. Thus,

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the films do oscillate between difference and familiarity, resistance and accommodation of German (mis-) conceptions and remind us of Stuart Hall’s understanding of the process of an identity formation. Identity itself is based in ‘difference’, it “is a structured representation which only achieves its positive through the narrow eye of the negative. It has to go through the eye of the needle of the other before it can construct itself.” (Hall, 1991: 21; Grossberg, 1996: 89) At other instances Hall says, that “identity is subject to the play of history, politics, representation and difference” (Hall as quoted in Kennedy, 2002: 15). Taking up this understanding, however, means that we have to qualify the idea of cinematic referentiality or in other words the belief that the cinematic works in question reflect ‘real’ life conditions of Turks in Germany (Milieustudien as some critics like to call them, cf. Farzanefar, 2005: 236). Instead, I suggest to regard them as heterogeneous multi-vocal products of common Turkish-German, Turkish-Turkish and German-German discursive negotiations, evolving around some pivotal issues such as of underdevelopment and gender-inequality.

2. The ‘poor’ foreign woman discourse Recapitulating the history of German-Turkish cinema the Potsdam retrospective claims that its development displays a profound change on the historical axis visualized first of all in the strongly transformed ‘self image’ of female characters: Our German-Turkish series is spanning from Tevfik Başer’s film 40qm of Germany—that for the first time laid the foundation of GermanTurkish cinema and drew our attention to a hitherto strange world— up to Crashing the Wall. Both films describe the fates of Turkish women in Germany at different times. More then 20 years stretch in between in which the self-image of the women has strongly changed: Young Sibel in Akin’s cinematic success fights for a self-defined life while Turna ‘only’ wants to escape her prison.2

2 ‘Unsere deutsch-türkische Reihe spannt den Bogen von Tevfik Başers Film 40qm Deutschland, der den Grundstein im deutsch-türkischen Kino legte und uns erstmalig auf eine bis dato fremde Welt aufmerksam machte, bis zu Gegen die Wand. Beide Filme schildern Schicksale türkischer Frauen zu unterschiedlichen Zeiten in Deutschland. Dazwischen liegen über 20 Jahre, in denen sich das Selbstbild der Frauen stark verändert hat: Die junge Sibel aus Akins Erfolgsfilm kämpft um ein selbstbestimmtes Leben, während Turna «nur» ihrem Gefängnis entkommen will.’

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What seems striking here is the notion of ‘self image’ falsely suggesting that the women in those films speak for themselves, even though both films cited have been designed and directed by men. Yet, two other issues are even more central to this account, first the discourse of women-as-victim and second the idea of historical ‘development’ that is the vision of a movement from passive to active female agency. Indeed both issues, development—or more precisely backwardness that is to be transformed into modernity—as well as gender inequality do form the core of German (and European) narrative of Turks in particular (and the Orient in general). This and the strongly intertwined controversy on cultural clashes versus miscegenation will have to be examined thoroughly while studying relevant works from the last two decades as all those issues are clearly reflected (and negotiated) in German-Turkish cinema up to date. Since the first arrival of Turkish foreign labor (Gastarbeiter) to German camps in 1961 the local discourse on Turks has evolved according to Elisabeth Beck-Gernsheim around two most powerful images, that is the ‘poor’ foreign (oppressed) woman (die arme Ausländerfrau) and the ‘poor’ foreign (uprooted) child (das arme Ausländerkind). In particular the Turkish woman with her headscarf was perceived as an invisible, passive, ignorant figure, a victim first of her own man and at a second instance of work conditions in capitalist society, a view that was fostered by both German feminists as well as social scientists during the 1970s and 1980s (Beck-Gernsheim, 2004: 51) and taken up in cinema by such committed feminist filmmakers as Helma Sander Brahms with Shirin’s Wedding/Shirins Hochzeit (1975) who told the story of a Turkish woman who escapes arranged marriage at home in search for her first love in Germany only to end up in prostitution. Brahms was heavily attacked for it by Turkish right wing representatives. Ten years later the motif of the arme Ausländerfrau was revived again by the main character Turna in Tevfik Başer’s film 40 Squaremeters of Germany/40qm Deutschland (1985) that was considered the starting point of Turkish-German cinema. It was supported by the Hamburg Filmboard and produced by the director himself. Turna is pictured as a silent and shy rural woman, brought to Germany by a shrewd and coarse looking husband, Dursun who locks her up in their tiny apartment, something she discovers the first time she wants to clean up in front of her flat entrance. Her subsequent physical confinement and seclusion is only interrupted by occasional unpleasant sexual encounters with her husband and her own attempts to recover some of her childhood

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memories. The film ends with pregnant Turna stepping out of the door of her familiar prison the day her husband suffers an epileptic attack and falls unconscious to the ground. What expects her outside is left unresolved by the film’s open ending. Tevfik Başer who emigrated as an adult to Germany had not acquired the German citizenship yet when he wrote and directed this film with the financial support of the city he was based in. However, this is not to say that his views are a simple reflection of a genuine German vision because of his own factual dependency, I rather tend to perceive them as being also rooted in universal as well as in Turkish modernist thinking that sets apart tradition from modernity in a binarist way. “Since the modern constitutes its own identity by differentiating itself from an-other (usually tradition as a temporal other or spatial others trans formed into temporal others)” (Grossberg, 1996: 93) “the modern itself is constituted by the logic of difference through which the modern is constructed as an ‘adversarial space’ living in ‘an anxiety of contamination by its other’ ” (Grossberg, 1996: 97). Modernist thinking spread among non-Western countries who were confronted with the military and economic superiority of the colonial powers since the late 19th century. Tradition was dismissed as the temporal other and dubbed as backwardness. True that Turkey, the heart of the Ottoman Empire, was never colonized like most other countries in the region, however after World War I its former hegemonic position was strongly challenged and the country’s elite worked hard for the ‘modernization’ of their homeland. With that woman’s role in society moved into the core of the reformist modernist project of the new Kemalist Republic. Proclaimed in 1923 that was eager to get rid of all signs of ‘barbarity’ and tradition embodied by the Sufis, the Fez, the veil and even the Arabic alphabet. The republic abolished furthermore the Muslim shari’a in favor for a civil code inspired by the Swiss code improving the personal status law considerably, forbidding polygamy and repudiation of women. As Kemal Atatürk, its designer declared in 1925: In some places I have seen women who put a piece of cloth or a towel or something like that over their heads to hide their faces, and who turn their backs or huddle themselves on the ground when a man passes by. What are the meaning and sense of this behavior? Gentlemen, can the mothers and daughters of a civilized nation adopt this strange manner, this barbarous posture? It is a spectacle that makes the nation an object of ridicule. It must be remedied at once (as quoted in Ahmed, 1992: 164).

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Thus, the women’s question became basic to any modernizing efforts. The reason why reformers were so concerned with the position of women in their societies is, however, also related to the fact that to Orientalist and colonialist discourse the role of women became central in their critique of Muslim society. As Leila Ahmed noted, the oppression visualized in seclusion and veiling of Muslim women had become a “centerpiece of Western narrative of Islam in the 19th century” and modeled into a kind of “colonial feminism” (Ahmed, 1992: 150 pp.). Particularly the veil behind which women were “buried alive” (Ahmed, 1992: 154) was denounced as a visible sign of backwardness and uncivilized behavior. Missionaries and anthropologists described Muslim marriage as based on sensuality and not on love, rendering woman into a “prisoner and slave rather than (. . .) companion and helpmeet” (Ahmed, 1992: 154). This critique was often the product of double standard, fighting women’s liberation at home some colonialists “captured the language of feminism and redirected it, in the service of colonialism, toward Other men and the cultures of Other men” (Ahmed, 1992: 151 pp.). This is also why in those countries western bourgeois love marriage was promoted under the pretext that in it the spouses were not related through power and domination but through respect and companionship. Reading 40 Square Meters of Germany on the backdrop of those lines it is even more telling to realize the extent to which the film is caught in the modernist, originally colonialist and strongly binarist scheme. The film follows herewith the very logic of self-denial or ‘repression of identity’ that Robins described for Turkey in its relation to Europe starting with the Tanzimat reforms up to Atatürk’s social revolution until to day. Its result is considered an ‘absolute’ modernization (Robins, 1996: 67), based on a kind of ‘ersatz modernism’ though that has been put in place of old culture, replacing the ‘spirit of cosmopolitanism; by ethnic, linguistic and religious mixture and interchange’ that characterized the Ottoman Empire. In exchange the “Turkish state that emerged out of its collapse was fundamentally opposed to such pluralism of identity” (Robins, 1996: 69). While the new Turkish elite for a long time seemed unable to engender a more creative modernism (Robins, 1996: 68)—a situation that has started to alter only recently with a far greater interest in cultural diversity and otherness (Robins, 2004: 122)—Europe’s position has remained largely unchanged, i.e. it insists on “this particular logic of ‘development’ as the only possibility; its inability that is to say, to imagine modernity on the basis of any other sense of universalism” (Robins, 1996: 67).

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That Başer chose to reproduce this Turkish dilemma namely being caught in ‘ersatz modernism’ is maybe not astonishing regarding to his personal situation but primarily also because of the strength and the univocality of the above quoted discourse in the German arena at that time (cf. Tekeli, 1995: VII pp.). How popular those positions were with Germans becomes even more visible in the fact that German fi lmmaker Hark Bohm soon followed Başer’s footsteps with Yasemin (1988) heavily denouncing arranged marriage and the Turkish family organization. This film resolved the cinematic conflict by means of a German deus ex machina, the male main character who eventually liberates his beloved Yasemin from her Turkish family’s tyranny in a typical Eurocentric rescue fantasy (see for this motif in Hollywood cinema Unthinking Eurocentrism (1994) by E. Shohat and R. Stam). The ‘woman-as-victim discourse’ continued to be a topic for Başer’s following film Abschied vom falschen Paradies/Farewell to False Paradise (1988) as it takes up the same motif of the enslaved and secluded woman whose escape to the more promising German reality remains marked by uncertainty and an unknown final outcome. It pictures a young Turkish woman sentenced to prison for murdering her cruel husband in an act of self-defense. Her imprisonment develops to become a self-awaking, yet when her actual release approaches she learns that she is supposed to be deported to Turkey for re-trial, something that renders her increasingly desperate and helpless. Despite of the advent of a second and third generation of ‘Turks’ in Germany the woman-as-victim discourse has shown a certain resistance to change, revived for instance in 2001 in Anam by Buket Alakus and before in 1998 by Yilmaz Arslan in his German television (WDR) coproduction Yara telling the story of Hülya who was raised in Germany but is sent back to live with her uncle in Turkey. In a breathtaking and dangerous flight she travels through Turkey until she ends up in a psychiatric clinic only to loose her mind completely. What those films stress upon is women’s helplessness vis à vis male power. They leave no space for the characters’ reflexivity, negotiations and last but not least do not take into consideration the possible existence of love, solidarity and tolerance within Turkish family that could subvert and defy oppressive social and religious obligations. For, at a time when in Germany the victim discourse was still most popular, in Turkey auteur filmmakers—precisely the representatives of New Turkish cinema—displayed in their works a completely different image (Erdoğan, 2001: 538). Several films appeared in succession presenting

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active self-defined female characters, such as Mine (1982) and Woman’s Got no Name/Kadinin Adi Yok (1987) by Atif Yilmaz and Rag Doll/ Bez Bebek (1987) by Engin Ayça to name only a few. Their narratives “centered on women and attempted to study them in their own right or questioned the conventions of female representation. Women in cinema were shown to express desires of their own, with the female protagonist struggling to solve her problems by herself ” (Erdoğan, 2001: 538). In the very same period, that is the course of the 1980s and despite of the political coup, a quite heterogeneous feminist movement developed in Turkey (Tekeli, 1995: 15) that detached itself from earlier republican ‘state feminism’, all of which the German public and audience remained quite oblivious. One of the possibilities to explain this discrepancy is to take the obliterate centrality of women’s victimized position in early Turkish-German cinema for a reflection of ‘German’ discursive preoccupations on the one hand and consider them a by-product of the Turkish immigrants strife for cultural ‘recognition’ on the other.

3. Transgressive mobility or the ‘poor foreign child’ discourse? This is not to say that all Turkish-German productions were caught in a modernist or racist woman-as-victim-discourse. During the 1990s a number of short films and documentaries appeared some of them directed by women filmmakers of Turkish origin, most notably Seyhan Derin. In her documentary I am Daughter of my Mother/Ben annemin kiziyim—Ich bin Tochter meiner Mutter (1996) she tells her mother’s biography between her home village and her German city life through which she not only gave voice and credit to her mother’s achievements and to the views of other people from the older generation but was also able to contrast them with her own life and vision. Comparing current Turkish-German production with that early wave the following preliminary distinctions can be made: most of the more recent fiction films display a much stronger interest in the concept of mobility and masculinity—particularly those by Fatih Akin but also by Thomas Arslan. Almost completely disinterested in female home seclusion and moral conflicts their plots are constructed on the narrative level around social marginality and the liminal male existence that gets complemented at times by a strongly hybrid mise-en-scène on the stylistic level. Moreover, its directors belong to the second generation German-Turks and have accordingly shifted the thematic focus from

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the ‘poor foreign woman’ to the ‘poor foreign child’ which has proven to be a quite dynamic and highly controversial discourse. Following the original logic of the German host, the second generation was doomed to a life between two worlds, ‘sitting between two chairs’ as a German metaphor goes, uprooted, badly educated, with no sense of belonging and thus predestined to fall into the trap of criminality and social marginality (Beck-Gernsheim, 2004: 74/90). At first sight the most recent film titles and synopses seem to support this view, Siblings/Geschwister (1996) as well as Dealer (1998) by Thomas Arslan. Kleine Freiheit/A Little Bit of Freedom (2003) and most notably Short Sharp Shock/Kurz und schmerzlos (1998) by Fatih Akin and even the German-directed Kanak Attack (2000). In all of them Turkish male characters are marginal and collide more or less overtly with the law. Notwithstanding, upon closer examination strong differences appear between those works, for some of them depart from the notion of stigma towards a notion of empowerment, hybridity or even otherness in Grossberg’s sense particularly on the level of mise-en-scène and style even though their plots seem caught in the German poor-child-narrative. Beck-Gernsheim traces the discourse of the poor foreign child back to the idea of the tragic mulatto or the half breed—despised, excluded and doomed to fail (Beck-Gernsheim, 2004: 77) and mentions an increasing number of artists particularly writers, most notably Salman Rushdie, who have worked to reverse that stereotype by praising the socalled “bastard existence” (cf. Rushdie, 1991: 394). Thus the notion of the bastard has been recoded to serve as a source of empowerment. One of those who paved the way for this understanding in Germany was the German-Turkish writer Feridun Zaimoglu. He reinterpreted the notion of the Kanake—originally a Polynesian word for ‘human’ that migrated to stand for ‘the indigenous’ to become eventually a demeaning curse applied to foreigners—as a framework for positive identification. He was also joined or rather preceded by Jakob Arjouni who successfully introduced his Turkish detective Kemal Kayankaya, the embodiment of a marginal underdog who works as a second rate detective in the city of Frankfurt. One of Arjouni’s books was adapted to cinema by Doris Dörrie in Happy Birthday, Türke! (1992) heralding the advent of the German-Turk to popular cinema. Zaimoglu’s work too found its way to cinema. His novel Abschaum/ Scum (1997), a ‘looser ballad’ composed of 13 different episodes, was adapted in 2000 by the German director Lars Becker into a highly stylized fiction film carrying the title Kanak Attack. Its plot is similar to the

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original, divided into several episodes connected by one and the same character, Ertan Ongun, a dedicated drug dealer and marginal underworld hero who gets eventually crushed by his own inability to overcome his addiction not only to drugs but also to his way of life as a ‘Kanake’. At the very beginning he enthusiastically explains the pillars of his and his friends’ particular identity: ‘We are all Kanake. Our sweat is Kanake, our life is Kanake, our gold chains are Kanake.Our entire own style is Kanake!’ Hence it seems that these German-Turkish works have followed Gayatri Spivak’s ideological advice who wrote: “Certain peoples have always been asked to cathect the margins so others can be defined central. . . . In that kind of situation the only strategic thing to do is to absolutely present oneself as the centre” (Spivak as quoted in Naficy, 2001: 221). The centre that Arjouni, Zaimoglu and subsequently also filmmaker Fatih Akin chose to occupy is a bastard existence spectacularized by means of global popular culture. Thus—contrary to Arslan’s Dealer for instance—Zaimoglu’s and Becker’s depiction is rather celebratory of marginality. In fact, in Kanak Attack the German-Turk entangles in male power games with the majority by declaring marginality—his ‘Kanak’ identity—as a source of power (similar to slogans such as “Black is beautiful!”). This celebration is achieved by staying away from the naturalizing effect of realism and sticking instead to elements of a popular genre namely the gangster movie. Popular music, street language, swift editing, chases, shootings, attractive girls are part of this formula and last but not least a display of a certain type of ‘muscular’ masculinity. Yet this works only if sexual difference is further underlined, or in other words: even the marginal male is constructed through marginalizing the female. Indeed, one of the sources of Ongun’s ordeal in Kanak Attack is his witty yet futile attempt to protect the two attractive prostitutes his dead black friend has left behind from the domination of local pimps. This in total more aggressive attitude seems to contest Homi Bhabha’s vision of a dialogic inclusive hybridity precisely because of its affirmation of gender imbalances. For this celebration of male empowerment through marginality reinforces the dethroning of women by both, majority and minority men. The same applies to Fatih Akin’s Short Sharp Shock/Kurz und Schmerzlos, where male machismo and the thrill of the underworld play a likewise important role that similarly utilizes the vocabulary of the gangster movie. The plot begins with Gabriel leaving prison firmly decided not

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to enter it again. Something that turns out to be no easy enterprise for the kind of friends he has, the Serbian Bobby and the Greek Costa who seem in constant search of trouble. Particularly Bobby is responsible for that as he decides despite of his friends’ contrary advice to join the gang of a feared Albanian mafia boss. No wonder, during his first task things get out of control and Bobby as well as Costa get killed in a shooting with the don himself. Gabriel takes revenge for his friends and is then seen in the last scene on his way to the airport leaving for Turkey. Again one of the sources of conflict in the film is the fight over women on the one hand such as Costa’s plight to win back Gabriel’s (liberated) sister who has decided to leave him for a more settled German or Gabriel’s own chevalier’s compartment protecting Bobby’s attractive girlfriend from the latter’s abuse only to end up with her in bed. Nonetheless those women are only adjunct, the real narratological bearers are men and their conflict with the thrill of the underworld and male comradeship. However, by no means are all second-generation Turkish-German directors celebratory of bastard existence. Others have chosen to confirm on the narrative as well as on the stylistic level the idea that the foreign youth’s border existence almost necessarily leads to defeat. The strongest affirmation of this has been presented by Thomas Arslan. His films Siblings (1996) and Dealer (1998) are both situated in two different Berlin neighborhoods, Kreuzberg and Schöneberg that have since the 1980s started to accommodate a high number of Turkish families due among others to the deteriorated state of its old pre-war buildings offering an opportunity for low cost housing. In Siblings Arslan focuses on a German Turkish family whose three adolescent children are striving to cope with requirements of social life in Kreuzberg. His plots are not really dramatic for his characters seem to lack a strong goal with their little conflicts arising from social conditions themselves stressing their inability to envision a positive future for themselves. In both films the either coercive or voluntary return to Turkey looms as a final resolution. The most controversial character in Siblings is Erol (Tamer Yigit). While his younger brother Ahmed has a German girl friend and visits high school, and his sister Leyla tries to carve out some personal freedom in her relations to the opposite sex, he is handicapped by his own defeat and shortcomings, cast out from school, with no work, constantly broke and indebted to other people he decides to leave for Turkey to fulfill his military service. An even more passive character is represented

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by Cam in Arslan’s Dealer performed by the very same actor, Tamer Yigit. Despite having a girlfriend and a child, Cam disregards his girlfriend’s constant pleas to quit drug dealing. Instead Cam hangs on to his dream to become the manager of a restaurant his boss Hakan plans to acquire. However, when Hakan gets shot in front of his eyes, his world collapses. His girl friend leaves him and he himself is arrested by the police to be deported to Turkey. Arslan’s characters are clearly portrayed as ‘sitting between two chairs’. They confirm that growing up and living between two cultures is a deplorable state that engenders irresolvable conflicts. True that some of the secondary protagonists show a stronger ability to absorb and deal with those difficulties, however the victimizing discourse remains intact and the two worlds are portrayed as mostly irreconcilable something that the director not only affirms through his plot but also in his use of language: The VHS copies of both films are distributed without any subtitles for the Turkish dialogues with the effect that a German viewer remains alienated whenever the characters speak Turkish. On top of that, Erol and particularly Cam seem strongly muted, hardly communicating their conflicts to others, particularly not to Germans. Arslan’s style is very much realist oriented, with a documentary-like observational camera that prefers long takes and deep focus photography. The slow pace editing is always eager to show his characters in relation to their social environment, the neglected buildings and streets, the cheap youth hang outs, in fact his use of time and space—that is his spatiotemporality (cf. Mikhail Bakhtin’s notion of the ‘chronotope’ as introduced by Robert Stam)—is decisive for his specific description of boarder-existence. Indeed Arslan’s application of numerous slow traveling shots as mentioned above as well as fixed long takes of open spaces, namely of his main characters walking through or standing in empty streets or back yards of their neighborhood, as well as extensive closer shots framing them in front of plain backgrounds seems precisely through its stretching of time to reverse the spatial openness. This is how the mise-en-scène underlines the characters’ passivity and inability to change their situation and engenders a strong sense of entrapment. Even though Erol and Cam are not directly secluded like Başer’s Turna, yet the void openness of the public spaces through which they roam seem to represent the flip side of the same state of enclosure, an expression of that ‘liminal panic’ identified by Iranian US-based film scholar Hamid Naficy (Naficy, 2003: 213).

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In a recent study Naficy has summarized the strategies of films made by transnational filmmakers from the East in the so-called West under the common category of a ‘transnational’ genre “with specific generic and thematic conventions”, “products of the particular transnational location of filmmakers in time and place and in social life and cultural difference” (Naficy, 2003: 204). Drawing from psychoanalytical notions of claustrophobia and agoraphobia (triggered by the experience of loss) he writes: “In transnational genre, it is the enclosed claustrophobic spaces, often in the form of prisons, which both express and encode the (melo)drama of transnational subjectivity” (Naficy, 2003: 211). For, in his view transnational films tend to destabilize the traditional gendered binarism of cinematic space as identified earlier by British film scholar Laura Mulvey “since in transnationality the boundaries between self and other, female and male, inside and outside, homeland and hostland are blurred and must be negotiated” (Naficy, 2003: 211). As Mulvey had worked out in her ground-breaking genre studies, popular film genres tend to make a strongly gendered use of space. While melodrama often equals the family drama set inside the home focusing on passive female heroines, the male dominated action genre prefers mobility, streets, landscapes, adventures and cathartic violence (Mulvey, 1989: 69). Naficy’s thesis of phobic space and liminality that detaches cinematic chronotopes from sexual difference seems very convincing regarding to Başer’s two first films which quite overtly dwell on the above mentioned prison motif and it applies even better to the works directed by Thomas Arslan. Yet, Naficy limits his discussion of German-Turkish films to Tevfik Başer’s of the 1980s in addition to Utopia (1982), a German production by the Iranian Sohrab Shahed Saless set in a German whorehouse disregarding more recent Turkish-German productions (Naficy, 2003: 216 pp.). Quite in general his analysis is confined largely to the work of distinguished independent transnational auteur filmmakers, such as Atom Egoyan, Yilmaz Güney and Amir Naderi and does not touch upon main stream products. For he regards as the nature of transnational cinema to be distinct from main stream cinema, as their makers operate independently outside the studio system to the effect that their films tend to blur distinctions between types of films, such as fiction, documentary, ethnographic and avant-garde films.

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Naficy’s attempt to define transnational films by a specific set of genre conventions seem problematic though because it is contradicted by the very genesis of popular film genres which is deeply rooted in the film industrial context. Genres live on certain conventions and ritualized repetitiveness in order to secure success at the box office and are hence strongly linked to audience expectations. In contrast independent films do not build on those expectations but rather on the intention to break them. Communalities in transnational films as unearthed by Naficy should be therefore rather considered a by-product of the filmmakers’ insecure personal and professional situation and less as genre conventions. Furthermore, how to assess ‘transnational’ directors like Fatih Akin whose work does not detach itself from popular culture and main stream cinema? His works as well as Zaimoglu’s adaptation are clearly situated within the realm of the male dominated drama that is action and gangster movie rooted in popular culture. True that those films refer briefly to the motif of spatial enclosure or more precisely to imprisonment but have at the same time a much stronger tendency to resolve characters’ entrapments into mobility namely into chase, violence and traveling. They do so precisely not by destabilizing gendered generic binarisms but by reviving them—or to put it more plainly by accommodating narratives of marginality to the gendered rules of mainstream cinema and to the celebration of (male!) ‘bastard’ existence as we have seen above. Accordingly they do not position themselves and their work like other representatives of German-Turkish cinema outside mainstream production and financing. If Başer’s as well as Arslan’s films have been financed by either alternative or exclusive channels such as film boards and ZDF’s Kleines Fernsehspiel, which is a program that usually hosts low budget first and experimental fiction films, Becker’s Kanak Attack as well as Akin’s films have been much more market oriented regarding their plots but also their choice of performers and have been released in regular movie theatres, attracting as in the case of In July/Im Juli (2000) for which Akin chose the popular Moritz Bleibtreu as lead player 600000 viewers to cinema (Akin, 2004: 195). Thus, Akin’s capability to combine popularity at the box office with a ‘transnational’ outlook has eventually worked out for his film Crashing the Wall that received the first prize in Berlin and got widely distributed.

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While some Turkish-German directors like Arslan preferred to remain on the marginal ‘independent’ cinema side, a position that seems to correspond to the topic of marginality expressed in his works on the merely textual level, ‘male’ oriented fi lms search a way out of marginality through celebrating the latter with the vocabulary of main stream cinema. With this, I would argue, they have been able to beat their marginality, transcending it by means of genre cinema and to carve out a place for them in it. Thus we may state that Turkish-German cinema is not necessarily caught in either or choices, Leitkultur or parallel society, nor is it a synthesis of two worlds but every film negotiates issues of identity in a new and sometimes unique way. This applies in particular to its so far most popular example Crashing the Wall but also to another well achieved film who has interestingly received several international awards in Turkey—and this despite of its highly controversial topic: A Little Bit of Freedom/Kleine Freiheit by the Hamburg based Yavuz Yüksel features an adolescent Kurdish fugitive depicting in additon the very fi rst blossoming of a homo-erotic relationship. It is moreover the only film that characterizes the looming return to Turkey as a threat because based on coercive expulsion on the one hand and real physical danger back home on the other. But here again the deportation of the young Kurd is not pictured but left in the end open to the viewer’s imagination. The whole film plot is constructed around that very threat. Baran who is not 18 yet works as a delivery man with one of his cousin’s at a Kebab delivery in Hamburg’s neighborhood St. Pauli. He lives in hiding for his demand for asylum has been rejected despite of the fact that he lost his parents because of the Turkish repression in his home village. His constant fear of being caught by German police is shared by his black African friend Chernor who has also only an illegal status and makes a living from drug dealing. While their friendship intensifies Baran’s world flies apart the moment he meets a man from his home region, whom he identifies as responsible for his parents death. This film which run in Cannes but received quite tellingly the Grand Prix at the Ankara International Film Festival in 2003 and the audience award at the International Istanbul Film Festival in 2004 focuses more than any other of the films discussed so far on the issue of inner Turkish difference, last but not least because it deals with the Kurdish question (using also Kurdish for parts of its dialogues). Just like most

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other recent Turkish-German narratives it does not include any imagery from Turkey—yet its plot and mise-en-scène manage to transfer of what Turkey stands for in Kurdish mind to German soil, that is, the repression that Kurds have experienced in Turkey throughout the last decades and the daily conflicts that derive from it. Yet it recreates also another more positive experience namely family and kinship which is very strongly communicated through a video tape of recorded images that show Baran’s grandfather and some other old people from his village caught in a relaxed conversation at home. This particular sequence frames the whole film standing at is opening as well as finale. It is also repeated or alluded to throughout the film at several instances, as Baran sometimes cues back to it and sometimes uses the same tape in order to record more material from Hamburg. Eventually when he confronts the police with a gun in order to release his friend Chernor he leaves his camera on top of a car which is later picked up by one of the cops and rewound. Similar to the Roma ballad in Crashing the Wall that will be discussed below, these recordings function as the embodiment of a possible (metaphorical) return that confirms a special complex type of identity. This identity however is not presented as a unified or exclusive Kurdish national identity, on the contrary, just like the web of relationships that carry Baran through his endangered daily life it is as much multi-national as multi-cultural. There is not only the black African Chernor who joins Baran eventually as a room and bed mate (though rejected for being black by Baran’s Turkish boss) but also a Croatian woman who falls in love with Baran’s cousin and becomes part of their exilic ‘family’. Thus, director Yavuz works hard to destabilize the fault line of ethnicity, race and gender along with the generic vocabulary. For the fi lm’s fast paced editing and the extremely mobile camera following Baran’s excursions on the bicycle through the city while delivering the meals link him closely to the space in which he lives. This insistence on a possible and positive spatial relation, an open accessible space so to speak (quite in contrast to Arslan’s closed spatial depiction) can be also traced in the film’s title. The title of the film is not just symbolical referring to its characters constant quest for freedom, it is also strongly grounded in the space of the city of Hamburg and in particular in its most famous neighborhood St. Pauli with its harbor and its traditional red light district, for which one street called ‘Große Freiheit’ (Big Freedom) stands quite symbolically. It has even been used for a film title before, Große Freiheit No. 7/

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Große Freiheit Nr. 7 shot in 1943 (largely in Prague) and released only in 1945. It featured German film star Hans Albers in a sailor’s drama that did not, however, meet the expectations of propaganda minister Goebbels. For the film did neither glorify sailors nor their work showing its protagonist instead hanging around in whore houses, singing sad songs and trying to cope with a hopeless love. The ‘milieu’ or social environment is also what characterizes Yavuz’ St. Pauli film most. It is populated by homeless Germans, hard working Turks, desoriented Africans and fugitives from former Yugoslavia. The ‘real’ Germans who make their appearance in this film are either customers or police men who haunt the protagonists. It is an inclusive presence though where similarities are worked out in those differences on the back drop of a space that is able to include past and present, here and there. Therefore the conflict of Baran’s home village gets so easily exported to Hamburg the moment that stranger from back home appears overshadowing their common existence in their hostland. This simultaneous here and there characterizes also the spatiality of Crashing the Wall. In fact with this work its director Fatih Akin has remarkably moved away from the gendered and binarist mainstream approach of his first films towards a stronger ‘destabilization’ while it negotiates simultaneously some of the common German gendered ‘foreigner’ discourses—it does not only focus on the ‘bastard’ discourse but turns also the ‘poor foreign woman’ narrative upside down—which may be also one of the reasons for its current popularity (disregarding the more accidental factors that led to its being included in the Berlin festival competition and eventually receiving the major award). In fact the film has a strong female dominated line of action embodied by the character of Sibel that is absent in Akin’s earlier films. It is primarily her actions that define the course of the events which are loosely divided into three different acts. Similar to the Turkish auteur films of the 1980s she represents a woman who wants to fulfill her sexual desires and takes strong actions for pursuing her goals—and in fact Akin admits that while writing his screenplay, he felt very close to Turkish cinema in its attempt to intertwine the comic with the tragic (Akin, 2004: 240). While the male protagonist Cahit remains entrapped in his hidden grief and excessive alcohol consumption for having lost his first wife (something the heroine learns only later and in passing) young Sibel is taken to the hospital for having tried to commit suicide. There she convinces the much older Cahit to marry her so that she can escape her family’s domination and follow her sexual appetite. Cahit agrees to share

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with Sibel his small untidy apartment, yet feels increasingly attracted to her while she slowly changes not only his flat but also his way of life until at one point he involuntarily kills one of her lovers and ends up in prison. Here events take a dramatic turn in a kind of second act with Sibel leaving for Turkey where she drowns her bad consciousness in drugs and ends up eventually in hospital after provoking three men who were trying to harass her sexually into beating her up severely. Finally the third part of the film focuses on Cahit’s release from prison and his attempt to trace Sibel in Turkey. He finds her to have settled into a kind of middle class yuppie existence with a boy friend and a child. Nonetheless she decides to meet him, yet remains reluctant to give up her new family for his sake. The film ends with Cahit taking a bus and leaving for his provincial hometown Mersin or in other words to move further into Turkey to a place unknown to him and whose language he has almost forgotten. The motif of return is expressed in Crashing the Wall on two levels. The film is equipped with a structuring ‘Brechtian’ element, a ballad performed by a female singer (Idil Üner) standing with the accompanying Roma musicians (Selim Sesler and his orchestra) at the shores of the Bosporus beneath the Hagia Sophia. This performance intersects the plot at several instances, a chorus-like theatrical intermission that does not only underline the fictional character of the film’s story but roots it also symbolically in a Turkish characterized cultural tradition and space. Turkey is thus installed as the basic narrative source and inspiration, the mother’s womb to which everybody will ultimately have to return. In another parallelism this motif is underlined through the plot that makes both main characters return to Turkey, in quite different ways though. This ‘return’ to the so-called home land is probably the clearest of all returns in Turkish-German cinema, compelling in its ambiguity and surprising turns, in its juxtaposition of images and ways of life in Germany and Turkey, in its mixing of elements from here and there. For it is in Istanbul where Cahit meets a Bavarian speaking young Turkish taxi driver and it is in Germany where Sibel tries to escape her family’s paternality but in Istanbul where she settles into a modern yuppie existence, it is in Hamburg where Sibel brings some middle class quiet to Cahit’s chaotic existence but in Turkey where she copies Cahit’s excesses. In this respect the depiction of the city of Istanbul is more than telling, it is pictured as a vibrant metropolis (and it is in reality a centre for Turkish avant-garde and a social melting pot due to a strong inner Turkish immigration as Akin takes much effort to represent in his subsequent

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film Crossing the Bridge (2005) that documents musical trends in Istanbul.) The shift from Chahit’s drug abuse in Hamburg (where Akin was born) to Sibel doing the same in Istanbul is a way to create a continuity disregarding spatial difference and, last but not least, to visualize a strong ‘glocality’—to use Roland Robertson’s notion (cf. Robertson, 1995)—that may be one of the characteristics that make up the multiple patch-work identity of second generation immigrants. This may explain why in almost all films by the second generation namely those produced during the last decade the ‘return’ to Turkey either voluntary or coercive is used to end the narrative—only in Kanak Attack a temporary and unsuccessful return is depicted before the protagonist settles for his ‘Kanak’ existence in Germany. Contrary to Başer’s plots where the open end released its heroines into a never visualized Germany the new works expel their heroes into a Turkey ‘incognita’. This applies to Siblings, Dealer as well as in parts to Crashing the Walls. In all of them the decision is taken voluntarily as a means to resolve the conflicts of the protagonists with their social marginality and insecure personal identity in their host land. This usually only inferred but rarely visualized return confirms what Beck has described relying among others on the field work of Turkish-German researchers conducted among youth in Berlin (namely Ayhan Kaya on Turkish hip-hop youth in Berlin). According to them for the second generation the idea of return signifies only a metaphor of cultural difference with which they mark the multiple facets of their actual Germany-based identity rather than an actual wish to return (Beck-Gernsheim, 2003: 23). Thus we may not be mistaken in regarding some of the TurkishGerman films, that is A Little Bit of Freedom and in particular Crashing the Wall as a cinema of inclusive ‘otherness’ less because they belong to a questionable ‘phobia’ ridden so-called transnational genre but rather because they have opened up venues to imagine a lived space in home and host land that cannot be subdued to the binarisms of either gendered racism or essentialist modernism but are filled with the otherness of the changing same. That this is not necessarily the rule for all German-Turkish films has been also clearly expressed in the analyses of the strategies of filmmakers, such as Başer and Arslan, who were more concerned to follow dominant ‘binarist’ discourses. The same applies to the opposed option that is beating the discourses by embracing masculine power games (or the international ‘new cultures of masculinity and violence’ (Appadurai, 1990: 305) as in the case of Turkish-German praise of bastard existence. What all these strategies, however, seem to underline more than anything else is that—in using and expanding

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Appudarai’s terminology—de-territorialized imagination has different ways to go, not only that of affirmative homogenization or disjunctive fundamentalism but also of a creative (at times painful) multiplication of new possible con-junctures.

References Ahmed, Leila (1992): Women and Gender in Islam. New Haven. Yale University Press. Akin, Fatih (2004): Gegen die Wand. Das Buch zum Film mit Dokumenten, Materialien, Interviews. Köln. Kiepenheuer&Witsch. Appadurai, Arjun (1990): Disjuncture and Difference in the Global Cultural Economy. In: Theory, Culture & Society. Vol. 7. London. SAGE: 295–310. —— (1991): Global Ethnospaces. Notes and Queries for a Transnational Anthropology. In: Richard Fox (ed.) Recapturing Anthopology. Working in the Present. Santa Fe. School of American Research Press: 191–210. Beck-Gernsheim, Elisabeth (2004): Wir und die Anderen. Frankfurt a. M. Suhrkamp. Bhabha, Homi K. (1996): Culture’s In-Between. In: Stuart Hall and Paul du Gay (eds.) Questions of Identity. London. Sage Publications: 53–60. Erdoğan, Nezih and Göktürk, Deniz (2001): Turkish Cinema. In: Oliver Leaman (ed.) Companion Encyclopedia of Middle Eastern and North African Film. London. Routledge: 533–559. Farzanefar, Amin (2005): Kino des Orients. Stimmen aus einer Region. Marburg. Schüren. Grossberg, Lawrence (1996): Identity and Cultural Studies: Is That All There Is? In: Stuart Hall and Paul du Gay (eds.) Questions of Identity. London. Sage Publications: 87–107. Häusermann Fábos, Anita (2002): Sudanese Identity in Diaspora and the Meaning of Home. In: Nadje Al-Ali, Khalid Koser (eds.) New Approaches to Migration? Transnational Communities and the Transformation of Home. London. Routledge: 35–50. Kennedy, Paul and Roudometof, Victor (2002): Transnationalism in the Global Age. In: Paul Kennedy, Victor Roudometof (eds.) Communities across Borders. New Immigrants and Transnational Cultures. London. Routledge: 1–26. Mulvey, Laura (1989): Visual and other Pleasures. Bloomington. Indiana University Press. Naficy, Hamid (2001): An Accented Cinema. Exilic and Diasporic Filmmaking. Princeton. Princeton University Press. —— (2003): Phobic Spaces and Liminal Panics: Independent Transnational Film Genre. In: Ella Shohat, Robert Stam (eds.) Multiculturalism, Postcoloniality, and Transnational Media. New Brunswick. Rutgers University Press: 203–226. Robertson, Roland (1995): Globalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity. In: Mike Featherstone, Scott Lasch, Roland Robertson (eds.) Global Modernities. London. Sage. Robins, Kevin (1996): Interrupting Identities: Turkey/Europe. In: Stuart Hall and Paul du Gay (eds.) Questions of Identity. London. Sage Publications: 61–86. —— (2004): Beyond Imagined Community? Transnationale Medien und türkische MigrantInnen in Europa. In: Brigitte Hipfel, Elisabeth Klaus, Uta Scheer (eds.) Identitätsräume. Nation, Körper und Geschlecht in den Medien. Eine Topographie. Bielefeld. Transcript Verlag: 114–132. Rushdie, Salman (1991): Imaginary Homelands. New York. Vikas. Tekeli, Şirin (1995): Introduction: Women in Turkey in the 1980s. In: Şirin Tekeli (ed.) Women in Modern Turkish Society. A Reader. London. Zed Books Ltd.: 1–21.

A LITERARY DIALOGUE OF CULTURES: ARAB AUTHORS IN GERMANY Yafa Shanneik

1. Introduction Debates on the integration of Muslim migrants into European societies have hardly appreciated the importance of the literary production of those migrants, among them many of Arab origin. This is particularly astonishing given that much of this literature is produced in the languages of the European host countries. Debates usually focus on practical measures like learning the language of the host country as an important part of the integration and assimilation of migrants (Steinbach 2005). Since the assassination of the Dutch director Theo van Gogh on 2 November 2004 at latest, it has become evident that such steps towards integration alone are insufficient and overlook the cultural characteristics the migrants have introduced to their host countries. Some of these elements are caused by personal characteristics, socialisation and experience and can influence the attitudes and the behaviour of migrants. I would like to examine the importance of these cultural characteristics by discussing the literary works of migrants of Arab origin who live and work in Germany. The discussion will look at how distinctive features of Arab culture are manifested in the issues these authors write about and in the style they use in their works. I will use as examples two novels by the Palestinian writers Halima Alaiyan (Alaiyan 2003) and Salim Alafenisch (Alafenisch 1989). This analysis will be supported by the authors’ answers in my interview with them in 2004. The social and legal status of women in Arab societies has been subject of recent discussions both in Europe and in the Arab world. Therefore, the analysis of the two novels will focus on their depiction of Arab women. This approach is to be understood as complementary to their fictional and entertaining character. This study cannot make a judgement on whether and to what extent this literature has contributed to the integration of migrants in European countries. However, it is the first step into more detailed studies, which allow us to compare minority

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literature in different European countries, to understand its relationship with the European majority literature and to identify its wider social significance (Luhmann 1997).

2. The development of German literature by Arab authors in Germany The history of German literature by Arab authors is to a large part linked with the immigration of ‘guest-workers’ ( gastarbeiter) to Germany after World War II. Although West Germany did not conceive itself as a classical immigration country like the United States, waves of migrants have entered the country since the 1960s. The first generation of Arab immigrants stemmed from the working- and middle-class. Workingclass migrants came primarily from North Africa looking for better job opportunities, while middle-class migrants were constituted of students from all Arab countries, pursuing their higher education in Germany. Many Arab migrants decided to settle down in Germany and to live there with their families (Chiellino 2000). Among those who decided to stay in Germany and the generations that followed were also some writers. Very often, they would pursue their professional careers and write as well, moving in their literature between their original Arab culture and their new German cultural environment (Schmidt-Fink 2002). The literature by Arab authors as part of so-called minority literature attempts to find its place in the German literary scene. By the 1980s, minority literature had increased to such an extent that observers attempted to locate the present and future role of such literature and to identify its distinctive features in terms of issues covered and styles employed (Khalil 1991). Therefore, a meeting was convened in Bad Homburg in 1985 at which both German and migrant authors participated together for the first time. As part of the proceedings of the meeting four issues were covered: the motivation for writing, writing in a foreign language, the role and importance of migrant literature and the reaction of the Germans to this type of literature (Ackermann/Weinrich 1986). Resulting from this and later follow-up events, this literary genre has been labelled as ‘guest-worker’, ‘migration’, ‘migrant’, ‘minority’, and recently, ‘crossing-boundaries’ literature (Rösch 1992). German authors of Arab origin consider their literature as being a ‘bridge between different nations’ (Senocak 1986: 65–70) or a “specifically German minority literature” (Schami 1986: 55).

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A comparison of the literary works of Arab authors in Germany with those in other European countries, like Ahdaf Soueif (Egypt) and Jamal Mahjoub (Sudan) in Britain and Abdulkadir Benali and Hafi d Bouazza (both Morocco) in the Netherlands reveals several commonalities and shared characteristics. Therefore, the literary works of European writers of Arab origin have to be viewed in a broader European context.

3. The Palestinian authors Halima Alaiyan and Salim Alafenisch 3.1

Halima Alaiyan I was hoping that with more freedom and better educational opportunities in Germany, we would find more stability in our family life. Again, I was wrong. Nevertheless, I gained something precious here in Homburg, some sort of home away from home (Alaiyan 2003: 199).

Halima Alaiyan is one of the few German-speaking female authors who live and work in Germany. In her only published book so far Vertreibung aus dem Paradies. Meine lange Flucht aus Palästina (Paradise Lost: My Long Escape From Palestine), she describes the different stations of her life in Palestine, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Germany. The book has strong autobiographical traits as evident by the main protagonist Halima who has the same name as the author herself. Many opinions the author holds were shared with me in a private interview and are identical with those expressed by Halima in the book. Alaiyan was born in a Palestinian village near Jaffa and grew up in Gaza. In her youth, she hardly read any Arabic literature, preferring the novels by Russian authors like Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky. Alaiyan was particularly impressed by the way how both writers describe the oppression of women in Russia. She remembers: I hardly read Arabic literature. We were only allowed to read European literature, from Russia in particular. Therefore, works by Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky were among us most widely read. My mother used to read to me Arabian Nights. This was the only work which could have given me an image of the Arab woman. But I considered this image to be purely fictional (Alaiyan 2004).

Alaiyan saw parallels in the description of women by Russian authors with the situation of Arab women: “The female figures in Russian novels

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corresponded to my own understanding of the situation of women. The Russian novelists describe conditions which are quite similar to those of Arab women” (Alaiyan 2004). This early literary experience would have an impact on Alaiyan’s later life. Not only in Palestine but also in Egypt and Saudi Arabia, she experiences the oppression of women—even though in different intensities in these different countries: I am of the opinion that the Arab woman is oppressed in Arab countries in general. Only the scale of oppression is different from country to country, place to place. Women in rural areas are more affected by traditions than women in urban areas. The women that I have seen in Cairo wore European dress and enjoyed more freedoms than the women in the Egyptian village of Thahanub. Nevertheless, both groups of women were oppressed, in my opinion (Alaiyan 2004).

In Germany, she likewise realised how the issue of female oppression determined the perception of Arab women: “Many Germans considered Arab women to be oppressed and without any rights. And they were right” (Alaiyan 2004). For Alaiyan, the issue of female oppression is, however, deliberately instrumentalised as part of Western Islamophobia: Islam and the Arab woman are used in the creation of an enemy. Once, the Soviet Union was the enemy. After its demise, Europeans had to find another enemy which they found in the Arab world. In the past, the West was not concerned about the Arab woman and now it suddenly is! Every day, we hear stories about the oppression of and legal discriminations against Arab women. Had Arab women not been victims of oppression before? (Alaiyan 2004).

3.2

Salim Alafenisch When writing, I’m not imitating Arab or German role-models. I’m the creator of my own paintings. I don’t write for the sake of making people feel empathetic. I deal with the daily life of Arab Bedouins in their sociohistorical context and provide thereby an overview of my Arab culture. This is the world I live in (Alafenisch 2004).

In these terms, Salim Alafenisch describes his literary works which have given him a special place among German-speaking authors of Arab origin. His biography is as extraordinary and fascinating as the desert and the lives of the Bedouins he portrays in his stories. Alafenisch was born in the Negev desert in 1948 as son of a Bedouin

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Sheikh. He had learned the art of telling stories from his mother, whilst raised in a traditional Bedouin tent made out of goat hair. That the tent is a significant marker of his cultural identity is expressed in his novels. Growing up in the desert, he learned the tribal traditions of the Bedouins from his father. Only at the age of 14, Alafenisch had the opportunity to attend a school in order to learn reading and writing. At school, he read much classical Arabic literature, poetry in particular, and was fascinated by the idealisation of Arab women in this literature. At this time, he also read Qasim Amin’s The Liberation of Women (Tahrir al-Mar’a). The advocacy for the emancipation of women by Amin impressed Alafenisch and his family so much that his brother decided to name his son after the author. After graduating from school in Nazareth, Alafenisch studied sociology, anthropology and psychology in London and Heidelberg. During his stays in Britain and Germany, he began to engage with the ideas and values of Western civilisation. While living in his native Bedouin village, he had very limited knowledge of the social and cultural norms of the West, particularly the social status of women in Britain and Germany. In Germany where he has been living since 1973, he has observed the depiction of Arab women in the mass media as having no rights and being discriminated against. For Alafenisch, however, the representation of Arab women as oppressed and underprivileged serves the purpose of concealing the very injustices and discriminations against women living in the West (Alafenisch 2004). In response to the contradictory perception of women in the Arab and Western world, he began to write stories which depict Bedouin women as responsible and respected members of their community. Alafenisch lives and works in Heidelberg as a writer and has become one of the most demanded narrator of stories and fairy-tales in Germany. Alafenisch believes that prejudices stem from lack of knowledge. Therefore, he regards himself as ‘a wanderer between different cultures’ and sees his moral duty to inform the German readers about Arab-Islamic society and to contribute through telling stories to a better understanding of different cultures and life-styles. Like traditional Arab story-tellers (hakawaty), he presents his novels without any manuscripts, combining at the same time German and Arab language and narrative techniques. In a private interview with me, Alafenisch describes his raison d’être as a writer:

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yafa shanneik Literature contributes to the dialogue of civilisations. It creates a bridge between Orient and Occident. It helps us to get to know each other. Friendship and mutual understanding are processes which require time. I am glad that foreigners have begun to raise their voice and to talk about their culture. I do not really care about labels such as ‘migrant literature’. I think, foreign authors of Arab background have entered an important phase, a phase in which their literature is acknowledged and discussed. We did not have this attention in Germany 20 years ago. Today, our works are read at schools and discussed at universities. That is a great achievement (Alafenisch 2004).

Alafenisch’s first novel, Die acht Frauen des Großvaters (Grandfather’s Eight Wives) was published in 1989. The novel takes place among Bedouins in the Negev desert. Following the life of Sallam, referred to as grandfather, the novel portrays the traditional life-style of Bedouins, depicting the multiple marriages of the protagonist in particular. During eight nights, the mother of the first-person-narrator tells about grandfather’s adventures in how he had found and married his eight wives. In 1991, Alafenisch published a collection of short-stories under the title Der Weihrauchhändler (The Frankincense Trader). Containing lovestories about several couples in a Bedouin tribe, the short-stories also tell about the hospitality of the Bedouins and their daily life. Th e novel Das versteinerte Zelt (The Petrified Tent) was first published in 1993. It is about a Bedouin musician who after being forced to become sedentary looses his traditional life-setting. While in the tent made out of goat hair, his dreams can wander around, slipping in and out through little holes in the tent, his dreams feel restricted in the narrow walls of the brick-house. His most recent publication is a collection of fables called Azizas Lieblingshuhn (Aziza’s Favourite Hen). The stories are about how people of different national and cultural backgrounds live together.

4. Topics of German novels by authors of Arab origin Modern Arabic novels show both traditional and modern characteristics which are expressed by the accentuation of the Arabic language and its stylistic features as well as by the emphasis on Islamic cultural norms (Shanneik 2004). The well-known researcher in the field of German literature by Arab authors is Iman Khalil who sees the textual main focus of Germanspeaking Arab authors in two areas: the Arabian Orient and Germany.

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Within the scope of the first topic the historical, cultural and political context of the conventional image of the Orient is critically analyzed. In addition, widespread Western stereotypes and prejudices regarding the oppressed Arab woman are questioned (Khalil 1991). The second topic deals in detail with interpersonal relations, with the consternation of members of ethnic minorities and with the different legal, social, economic and media aspects of life in Germany (Khalil 1991). For Mansour Baver, another subject of German-Arab novels consists in an experienced dichotomy between ‘home and abroad’ (Baver 2004). 4.1

Halima Alaiyan: Paradise Lost: My Long Escape From Palestine

This dichotomy can be clearly seen in Alaiyan’s novel Paradise Lost: My Long Escape From Palestine. Moreover, she chooses various topics such as morals and customs, tradition, modernity and the question of the equality of women in the Arab world and in Europe. The protagonist Halima describes in 280 pages aspects of her personal development and her attitude to life before and after her marriage. Thereby, she critically deals with her social environment. She gives much attention to the different Arab countries in which she spends varied amounts of time. She describes her multi-facetted life in the conflict area Palestine and in cosmopolitan Egypt as well as her experiences in Saudi Arabia to which she accompanies her husband. In this conservative country, she is able to learn a lot about the restriction of liberties, for women in particular. The depiction of the protagonist begins with a description of the different cultural practices between her Palestinian place of birth where she spends her childhood and which she has to leave at the age of eight and her later Egyptian refuge. Halima stays with her family for few years in an Egyptian village called Thahanub where she witnesses some of the foreign morals and customs such as female circumcision. Halima’s mother explains to her that this custom is not Islamic and says: Die Beschneidung bei Mädchen hat mit dem Islam nichts zu tun. Dieser Brauch kommt aus Afrika und wird hier in Ägypten meist nur in den Dörfern praktiziert (Alaiyan 2003: 62).1

1 (Female circumcision has nothing to do with Islam. This custom comes from Africa and is in Egypt mainly practised in villages).

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In the city of Cairo, she has the opportunity to learn more about the multi-facetted life of an Arab overcrowded urban area. The fact that women in the main capital are more permissive and more liberal than in other parts of the country does not have a great impression on her parents: they choose to hold on to their traditional restrictive behavioural and clothing codes in the way they raise their children. Since her early childhood Halima has questioned the inequality between women and men, the injustice and male tyranny: Der Mann [. . .] durfte überhaupt alles tun, was ihm in den Sinn kam, sich seine Frau selber aussuchen, studieren, ins Ausland gehen [. . .] Eine Frau dagegen durfte nichts alleine unternehmen, nur in Begleitung einer männlichen Person. Das konnte ihr Vater, ihr Bruder, ihr Mann oder ihr Sohn sein (Alaiyan 2003: 52).2 Wer schlägt den Mann, wenn er sich nicht anständig benimmt? . . . Wer schlägt den Mann, wenn er sich ungerecht gegenüber anderen verhält? . . . Wer schlägt den Mann, wenn er lügt, betrügt and seine Frau hintergeht? (Alaiyan 2003:51)3

Her questions remain unanswered since much of life is attributed to fate and destiny. Halima gets married to her cousin Ahmed whom she barely knows. She travels with him to Saudi Arabia, which like Palestine and Egypt belongs to the Arab-Islamic cultural area. However, the Saudis are distinguished by their conservative attitude, especially with regard to women. Halima is isolated from public life. The only place where she can talk with other women is the school in which she works for a few years. There, she forms an image of the situation of women in Saudi Arabia. Women have to wear “gowns like tents” (Alaiyan 2003: 101) and are dependant on their husbands. A man has a number of main and minor wives, who are living as “prisoners in a golden prison” doing nothing else than bearing children (Alaiyan 2003: 112). During this time, she begins to compare the situation of women in Palestine with that in Egypt and comes to the conclusion that their situation is much better than of those in Saudi Arabia.

2 (A man . . . was allowed to do everything that he wanted like choosing his wife, studying or going abroad . . . A woman, in contrast, was not allowed to do anything on her own; she had to be accompanied by a man, either by her father, her brother, her husband or her son). 3 (Who beats the man when he does not behave well? Who beats him when he does something wrong? Who beats him when he lies, betrays or deceives his wife?).

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After living a few years in Saudi Arabia, her husband Ahmed receives the opportunity to study in Germany. Because of the difficult financial situation, he has to send his family to his parents in Gaza. Halima has to move for another time and has again to adapt to other living conditions. In this part of the novel, she describes the difficult living conditions in a refugee camp and the impact it has on the social life of the people there: Von meinem Vater wusste ich, dass dieses Gebiet aus der Stadt Gaza und mehreren Dörfern bestand und ein kleiner Teil unserer ehemaligen Heimat war, den das ägyptische Militär damals besetzt hielt und verwaltete. Dorthin waren viele Palästinenser 1948 geflüchtet. Die Vereinigten Nationen hatten in dieser Region viele Lager errichtet, Essen und Kleider verteilt und die medizinische Versorgung sichergestellt [. . .] [Leute wohnten] noch immer in diesen Behelfswohnungen und unter miserablen Bedingungen (Alaiyan 2003: 80).4

The fourth station on her journey between civilisations is Germany where she goes through new experiences in her interpersonal and social life. Halima who has been socialized in an Arab cultural environment describes in detail her encounter with German culture and therefore allows the reader to gain insight into her perceptions and reactions. Halima’s husband Ahmed tells her one day that they are going to a “Schwimmbad” (swimming pool) or a “Freibad” (lido). Because Halima has never heard these words before and her husband did not explain them, she does not know how to dress. She describes how she for the first time in her life goes to a swimming pool: She wears a suit, gloves and a tweed coat. She is very shocked when she arrives at the lido: Lauter nahezu nackte Menschen lagen auf Handtüchern im Gras herum, spazierten einfach des Weges oder spielten Ball. Nur winzige Stoffteile bedeckten das Nötigste. Dabei gab es keine Trennung zwischen Männern und Frauen (Alaiyan 2003: 145–146).5

4 My father told me that the Gaza strip consists of Gaza City and several villages. He told me that this was a small piece of our former homeland, which the Egyptian military had occupied and administered. Many Palestinians went as refugees there in 1948. The United Nations established many refugee camps in the strip, provided food and clothes and ensured basic medical treatment . . . People still lived in provisional housing and under miserable conditions. 5 Barely naked people were lying on towels on the grass; they were either going around or playing ball. Only tiny pieces of clothes covered the important parts of the body. There was no segregation between men and women.

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Her descriptions are enlightening especially with regards to how the new environment has an influence on finding her identity and how she manages to successfully adapt to the foreign culture. Learning the German language helps her to meet new people and learn new ideas in the first place. In Germany, she is able to reach a tuning point in her life. She askes herself: „Wieso mussten wir bei allen unseren Handlungen bestimmte Zwaenge beruecksichtigen, warum durften wir nicht frei ueber unser Leben entscheiden?“ (Alaiyan 2003: 143). (Why did we have to consider special constraints on our actions? Why were we not allowed to make our own decisions for our lives). She realizes that she has to become financially independent. In order to achieve this she has to study. After some time, she is able to receive an education as a doctor and becomes independent from her husband (Alaiyan 2003: 144). Due to financial reasons, she is forced to leave her children at her grandparents place in Gaza. It takes more than two years before she is able to bring her children back to Germany. However, at the time her son Talat arrives, he is already weak and ill. After she discovers that her husband has sexually abused her eldest daughter, she breaks up with him and begins her own life. However, everything seems hopeless: her husband threatens her and the children, her studies do not leave her much time to work, and her son dies of his severe illness. This novel gives an insight into the hardship an Arab woman goes through when she rebels against the norms and traditions of her society. Moreover, it provides a picture of the different thinking and patterns of behaviour, which distinguish Arabs and Europeans, causing problems when the two cultural groups interact. 4.2

Salim Alafenisch: Grandfather’s Eight Wives

The novel by Salim Alafenisch basically deals with two subjects: marriage and women. The novel begins with the love of the grandfather to his cousin Aischa, who used to play with him as a child and got to know him more closely near the sheep cottages. After some years, a passionate love story develops between them that eventually ends in marriage. The parents of the two lovers show understanding and approve of the marriage, especially because the two are cousins. Marriages of cousins are highly esteemed in Arab societies. Aischa’s father says:

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Die Cousinenheirat haben schon unsere Vorfahren bevorzugt. Sie sagten: Heirate deine Cousine, auch wenn niemand sie heiraten will, und folge dem Weg, auch wenn er lang ist! Dein Sohn kennt meine Tochter, und meine Tochter kennt ihn. So bleibt die Sache in der Familie. (Alafenisch 1989: 19).6

Since Aischa is not able to give birth to children, she suggests that the grandfather takes a second wife. He chooses to marry a woman named Fatima, but she only gives birth to daughters. For this reason everyone calls her „Umm el-banat“, mother of daughters. This situation is not appreciated by the grandfather. One night, he complains to Aischa about what he regards as a predicament. Since he is still young and also very rich, she suggests he takes a third wife. During this conversation she refers to the status of having a son who unlike daughters would support him after the girls themselves are married. The grandfather is soon convinced by this idea and marries a third woman who eventually gives birth to a son. The situation is different for the fourth wife of the grandfather. Her name is Chaula and is a widow. In the tribe of the grandfather there is a man called Chalil. While he brings the herd of his father to the willow, he meets Chaula who comes from another tribe. They fall in love and Chalil decides to take Chaula as a wife. He goes with other members of his tribe to Chaula’s tribe in order to ask to marry her. The tribe of Chaula rejects this request because Chaula is supposed to get married to her cousin. According to the customs of the nomads the cousin has the privilege to marry his or her cousin (Beck / Keddie 1978). Chaula and her mother do not like this cousin. Therefore, her mother helps her daughter to flee with Chalil. They get married and both are very happy (Alafenisch 1989: 101). However, after an illness Chalil dies and leaves behind his wife and three children. The grandfather shows interest in Chaula and wants to marry her in order to give her protection after the death of her husband, as he claims. After a mandatory 40 days mourning period, the two are permitted to marry. The multiple marriages of the grandfather and his wealth create much envy in his tribe and various arguments arise between him and his fellow tribesmen. One day during the month of Ramadan the men of the tribe

6

Our ancestors preferred marriage between cousins. They say: marry our cousin even if no one wants to marry her and go along the road even if it is hard. Your son knows my daughter and my daughter knows him. In that case it stays within the family.

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are playing a game in the tent. The grandfather and his friend Antar are opponents and the grandfather looses the game. During an argument between him and Antar that ensues, Antar argues that it is not fair that the grandfather has married the widow Chaula and therefore increased the number of his wives to four while at the same time he himself has only one wife. The elders of the tribe try to mediate between the two and suggest forming a marriage bond between them. Since both the grandfather and Antar have marriageable daughters they agree to switch their daughters. This proposition finds unanimous assent between the present members of the clan and a marriage is decided (Alafenisch 1989: 117). Later, the grandfather meets a dancer called Abla with whom he falls in love. He proposes to marry her and she accepts. The grandfather spends his whole life looking for wives until he has married eight women. In this novel the reader is introduced to the morals and customs of the Bedouins and gets an insight into the different roles of women and men in Bedouin society. In contrast to Alaiyan, Alafenisch defends the situation of Arab women in the Arab societies. He is strongly convinced that a woman has her rights and holds a special value in the Arab society. In an interview he has told me: “Observing the role and status of Arab women, one has to consider the difference in the social Arab-Islamic environment. It is about a different society, with different norms and value perceptions. It is very hard to compare the two civilisations. One can not look at the Arab culture from a German or Western perception without considering the cultural differences” (Alafenisch 2004). Bedouin women have, for example, the following daily duties to perform: In der Frühlingszeit gab es viel zu tun für die Frauen. Morgens und abends wurden die Herden gemolken. Über Zeltstangen vor den Zelten hingen die prallgefüllten Ziegenfelle mit Milch. Während die Herden den Tag über auf der Weide waren und saftige Kräuter und Gräser fraßen, machten sich die Frauen an die Arbeit. Sie schüttelten die Milchfelle, bis sich die Butter von der Sauermilch trennte. Ab und zu fasste man in die Felle, um die Butter abzuschöpfen [. . .]. Der Frühling war auch die Zeit der frischen Kräuter. Wie grüne Teppiche bedeckten sie den Boden des Zeltlagers. In kleinen Grüppchen sammelten die Frauen am späten Nachmittag, bevor die Herden ins Stammeslager zurückkehrten, die saft igen Spitzen der Kräuter (Alafenisch 1989: 93–94).7

7 In spring time, there was much work to be done by the women. Every morning and every evening, the women had to milk the goat herds. On bars in front of the tents, goat skins, all filled with milk, were hanging. While the herds spent the day on the fi elds, eating moist herbs and grasses, the women went to work. They were shaking the goat skins

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5. The style of authors of Arab origin Iman Khalil describes the style of writing of authors of Arab origin as follows: “The fantastic and fabulous style of writing undoes the boundaries of time and space, revives German reality, ties it with ‘magical properties’ from the Orient and raises criticism with humour and without illusions” (Khalil 1991). In terms of language, Arab culture is brought to the reader’s consciousness by the use of Arabic names, expressions, metaphors, greetings and linguistic forms. With the creation of imaginary worlds, the treatment of immigrants in Germany and other places is symbolically illustrated. Arabic narrative strategies such as the technique of stopping the narration at a significant moment and continuing the narration at a later time, or the technique of the story within a story or open ends are used as stylistic means in order to stimulate the reader’s interest (Khalil 1991). While some authors prefer traditional Arabic narrative styles, others try to combine modern Western narrative techniques with Arabic stylistic means. Alafenisch’s approach is more inclined to mix Arabic with European writing techniques, whereas Alaiyan tends to use more European writing techniques. Therefore, I will examine Alafenisch’s complex writing style in more detail in the following. 5.1 Some characteristic of Arabic narrative techniques in Alafenisch’s novel Arabian Nights illustrates in the best manner the main characteristics of Arabic narrative techniques, consisting particularly of the oral transmission of stories by a story-teller (hakawaty) in front of an audience. In the Arabic literary tradition, telling fairy-tales and stories serves the purpose of entertaining and educating, of conveying cultural values and social norms. Some German authors of Arab origin, like Alafenisch, employ this method both in their public readings as well as in their novels. German styles of writing have also become part of his writing, resulting from his long stay in Germany. For Alafenisch, this hybrid

filled with milk in order to seperate butter from sour milk. Once in a while, they would take out the butter from the skins . . . Spring was also the time of fresh herbs. Like green carpets, they covered the ground of the Bedouin camp. In small groups, the women were collecting the moist tips of the herbs in the late afternoon, just before the herds would return to the camp.

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style is a positive integration of Arabic and German cultural elements, as expressed in our interview: I myself consider my works not to be novels but narratives. If literary critics put them under the category ‘novel’, this is fine. We Arabs, however, are famous for our poetry and oral traditions. The novel is a Western genre that we have adopted. I think it is good as it shows our long cooperation with the West. My works can be regarded as a blend of the traditional oral transmission of stories among Arabs and the European style of writing. Consciously and unconsciously, European techniques appear in my work. This is good, because ultimately I write in German for German readers (Alafenisch 2004).

Some main characteristics of Arabic narrative techniques also occur in Alafenisch’s Grandfather’s Eight Wives like the use of an overall frame narrative (story within a story), of interruptions at crucial parts of the story and of formulaic beginnings and endings. The mother as the narrator of the second story in the novel divides the plot of the novel into eight parts. Every night, she narrates the story of one of the eight wives. After finishing a story, she concludes with a short introduction to the next story which she narrates at the following night. This method is very similar to the stories of Sheherazade in Arabian Nights. The story-tellers hereby gains the attention of the listeners, keeping them curious about how the story continues. The Hakawaty style is also obvious in the way the mother narrator deals with her audience. She talks to her listeners and includes them in the narration of the story, asking them: “ ‘Könnt ihr mir helfen? Wo sind wir stehengeblieben?’ ‘Die vierte Frau ist an der Reihe! Die vierte!’ ” (‘Can you help me? Where were we?’ ‘It’s the fourth wife’s turn! The fourth!’) “ ‘Das ist richtig. Heute abend erzähle ich euch die Geschichte von Chaula, der vierten Fraue des Großvaters.’ ” (That’s right. Tonight, I tell you the story about Chaula, the grandfather’s fourth wife.’) (Alafenisch 1989:97)

5.2

Linguistic Characteristics of German literature by Arab authors

German novels by Arab authors combine Arabic and German cultural symbols. Idiomatic expressions in Arabic are literally translated into German and used in their original meaning. Many Arabic words and terms are transliterated in German and are placed into the flow of the German sentence. In the following, the particular linguistic characteristics in Alaiyan’s and Alafenisch’s novel are discussed.

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5.2.1 Halima Alaiyan In the novel Paradise Lost: My Long Escape From Palestine, the name of the protagonist is Halima which means ‘the forbearing’. The name is also used as an analogy. Halima had to suffer her entire life: the expulsion from her home country, the hardship of traditional Arab life-style, the unjust treatment by her husband and his parents as well as the difficulties and obstacles in her host country Germany. Halima coped with these difficulties with forbearance and managed to resolve them. The style of Alaiyan’s novel is mainly plain and simple. The entire novel is written in the first-person-narrator. In that way the narrator, the protagonist Halima, is able to describe her inner life in an authentic and direct manner. Moreover, she can in retrospect comment on the plot and through inserting dialogs she is able to describe the lives of other characters, which gives the novel vitality and dynamism. This perspective narrows however, the view of the narrator, since Halima only acts as an observer of other characters. The author uses verses from the Koran in order to back up her understanding of Islam and its treatment of women, as she understands it. Alaiyan rarely uses symbols or metaphors. In describing events, the author tends to use dramatising statements and emotionally laden expressions in order to touch the reader emotionally. That events follow one another rapidly gives the text a certain pace and tension. 5.2.2 Salim Alafenisch Alafenisch’s style of writing reflects his Bedouin upbringing and Bedouin cultural elements such as the use of old Arabic names, expressions, metaphors, apostrophes which are all translated into German. For example, he uses the nickname of grandfather’s second wife “umm al-banat”, mother of girls (Alafenisch 1989: 76). After grandfather’s third wife has born him a boy, the midwife exclaims full of joy: “Walad, ein Sohn! Gesegnet sei deine Nachkommenschaft!” (“Walad, a boy! Blessed is your offspring!”) Congratulations are expressed with the Arabic ‘mabruk’ together with the translation (sei du gesegnet) ‘may you be blessed’ (Alafenisch 1989: 89). In the case an Arabic word has several meanings, the fi rst-personnarrator interrupts the mother narrator asking for the specific meaning of this word in the given context. One example is the word ‘naqadeh’. When grandfather asked his mother to find him a second wife, she is called ‘naqadeh’. “Was ist eine Naqadeh?” (Alafenisch 1989: 44) (“What

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is a ‘naqadeh’?”), the narrator asked the mother. She replies: “Die Naqadeh ist die Brautbeschauerin. Sie geht zur Braut und schaut sie an.” (Alafenisch 1989: 44). (“The ‘naqadeh’ is the bride investigator/examiner. She visits the bride and investigates her. To the grandfather, his mother is the naqadeh whose eyes follow Fatima, the bride, investigating the way she walks and how skilled she is”) (Alafenisch 1989: 44). Other traditional Arabic idiomatic expressions are not translated in the novel. Alafenisch lets the reader figure out himself the meaning of an expression. At the wedding of Aisha, grandfather’s first wife, her father says to the bridegroom: “Mädchen und Pferde sind teuer. Man gibt sie nicht gerne aus der Hand.” (Alafenisch 1989: 22) (“Girls and horses are expensive. You don’t like to give them away.”) Among Bedouins, horses are valuable goods. As the bride’s father loves his daughter so much, he compares her with the value of a horse (Alafenisch 1989: 22). Bedouins very often compare female beauty with the beauty of animals living in the desert. Many old Arabic poems and myths attribute to horses and their beauty much importance. Because of their slim body shape, also gazelles are regarded as symbols of beauty and tenderness. After grandfather’s mother has visited Fatima, the match-maker Zainab tells the naqadeh: “Wenn due sie für deinen Sohn haben willst, beeile dich, bevor ein anderer Jäger die Gazelle jagt!” (Alafenisch 1989: 48). (“If you want to have her for your son, hurry up, before another hunter goes after the gazelle!”) At the wedding night, the grandfather compares the beauty of his eight wife Wadha with that of a gazelle: “Sie hatte die Gestalt einer Gazelle.” (Alafenisch 1989: 171) (She had the shape of a gazelle.) (Alafenisch 1989: 117). Wild cows (Arab oryxen) and camels are considered as epitomes of beauty because of their beautiful big eyes. Grandfather admires the eyes of his eighth wife Wadha in the following words: “Ihre Augen waren groß wie die einer Wildkuh.” (“Her eyes were as big as those of a wild cow”) (Alafenisch 1989: 171). He compares her brother’s eyes with those of a camel: “Seine Augen waren groß und schwarz wie die eines jungen Kamels.” (“His eyes were as big and black as those of a young camel”) (Alafenisch 1989: 168). Not only animals are used as symbols of beauty. In Arab culture, the moon also symbolises the beauty of a woman. This symbol has been used since pre-Islamic times, particularly in poetry, and is used until today. A very common form of comparing the beauty of a woman with that of the moon is expressed in the sentence: “Neben ihrer Schönheit verblaßte der Mond.” (“Her beauty outshines the moon”) (Alafenisch 1989: 171).

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6. Conclusion The literary works by authors of Arab origin written in German are literary texts that deal with their living conditions in the Arab world, on the one hand, and in their new homelands in Europe, on the other hand. The authors try to entertain their readers by describing aspects of both cultures. Arab authors in Germany see their duty in acting as mediators and in contributing to a better understanding between different ethnic groups within the increasingly multi-cultural German society. The bestselling German-Syrian author Rafik Schami writes that through this kind of literature one can highlight the wishes, needs and fears of minorities in German society towards the majority. He thinks that literary works such as novels and short stories are a good medium to reach different groups of people (Schami 1986: 55). In addition, mixing Arabic and European narrative techniques and fusing realistic and magical details together gives the literary works a special position of being exotic. This method attracts readers and up rates works by these authors. In this article, I have only dealt with two representative examples of this new type of European minority literature. Hence, further literary studies are necessary, looking at cases in other European countries. There is the necessity of comparative studies, which regard the specific characteristics of each regional expression of this type of minority literature and place it in a broader European context. Such a comparative approach would give us a wider and a more diverse picture of the literary and social effects of European culture on the literature of Arab authors living in Europe.

References Ackermann, I. and Weinrich, H. 1986. Eine nicht nur deutsche Literatur. Zur Standortbestimmung der “Ausländerliteratur”. München: 9f. Alafenisch, S. 1989. Die acht Frauen des Großvaters. Zürich. ——. 2004. Private interview conducted. Alaiyan, H. 2003. Vertreibung aus dem Paradies. Meine lange Flucht aus Palästina. München. ——. 2004. Private interview conducted. Amin, Q. 2000. The liberation of women and the new women: Two documents in the history of Egyptian feminism. Cairo. Bavar, M. 2004. Aspekte der deutschsprachigen Migrationsliteratur. Die Darstellung der Einheimischen bei Alev Tekinay und Rafik Schami. München. Beck, L. and Keddie, N. 1978. Women in the Muslim World. Harvard. Chiellino, C. 2000. Interkulturelle Literatur in Deutschland. Stuttgart.

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Hammer-Purgstall, J. 2000. Das Pferd bei den Arabern. Hildesheim. Hourani, A. 2003. Die Geschichte der arabischen Völker. Frankfurt/Main. Khalil, I. 1991. Der Beitrag arabischer Autoren zur deutschen Gegenwartsliteratur. In Shichiji, Y. (ed.). Begegnung mit dem ‘Fremden’ Grenzen- Traditionen- Vergleiche. Internationaler Germanisten-Kongress in Tokyo. Section 14. Emigranten- und Immigrantenliteratur. München: 226ff. Louwerse, H. 2002. Customizing One’s Voice: Languages in Migrant Writing. In Howell, R., Tayler, J. (ed.). History and Du Studies, MD: 149–158. Luhman, N. 1997. Die Gesellschaft der Gesellschaft. Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp. Nash, G. 2002. The Translator Wasafiri, 35 (2002). Rösch, H. 1992. Migrationsliteratur im interkulturellen Kontext. Frankfurt. Saillo, Q. 2004. Tränenmond. Ehrenwirth. Schami, R. 1986. Selbstverständnis und Stellenwert der Ausländerliteratur. In Ackermann/Weinrich. a.a.O.: 55ff. Schmidt-Fink, E. 2002. Von interessanten Exoten zu verdächtigen Nachbarn—Arabische Migranten in Deutschland vor und nach dem 11. September. Vortrag in der DAADAußenstelle Kairo am 30. April. Senocak, Z. 1986. Plädoyer für eine Brückenliteratur. In Ackerman/Weinrich, a.a.O.: 65–70. Shanneik, Y. 2004. Die Deutung von arabischen Frauenbildern in den Werken der britischen Autorin Ahdaf Soueif. In Shanneik, Y., Pordzik, R. Transkulturalität und euro-arabische Literatur von Migrantinnen. Neue Aufgabenfelder der Anglistik in Deutschland. Schriftenreihe zu deutsch-arabische Beziehungen Sonderheft 7.Würzburg. ——. 2005. Euro-Arab Literature: The Image of Arab Women between Tradition and Modernity. A paper in EURAMES and BRISMES annual conference in Durham/UK. Renaissance, Representation and Identity. 12–16 September. See short description in: Abstract booklet and conference guide. Steinbach, U. 2005. Euro-Islam: One word, two concepts, lots of problems. 18. Mai, 2005: www.qantara.de.

THE ENTERTAINMENT OF A PARALLEL SOCIETY? TURKISH POPULAR MUSIC IN GERMANY Maria Wurm

During the 1990s, satellite TV and the Internet brought contemporary Turkish culture right into Turkish living rooms in Germany and the recently developed Turkish pop music spread throughout the immigrant community. German politicians and public media, however, did not share the enthusiasm for Turkish pop music. For example, Rita Süßmuth, former president of the German parliament and chair of the immigration committee founded by the German government in 2000, recommended preventing the opening of Turkish discotheques because they would hinder the integration of Turkish youths into German society.1 Yet, hardly anything is known about Turkish discotheques in Germany or, in a more general perspective, what a preference for Turkish popular music reveals about the migrants’ attitudes towards their lives in Germany. The following, after a short introduction into Turkish popular music, outlines the development and current situation of Turkish popular music (not German-Turkish hip-hop) in Germany and its use by Turkish youths. Also, it addresses the importance of Turkish popular music for Turkish youths and their position as 2nd or 3rd generation migrants in Germany.

1. Popular music in Turkey Since the founding of the Republic of Turkey, music has been a central aspect of Turkish cultural and modernization policies. The aim of these policies was to create a modern Turkish nation-state identity. Considering the ethnic and cultural diversity of the former Ottoman Empire, creating such an identity was a difficult task. The cultural policy was strongly influenced by the cultural theorist Ziya Gökalp. He addressed

1 Bettina Gaus (2000): Es gibt die Integrationsgrenze. In: die tageszeitung. 19. December.

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the issue of music in his keynote work Türkcülügün Esaslari (The Principles of Turkism) as follows: Today, we are thus confronted with three kinds of music: Eastern, Western, and folk. I wonder which of them is our real national music? We have already noted that Eastern music is both sick and non-national, whereas neither folk nor Western music is foreign to us since the first is the music of our culture and the second that of our new civilization. I submit, therefore, that our national music will be born of a marriage between folk and Western music. Our folk music has given us many melodies. If we collect these and harmonize them in the Western manner, we shall have both a national and a European music.2

Turkish folk music was regarded as the original Turkish music that ought to constitute the basis for a modern and Western Turkish-European music. Action was taken against types of music such as the classical art music of the Ottoman court or its more popular counterpart, popular art music. They were regarded as representing the ethnic diversity of the Ottoman Empire, the detested Orient and backwardness itself. By means such as a radio ban on Turkish and especially Ottoman music in 1934 and free lessons in Western music by European teachers, the Turkish government tried to edge out the Eastern, Ottoman music and force a West-East synthesis blending Turkish folk music with Western music into a new and modern Turkish music.3 The heavily-promoted music of the new composers educated in Western music and the Western classical music did not gain any popularity among the Turkish population. The radio ban was lifted after 20 months and changed into a system of strict control. Due to a state monopoly of broadcasting that lasted until the 1990s, TRT (Türkiye Radyo Televizyon Kurumu, Turkish radio and television company) was the only station to broadcast the formerly banned music.4 After the lift of the radio ban, TRT attended to the Turkish folk music, the supposed ‘original’ Turkish music. TRT sent musicologists throughout the country to search for the ‘real’ Turkish music and record it. It was written down and at the same time ‘corrected’: Pieces were adapted to

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Ziya Gökalp, The Principles of Turkism (Leiden: Brill, 1968), 99. Martin Greve, Die Musik der imaginären Türkei: Musik und Musikleben im Kontext der Migration aus der Türkei in Deutschland (Stuttgart: Metzler, 2003), passim; and Orhan Tekelioglu, “The Rise of a Spontaneous Synthesis: The Historical Background of Turkish Popular Music,” Middle Eastern Studies 32 (1996): 194–215. 4 Tekelioglu, Historical Background of Turkish Popular Music, 207. 3

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what was thought to be typical for the region and this way homogenized, as for example individual styles of performance were not preserved. Th e pieces were put into the archives and from 1948 on broadcast in the program Yurttan Sesler (sounds from the home country). Ironically, by this policy of preserving cultural material a lot of it was destroyed. The more the institutions of cultural policy became outdated in the 1960s and Western influences over the country increased, the more the Turkish popular music became differentiated. An important musical development of the 1960s is the Arabesk. The Arabesk is a synthesis of the rather stagnating art music of the 1960s and Western electronic musical instruments played the Arabic way. Orhan Tekelioglu, one of the few Turkish sociologists working on popular Turkish music, calls this development contrary to the above-described imposed West-East synthesis a ‘spontaneous East-West synthesis’.5 The Arabesk is predominantly associated with the experience of life in the gecekondu-districts of the Turkish big cities. These districts are illegally built over night ( gecekondu). They are the environment of countless internal migrants, whose situation was dreadful in the past and still is today. The lyrics of Arabesk songs address unfulfilled love, yearning for home and desperation. The government and the cultural elite condemned the Arabesk as too oriental and an expression of resignation and fatalism, hence the term Arabesk originally meant to dismiss this type of music. Although Arabesk was not broadcast on national TV and radio up to the 1990s, it had enormous success and quickly became the most popular music of the 1970s and 1980s throughout the country regardless of differences of age or social background. Already from the 1950s on, also Western and youth-specific genres such as rock or pop music were popular in Turkey. None of these genres was able to influence a whole generation in all spheres of life. Up to the 1980s Turkish youths basically listened to the same music as their parents. An independent youth culture could not develop for two reasons: Firstly, Turkish youths live very much integrated into their families. They share the daily routine of their parents and siblings to a high degree and often do not even have a room of their own. Secondly, the Turkish educational system is in a dramatic crisis and usually a lot of private lessons are needed in order to pass classes and the nation-wide assessment tests necessary for attaining a place at university. Even for youths who are

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Tekelioglu, Historical Background of Turkish Popular Music, 211.

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financially well-enough off to live out a youth culture, leisure time is predominantly marked by studying and preparing for assessment tests. In the 1990s the sphere of the Turkish media changed radically. Private broadcasting companies beamed their signals via satellite from Germany and other European countries in order to undermine the national broadcasting monopoly and open up the advertising market with its enormous earnings. It was only an unintentional side effect that this broadcasting also reached a broad Turkish audience in the rest of Europe.6 The strategy lead to a suspension of the monopoly in 1990 with two consequences: Firstly, the development of a broad youth-specific culture, and secondly a strong media intertwining between Turkey and the Turks living in Germany. The numerous newly-founded private television and radio stations on the one hand had an enormous need for popular music. On the other hand, they created the public spheres necessary for the development of a youth culture.7 In this situation, a popular culture and a type of music came into being that for the first time exclusively addressed youths. Soon, the popular music market could not be kept track of. The newly developed pop müzik based on a recipe that had been very successful in other countries before: catchy disco melodies, strong beats and easy-to-grasp Turkish lyrics. These were combined with Western but also Turkish instruments and references to older Turkish lyrics and music. Thus, Turkish pop music represents a synthesis of Turkish and Western influences.

2. Turkish popular music in Germany In the 1960s and 1970s it took Turkish labor migrants to bring Turkish music to Germany. From the 1990s on, the music increasingly found its way to Germany via satellite TV and the Internet. Turkish labor migrants came mainly from Anatolia, therefore, in the 1960s and 1970s, folk music from Anatolia was the predominant Turkish music in Germany. The migrants intended to save their money for a future in Turkey, 6 Asu Aksoy and Kevin Robins, “ ‘Abschied von Phantomen’: Transnationalismus am Beispiel des türkischen Fernsehens,” in Bewegte Identitäten: Medien in transkulturellen Kontexten, eds. B. Busch, B. Hipfl, and K. Robins (Klagenfurt: Drava, 2001), 85–86; and Dilruba Catalbas, “Broadcasting deregulation in Turkey: Uniformity within diversity,” in Media Organisations in Society, ed. J. Curran, (London: Arnold, 2000), 126. 7 Greve, Musik der imaginären Türkei, 139–140.

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so only few of them spent money on record players. Rather, they sang or played instruments themselves in a private atmosphere. Minstrels (asik) living in Germany tackled the subject of migration in their music.8 From this situation, gurbetci music developed. It dealt with emigration, yearning for home and living abroad (gurbetci: a person away from home, living in exile), but also with the peculiarities of Germany and the Germans. In the 1970s and 1980s, gurbetci music was increasingly replaced by the Arabesk. With its lyrics about separation from the beloved, yearning for home, etc. it was very appealing for the Turkish migrants in Germany. Also, Arabesk music now was available on cheap and widely-spread cassettes.9 In 1973 the German government stopped the recruitment of foreign labor migrants. Migrants now feared they soon would not be allowed to bring their families to Germany in the future, so they brought them immediately. The structure of the Turkish population in Germany changed considerably. In the 1960s, mostly Turkish adults without relatives lived in Germany. From the 1970s on, this changed to whole families. Niche economy and the need for entertainment grew. In the 1970s, the first Turkish music restaurants and bars opened and the first Turkish weddings were celebrated. Both needed musicians.10 Today, it is hardly possible to keep track of the number and quality of the musicians performing at Turkish weddings and bars. Due to the lifting of the national broadcasting monopoly in 1990 and the wide spread of cable TV and satellite antennas, the Turkish media landscape in Germany grew rapidly. This and later the Internet brought contemporary Turkey closer than ever before and led to a major change in the transnational social space between Germany and Turkey. The flow of persons, money, goods and also symbols and cultural practices had existed long before, but not with such a density and never so near to the pulse of time. With a heavy focus on popular music, especially private Turkish television contributed considerably to the spread of the new musical culture in Germany. Today TRT broadcasts in Germany as well as eight private TV stations, but Turkish radio is not widespread. While the program of

8 9 10

Asik: in love, lover (lover of god). Greve, Musik der imaginären Türkei, 47–49. Greve, Musik der imaginären Türkei, 43–45.

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TRT is adjusted to the Kemalist line, the private programs are of predominantly entertaining character. Coverage of the lives of stars and starlets, talk shows, and video clips make up a huge part of the program. The following data are from a consumer research company specialized in the Turkish population in Germany. They are the basis for the calculation of the advertising prices of Turkish TV stations and their program planning, and apart from these, hardly any reliable data exist referring to the media use of Turkish migrants. A pivotal result of these studies is time and again that the Turkish population in Germany predominantly uses Turkish media. According to a study in 2001, Turkish TV stations held 76% of the market while German TV stations only held 24%. This ratio is to be found continuously in the last years. Regarding radio use, such data are hard to establish. Until the 1990s, at most a few Turkish radio stations broadcast in Germany via satellite. While more than 50% of the Turkish population of Berlin in 1996 declared they did not listen to radio programs, as early as in 2000 the first Turkish radio station of Berlin reached 70% of the Turkish population, and only 12% still declared they did not listen to radio programs. Apparently this preference for Turkish media does not depend on factors such as age, sex, income or present nationality.11 What is extremely questionable in the context of Turkish media use is that the use of German media is understood as proof of integration while the use of Turkish media is understood as evidence of a ‘parallel society’.12 These conclusions are drawn although hardly any qualitative research exists and hardly anything is known about what attitudes media users have.

11 Schulte, passim. The most recent data on the media use of Turkish migrants in Germany probably is a representative study of the department of press and information of the German government: Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung, Mediennutzung und Integration der türkischen Bevölkerung in Deutschland: Ergebnisse einer Umfrage des Presse- und Informationsamtes der Bundesregierung (Potsdam: Presseund Informationsamt der Bundesregierung, 2001). This is the first study concluding that Turkish migrants use more German than Turkish TV and radio. Jörg Becker, “Die deutsch-türkische Medienrevolution: Sieben weitere Meilensteine,” in Zwischen kultureller Zersplitterung und virtueller Identität, eds. J. Becker, and R. Behnisch (RehburgLoccum: Evangelische Akademie, 2003), 67–72 provides a detailed critique of the method and argumentation of the study leading to the suspicion, that the results of the study are of an ideological character. Apparently the result should be that there is no political need to take further measures and that Turkish media in Germany are superfluous, as the integration regarding the use of media was successful. 12 For example, see Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung, 54.

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3. Usages of Turkish popular music13 The youths listen to music in every situation of life and at every time of the day: when getting up, on the way to university, when tidying up, having dinner with friends or going to sleep. They use music to relax and to motivate themselves. Sometimes music serves even as a substitute for a family in the form of background noise. A remark of Alev gives a good impression of the multiple facets and functions of listening to music: [I listen to music, M.W.] usually in order to get me in a good mood. Sometimes in order to remind myself of something, or of the past. I must admit that music is very, very important to me. I literally grew up with music. It really was an important part of my life. I always listen to music. No matter what I do, when I have to work for university or, in the past, when I studied for school. For years I couldn’t study without having music in the background. Especially when I moved out from home. I’m from a big family, we are five children. In the beginning it was very hard to live on my own, because suddenly there weren’t any noises around any longer. There was nobody left. I was on my own. I needed that. Voices in the background. Almost 24 hours a day I had music on. And I also need music when I go to sleep. It depends. Sometimes when I feel bad, I need songs that I only need to play and dance a bit, and then I feel better. And sometimes when I feel I’m in a bad mood and I don’t want to be in a good mood, than I listen to sad music and I allow myself to be sad. And then I spend the day taking time for myself and don’t try to cover it by listening to happy music or putting on an artificial mood.14

Alev uses music to create a quasi-social atmosphere. In such situations music has the character of a by-the-way medium. Her description impressively shows that statistics concerning listening and viewing habits have little validity. They only tell how many radio and television sets are switched on. They don’t tell whether contents are perceived or whether the medium is ‘only’ used in order to chase away a feeling of loneliness. But Alev thinks that she usually listens very consciously to music und chooses the music very selectively:

13 The following findings stem from Maria Wurm, Musik in der Migration: Beobachtungen zur kulturellen Artikulation türkischer Jugendlicher in Deutschland (Bielefeld: Transcript, 2006). When mentioning Turkish youths in the following, this can only mean the ones I talked to doing field work in 2002 and 2003, and not Turkish youths in a general or representative way. The interviewees were between 16 and 28 years old, live in North Rhine-Westphalia and predominantly attend university. 14 Interviews held with Turkish youths and experts in the field of music. The same with quotations of interviewees following. Translation of the interviews mine.

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maria wurm Sometimes I have music in the background only, for example when I’m in the kitchen or when talking to Mürvet [the girl she is sharing a flat with, M.W.]. But most of the time I know exactly what I want to listen to and what music will serve my mood. Then I lie down and listen to the music and the words. I listen to the contents consciously. Then I think about what the artist is singing. Because Turkish lyrics are really beautiful. They touch your soul and make you think about them and all sorts of things. Then I do it consciously. Then I know: I want to listen to just this. At the moment I like Zara very much. Because she, so to say, peps up old Turkish folk songs. These are the songs when I sit down to listen consciously and say: Okay, I want to listen to this. Listen to what she sings, what she says. And then I think about it while listening to it.

The examples of Alev show that persons listening to music get involved in the music to different degrees. This is very important in regard to the special importance of Turkish music to Turkish youths in Germany and will be discussed in detail later. Apart from listening to music, dancing is the most popular way of using music. A typical place to dance is a discotheque. The first Turkish discotheque of contemporary style opened in Germany in 1994 in Berlin. Soon more discotheques followed throughout the country. Contemporary discotheques differ very much from the Turkish music bars and restaurants of the 1970s and 1980s. According to Ayse Caglar, the latter used to be located in areas densely populated by Turkish migrants. The interior, the food, and the entertainment offered were highly folkloric and traditional.15 Contemporary Turkish discotheques present themselves differently. The names do not refer to traditional Turkish culture, but rather to metropolitan and urban places like Taksim Square in Istanbul. They are located in the expensive inner cities, and demonstrate the social rise of the owner and the guests of the place.16 And just like the location, everything else about Turkish discotheques shows that Turkish youths have a self-image very different from that their parents had or still have. While their parents kept a low profile, they enjoy showing that they can afford things. As a Berlin GermanTurkish marketing agency puts it:

15 Ayse Caglar, “Popular Culture, Marginality and Institutional Incorporation: German-Turkish Rap and Turkish Pop in Berlin,” Cultural Dynamics 10 (1998), 254. 16 Greve, Musik der imaginären Türkei, 140.

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The first generation of Turkish immigrants practiced extreme frugality—they were saving to send money home. But succeeding generations no longer have to ‘go without’ for a later life in the ‘Turkish homeland’. They are here to stay and they are intent on shedding the image of ‘immigrant guest workers’. German Turks and Turks living in Germany want to be perceived as equal citizens, and acquiring status symbols is part of that. Brands like Mercedes, BMW, Nokia and hip designer clothing are de rigueur.17

Spending an evening at a Turkish club can be very expensive, as entrance fees and drinks are usually pricey. Also, a great deal of effort is made to present a fashionable or posh outward appearance. According to Ertan Sayan, manager of Rakkas, an agency offering disco-events at varying locations, this stems from the dress code of Turkish weddings which he thinks are the origins of the Turkish clubs and commercial disco parties. As Turkish youths had difficulties getting admitted to German discotheques, weddings were the only opportunity to dance. Now this has widened to the Turkish clubs, but the dress code has been kept. Rakkas reminds the would-be guests via a permanent notice on glossy leaflets and in the electronic newsletter: “Einlass nur in gepflegter Garderobe”— admission only in dressy wardrobe. Apparently this is not that much a tradition that is being upheld but rather another strategy to demonstrate social rise. Hardly any Germans find their way into Turkish clubs. In this situation being Turkish is the norm and does not need to be discussed, defended or even justified. This situation might be exceptional for Turkish youths in Germany and therefore of considerable recreational value. The clubs and parties usually only fill up after midnight. Malik Cardakli has been disc jockeying since 1993. In his opinion, the opening hours show an enormous emancipatory potential of Turkish discotheques: Look at the development of the last ten years. The people, the young girls for example, had only one opportunity to amuse themselves: Turkish weddings. There was a wedding on Saturday and that was the only place where the Turkish girls could go. And nothing else. I remember very well when the first Turkish discotheque opened ten years ago. It opened at eight o’clock and it closed at one o’clock in the morning. See the development of the Turkish girls. Eight to one. And now it’s from one o’clock on. This is revolutionary. First it was eight o’clock, nine o’clock.

17

http://www.beys.de/content/html/de/content0305.html 06.05.2005.

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maria wurm Back than, it was with a secret boyfriend, now everybody knows about the boyfriend. This is sort of an opening. I think this is a real achievement of the Turkish scene.

Turkish discotheques are quite popular among the youths, but not as popular as conventional German places. The youths that visit Turkish places visit conventional places more often, and a considerable amount of them visit conventional places but not Turkish ones. None of them visits Turkish places but not conventional ones. Apparently, Turkish places often lose their attraction for the youths as they grow older, while the attraction of conventional places keeps its higher level. Rita Süßmuth recommended preventing the opening of Turkish discotheques because they hinder the integration of Turkish youths into German society.18 With regard to the youths I encountered during field work, this assumption proves untenable. Turkish discotheques might theoretically offer the opportunity of a walling-off of Turkish youths, but the youths don’t take them as such, as their above described habits show. The out of home use of Turkish music in Germany differs very much from the use in Turkey. In Germany, there are mostly bigger discotheques or commercial party events. In Turkey, small live music bars and clubs are much more popular. In these bars, single artists or bands play widely-known songs of popular artists that are often based on old popular poetry. In Turkish discotheques in Germany, mostly Turkish pop music is played and also Black music, R&B, and Soul. To a lesser degree, but obligatory traditional music is played, for example halay. Halay is a traditional music of central Anatolia and a round dance, and youths dance it in the Turkish clubs in Germany. In discotheques in Turkey non-Turkish music is played and traditional dances like the halay are scorned as rural.

4. The emotional experience of Turkish music A decisive reason for the enormous popularity of Turkish popular music among Turkish youths is the special emotional experience of Turkish music. But only little is known about the connection between music and emotions. According to William M. Reddy, an emotion “is a range of loosely connected thought material” that exceeds “attention’s capac18

Gaus, Integrationsgrenze, 3.

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ity to translate it into action or into talk in a short time horizon”.19 For the youths, there is a strong connection between music and emotions. They use the emotional effects of music in order to calculatedly influence their moods. Depending on the situation, the aim is to reinforce the mood or to reverse it. Usually, the youths try to gain a contrastive effect and get from a bad mood into a better one. Another way to use music is to deliberately get into a sad mood or reinforce it. This can be very enjoyable, as Yasemin illustrates: Then you can just let go nicely. [. . .] For example together with Filiz [a friend of hers, M.W.]. [. . .] We have a cassette that we especially love, a cassette of Ahmet Kaya. Then we sit down and put the music on. And then it’s just lovely melancholy and sad. And then we sit and we sing a little. And then, I don’t know, then you suffer an attack of sadness. And then you remember a thousand things. Things that happened when that song was playing or because of the lyrics. And then you talk about them.

Jack Katz encourages researchers to take expressions or metaphors literally that people try to express emotions with.20 In the case of Yasemin this means to look at where the music lets her go. According to Rolf Oerter and Rainer Dollase, with the help of music, the listener can flee the daily routine and suppress problems, and find comfort and distraction in situations of a bad mood, or problems in school.21 But in this example, for Yasemin the music opens the way to past incidents and enables her to take them up once more and come to terms with them, and not flee them. The term ‘escape’ is used very frequently in this context and has a negative connotation. In general, it is viewed as a lack of sense of reality when people seek refuge in a fantasy world. Ien Ang, who examined the use of the TV series Dallas, regards the term escape in this context as very misleading, “because it presupposes a strict division between reality and fantasy, between ‘sense of reality’ and ‘flight from reality’.”22 According to Ang, there is no such strict division but 19 William M. Reddy, The Navigation of Feeling: A Framework for the History of Emotions (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 94. 20 Jack Katz, How Emotions Work (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 6 and 10. 21 Rolf Oerter, “Kultur und Musikpsychologie,” in Musikpsychologie: Ein Handbuch in Schlüsselbegriffen, eds. H. Bruhn, R. Oerter, and H. Rösing (München: Urban & Schwarzenberg, 1985), 348; and Rainer Dollase, “Musikpräferenzen und Musikgeschmack Jugendlicher,” in Handbuch Jugend und Musik, ed. D. Baacke (Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 1998), 362. 22 Ien Ang, Watching Dallas: Soap Opera and the Melodramatic Imagination (London: Methuen, 1985), 49.

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rather an interaction of the two: using fantasy is “not so much a denial of reality as playing with it.”23 And the examples of the youths show, that when listening to music, they do not flee reality or their personal problems, but rather use the music to tackle them and come to grips with them. For the youths, music is tightly connected with their reality, as they can see themselves in it. As Ajda describes: When I’m sad, I want to listen to Sezen Aksu. Because she does the heart-rending songs. In such situations, you find yourself in the songs, in the lyrics. When she sings, roughly translated: This day will end, too, and some time there will be a light at the end of the tunnel and so on. Then you feel assured that it will turn out like this.

This way, songs or lyrics can become a motto or the key to personal experiences or situations, and give the comforting impression of not being the only one with these experiences or emotions.24 Music becomes the quite immediate and individual expression of a past, contemporary or anticipated emotional panorama, that can hardly be verbalized or expressed in another way. The pivotal point about the emotional experience of Turkish music is that the youths experience the music as somehow more emotional than English, German or other music. Ien Ang’s study of the reception of Dallas offers a useful model of explanation for this. According to Ang Dallas is so popular because it is so very realistic. This needs some explanation, as at first sight, Dallas is not realistic at all. The problems and complications the characters have to face are of grotesque dimensions. Ang lists among others “adultery, alcoholism, rare disease, miscarriage, rape, airplane accident, car accident, kidnapping, corruption, psychiatric treatment, and so on.”25 Comparing this to the reality outside Dallas means to follow an empiricist conception of realism and not to abstract from the denotative level of the text. But the concrete complications and problems the characters have to face can also be seen as “symbolic representations of more general living experiences: rows, intrigues, problems, happiness and misery.”26 According to Ang, people ascribe at a connotative level mainly emotional meanings to the text, and the realism of

23

Ang, Watching Dallas, 49. Lothar Mikos, “Bad Music oder die Lust am Trash: Differenzästhetik in der popkulturellen Praxis,” in Popvisionen: Links in die Zukunft, eds. M. Mai, K. Neumann-Braun, and A. Schmidt (Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp, 2003), 233–234. 25 Ang, Watching Dallas, 60. 26 Ang, Watching Dallas, 44–45. 24

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Dallas is an “emotional realism”.27 What the users recognize as real “is not knowledge of the world, but a subjective experience of the world: a ‘structure of feeling’.”28 The structure of feeling of Dallas is a tragic one, as the text is dominated by the idea that happiness is precarious and usually does not last or that life is mainly just ups and downs. Structures of feeling can be recognized in music just as well as in other texts (‘text’ means not only lyrics but also episodes of TV serials etc.), even in instrumental pieces without any lyrics or only in parts of pieces. Which structure of feeling is recognized or whether a structure is recognized is highly dependent on the individual person, the life history, the current personal situation, or the momentary mood. But apparently every music offers the opportunity to recognize a structure of feeling, and the qualities of the structures are countless. Cultural anthropology considers emotions as largely learned.29 If emotions are considered thus, this applies for their contents, but also for their deciphering. This is why Western European listeners may have difficulties deciphering Turkish music in the appropriate emotional way. For example, an only slightly modulated Turkish singing may seem monotonous, indifferent or boring to European listeners, while Turkish listeners learned to see it as especially tender or touching. The Turkish youths’ reception of Turkish and other music differs inasmuch as they describe Turkish music as more emotionally moving. But a music cannot be regarded as more emotional in an absolute way. Only the quality and intensity of the emotional implications differ according to the music, the situation, and the listener. Then why do many Turkish youths experience Turkish music as emotionally more intensive than English or other music? The youths grow up with a rather natural separation of contexts. For example, home and family life belong to a Turkish context and are often connoted with emotional warmth. The outside world, often connoted with predominantly unfamiliar people etc., belongs to a German context. For the Turkish youths, everything Turkish or the Turkish context, the country, the people living there, the language, and the music is predominantly positively connoted. On the other hand, the German or English context is characterized by school or the job and connoted with experiences of rejection and alienation. The

27 28 29

Ang, Watching Dallas, 45. Ang, Watching Dallas, 45. Reddy, Navigation of Feeling, 37.

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extremely positive connotation of the Turkish context results in a better learning of emotions and a better recognizing of structures of feeling of the Turkish context and a positive reinforcement of them. This way, the emotional experience of Turkish music is reinforced.30

5. Turkish music—a threat for German society? As Turkish music is so very appealing to Turkish youths and of this special emotional effect, one question poses itself: Is there a danger that unwelcome societal or political ideas reach the youth via the music or the artists? Popular music is often reputed to be endangering for the youth or society at large. For example, according to Reinhard Flender and Herman Rauhe, youths listening to music “crawl so to speak into the ‘magic uterus’ of the rhythmically pulsating sound world that unconsciously reminds them of the prenatal phase and by regression comforts them with cozy warmth and emotional security.”31 This de-socializing process may lead to “hedonic or narcissistic autism” and in the end to “mental immaturity and the inability to handle life”.32 Though the authors cannot present any empiric proof, they continue the scenario: The textual and musical stereotypes of pop music and its standardized role models and behavioral patterns contribute to a rigidity of perception and imposed conformism of aesthetics. This hinders self-determination and self-liberation in the aesthetic and political sphere and in the end leads to the elimination of individuality, to alienation or even the loss of identity.33 But it is not only the music itself that is supposed to be somehow dangerous for youths, it is also the performers. The public, the media and even researchers on the one hand very much regret that youths constantly lose shining models, and on the other hand fear that they could be influenced by bad models. In the context of migrant youths, such supposed dangers of popular music gain special importance. What if

30 Of course, the Turkish context could be negatively connoted, too. This could lead to a negative reinforcement of the recognizing of the structures of feeling of this context. But this is not the case with the youths of this study. 31 Reinhard Flender and Hermann Rauhe, Popmusik: Aspekte ihrer Geschichte, Funktionen, Wirkung und Ästhetik (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1989), 161. Translation mine. 32 Flender and Rauhe, Popmusik, 161. Translation mine. 33 Flender and Rauhe, Popmusik, 162–163.

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Turkish artists or lyrics can stimulate anti-democratic, sexist, Islamic etc. opinions or behavior? Only few youths think that performers could be models, good or bad, and none speaks of regarding a certain performer as a personal model. Apparently Jürgen Zinnecker is right when he says that the discussion about models is more of an adults’ topic than a topic of interest for youths. According to Zinnecker, the strong pedagogical connotation of models results in their broad rejection. In addition to this, with the beginning of adolescence, youths refer to other persons not by identifying with them, but rather in order to define a positive self-image and distinguish themselves. Individualization, for example via music or life style, becomes more and more important, and this forbids copying another person.34 The youths have very high and diverse moral expectations of the artists and perceive in detail when they fail to meet these expectations. But instead of glossing over their shortcomings or excusing them so that they would meet their expectations, they allow themselves being disappointed by them. They do not allow the artists wider limits of tolerance just because they are stars, like Lila Abu-Lughod found when doing fieldwork on TV consumption in Egypt. Accompanying women watching TV serials, she found that they simply suspended their moral judgment. For these women, TV stars and characters do not belong to the local moral community. As they have completely different problems or situations of life, they may follow completely different rules that would never be accepted in their own moral community.35 The Turkish youths in Germany, on the other hand, see a different ‘moral community’. Their moral claims are of a much more universal character and do not stop at prominent artists. Opinions of performers and their music can differ very much. The youths are able to like the music of a performer they do not like, but in certain cases a bad opinion of a performer can also lead to a dislike of his or her music. Ibrahim Tatlises is a performer who apparently does not have to fear the opinions his listeners have of him, as they like his music anyway. He is one of the 34

Jürgen Zinnecker, Jugendkultur: 1940–1985 (Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 1987),

296. 35 Lila Abu-Lughod, “Movie Stars and Islamic Moralism in Egypt,” Social Text 42 (1995), 59; and Lila Abu-Lughod, “The Objects of Soap Opera: Egyptian Television Serials and the National Interest,” in Worlds apart: Modernity through the Prism of the Local, ed. D. Miller (London: Routledge, 1995), 204.

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most popular and controversial artists of Turkey. Ibrahim Tatlises (tatli ses: sweet voice) was born in 1952 in a small city in Anatolia. Coming from a poor family, in the 1970s he became very successful and is the most prominent artist of Arabesk. He is said to treat people and especially women very rudely. Many youths say that they on the one hand are disgusted by him, but on the other hand like his music very much, just like Baris does: He has a very interesting personal history when he says: I was born in a cave. It is really interesting to see what he used to be and what he is now. That is admirable. But the current incidents, he is so dictatorial and he, I don’t know, despises and hits women and whatever. Of course, I don’t like this side of him. But his voice is great.

Ibrahim Tatlises is not the only case in which Baris likes the music but dislikes the performer. But in the following case of the artist Yavuz Bingöl, the bad opinion of the performer lead to a change of the opinion of the music. Yavuz Bingöl was active in the field of protest müzik, a highly political genre of Turkish popular music that developed in the 1960s. Then he got commercially successful as a solo artist. In the beginning, Baris was very enthusiastic about Yavuz Bingöl. He even bought a cassette several times and gave it to friends in order to promote the performer. Today Baris’ opinion of Yavuz Bingöl is dominated by the artist’s private life. In contrast to the example of Ibrahim Tatlises, Baris can no longer like the music of Yavuz Bingöl. I bought the album three or four times and gave it to friends, because I was sure he was that great that they had to listen to it. I thought he was just great. But then this change. He started with protest and folk music and followed the political track. And nowadays it’s nothing but pure commercialism. He has his own serial, he joins in every crap. And he has already been married six or seven times though he is so young. And I don’t like that. It’s important to me that the music and whatever the private person represents match. I don’t like it when he is an antisocial bastard in his private life but in his music everything is peace and happiness.

These examples show that the youths perceive in every detail when artists fail to meet their expectations. What they regard as moral shortcomings, for example several changes of marriage partners, applies universally for the prominent artists just as well as for themselves. Ordinary people like themselves as well as prominent people belong to the same universal moral community. This moral community is universal

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in one more sense: The value system the Turkish youths apply to their moral community is not of a specifically Turkish or Muslim nature. What they find irritating does not differ from what causes offense in Germany. For example, when Gerhard Schröder assumed office as chancellor, the German public was irritated by the fact that he had been married and divorced several times. The youths differentiate strongly between the person and the music of an artist and do not make the artists objects of admiration or even emulation. They rather accept being disappointed in all the varying expectations they have. When they get disappointed by the artists or when the opinion of the performer and the music differ from the beginning, the youths negotiate this in every single case. In this they do not follow a general policy but rather are highly flexible. In one case one decides not to listen to the music any longer, in the next one decides to listen to it anyway. There is no apparent influential potential of the performers, and it is the same with the lyrics. Anthropological research on media shows that people can and do read media texts very differently from the author’s intention. And some of the youths give exactly this explanation among others for an assumed little effectiveness of politically motivated music. Yasemin, for example, explains that artists and music cannot influence her as it is totally unpredictable what she does with the music or the lyrics. To underpin her opinion she tells about one of her favorite songs, Seviyorum seni (I love you). The lyrics consist of a poem by Nazim Hikmet (1902–1963), who is one of the most popular poets of Turkey. Hikmet wrote this poem when he was in exile in Russia. He did not dedicate it to a woman, as the title might suggest, but rather to his home country Turkey. Yasemin did not know this and developed her very own and personal connotations. Today she knows that the poem renders homage to the country Turkey. But Yasemin can keep her personal connotations up. What Nazim Hikmet wanted to express with the poem is of no relevance to her: I don’t think they can reach the masses or cause anything to happen. I really think everybody listening to music follows her or his own thoughts. I think nobody is interested in what the authors had in mind when they wrote a certain piece. You yourself find it politically motivating or you don’t. [. . .] I didn’t know that Nazim Hikmet wrote Seviyorum seni when he was in exile. And I wasn’t interested in this fact. And to me the song doesn’t mean that I miss Turkey, as he intended to describe in the poem.

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maria wurm For me it is something very personal that has nothing to do with his intention. And I think it is generally this way. They write it, but everybody understands it the way she or he wants to.

According to Reinhard Flender and Hermann Rauhe, popular music contributes to a deficit of self-determination and self-liberation in the aesthetic or political sphere (see above).36 The youths and their dealing with music leave a very different impression. On the one hand they differentiate very much between the music and the performer and handle their opinions of artists in a highly sophisticated and flexible way. On the other hand they appreciate politically motivated music, as long as it corresponds with their political attitude. But they think it is hardly effective or of influence on themselves. In addition, the example of Yasemin and the song Seviyorum seni underpins results of anthropological media research showing that interpretations or connotations of texts are in the main the products of the users and not so much the authors.

6. Turkish youths within German youth culture Let me exaggerate for a moment: If Turkish youths in Germany do not visit Turkish discotheques in order to cut themselves off from society and if artists and lyrics have no considerable influence on the youths, is there any reason left to bother about Turkish music in Germany? There is. Many Turkish youths experience their situation as migrant youths as very uncomfortable. Their use of Turkish music is not the reason for but rather a symptom of this experience. This becomes apparent when the focus on the use of music is extended to the youths’ self-location or rather non-location in the youth cultures existing in Germany. Germany shows a manifold landscape of youth cultures. This range of youth cultures cannot only be attributed to changing possibilities of leisure time and consumption. According to Johannes Moser, an increasing individualization of life situations leads to new processes of group formation. As people no longer belong to a class or milieu, contexts, necessities, and needs decide which scene or network to refer to.37 Having lost traditional obligations and ways of group formation, the arti36

Flender and Rauhe, Popmusik, 162–163. Johannes Moser, “Kulturanthropologische Jugendforschung,” in Jugendkulturen: Recherchen in Frankfurt am Main und London, ed. J. Moser (Frankfurt/Main: Institut für Kulturanthropologie und Europäische Ethnologie der Universität, 2000), 34. 37

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ficial creation of frontiers becomes necessary to keep a distance to the outside world and at the same time experience affiliation and safety.38 Music can be a useful leitmotif here. Turkish youths hardly show any affiliation with youth cultures existent in Germany. They especially consider youth cultures with an outward appearance aimed at irritating or shocking the mainstream critically, as they suspect it leads to disapproval and exclusion. They themselves do not want to cause such exclusion. As Filiz explains: These punks, for example [. . .], just because of their outward appearance they are written off somehow. I don’t want to judge whether they are stupid or not, I don’t know. [. . .] Just because I think one shouldn’t wall oneself off from society and only hang around with your own kind of people that doesn’t mean that I’m a follower or want to suck up to people. I just think people keep their distance from such people. Would parents like their daughter to have a boyfriend wearing, I don’t know, torn or leather clothes? I just wouldn’t like to be in the situation that I come to people’s places and they say: Son, we don’t want you to have contact with this girl.

For the youths, the central aspects of youth cultures are the differentiation from others on the one hand, and affi liation with others on the other hand. These aspects are not attractive for them. They do not want to dissociate from society, and the negative implications of such dissociation cannot be compensated by the experience of affiliation with a certain group. A third aspect of youth cultures is the provocation of or rebellion against society. The Turkish youths do not show any attempt to provoke, especially not via an irritating outward appearance. The youths rather leave the strong impression that they want to be as unobtrusive as possible. They have the feeling of always being recognized as Turkish and as different, and they do not want to aggravate this. While many German youths may feel the need to actively distinguish themselves, Turkish youths rather find themselves involuntarily and unintentionally exposed, just like Filiz does: I haven’t felt indigenous in my whole life. Neither in Germany nor in Turkey. You always know. No matter how well you’re integrated. I don’t think that I get rejected just because I have black hair. I speak German and I think I behave German. But I always have the feeling that I’m foreign, 38 Klaus Farin, Generation-kick.de: Jugendsubkulturen heute (München: C. H. Beck, 2001), 87–88.

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maria wurm because people give me the feeling that I’m not like them. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be in a German’s position, what it’s like to feel indigenous. I’d love to be normal, just for a single day, either in Turkey or here, just to know what it’s like.

Apparently the youths neither see themselves affiliated with a certain Turkish youth culture or subculture, for example a ‘Turkish pop culture’. The existence of such a culture is not even mentioned. Dissociation and provocation are unwelcome. The youths want to see themselves as nonresistant and unobtrusive and design a deliberate and conscious mainstream. This Turkish mainstream offers distinction from other Turkish youths, for example the hip-hop youths, but is not meant to be distinct from a general German mainstream. For the youths, there is no contradiction in listening to both, Turkish and German or rather English music, just like a Turkish and a German mainstream do not exclude each other. Both are natural and equal components of their situation in Germany and blend smoothly. This Turkish mainstream cannot be regarded as a subculture aimed at dissociation with the most negative implications of the term. For the Turkish youths, a mainstream of their own offers them the opportunity to gain distinction and to express their self-image: On the one hand, the Turkish mainstream opens a field where they can prove competency, good taste, and insider knowledge. By this, the youths gain distinction without putting special emphasis on standing out against other, German groups of youths. On the other hand, the Turkish mainstream offers the youths the opportunity to minimize targets for rejection or exclusion by the German majority and to regard themselves as the least deviant as possible, and they take the Turkish mainstream as a means to present themselves as such. The youths have the strong impression that they will be regarded as different no matter how “German” they behave. They respond with great competency to the demands of a life in Germany: They speak fluently German, get high educational degrees and know the legal and societal system. To speak frankly, they do not know what else to do, and still have a strong feeling that they will never really be welcome in Germany. Apparently, steps must be taken so that the migrant youths are no longer denied the possibility to develop a closer emotional connection to Germany, but these are tasks of the German majority, not the migrant youths. In this situation, the use of Turkish music is neither the expression of a backwardness that would hinder migrant youths from letting

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themselves in for a life in Germany, nor of a parallel society not willing to integrate into German society. On the contrary, Turkish music is one cultural resource among others the youths use in order to design a self-image as migrant youths in Germany and to locate themselves in a society they do not feel accepted by but nevertheless live in.

References Abu-Lughod, Lila (1995): The Objects of Soap Opera: Egyptian Television and the Cultural Politics of Modernity. In: Worlds apart: Modernity through the Prism of the Local. Edited by: D. Miller. London: Routledge: 190–209. —— (1995): Movie Stars and Islamic Moralism in Egypt. Social Text 42: 53–67. Aksoy, Asu and Robins, Kevin (2000): “Abschied von Phantomen”: Transnationalismus am Beispiel des türkischen Fernsehens. In: Bewegte Identitäten. Medien in transkulturellen Kontexten. Edited by: B. Busch, B. Hipfl, and K. Robins. Klagenfurt. Drava: 71–110. Ang, Len (1985): Watching Dallas: Soap Opera and the Melodramatic Imagination. London. Methuen. Becker, Jörg (2003): Die deutsch-türkische Medienrevolution: Weitere sieben Meilensteine. In: Zwischen kultureller Zersplitterung und virtueller Identität: Türkische Medienkultur in Deutschland III. Edited by: J. Becker, and R. Behnisch. Rehburg-Loccum. Evangelische Akademie: 47–82. Caglar, Ayse S. (1998): Popular Culture, Marginality and Institutional Incorporation: German-Turkish Rap and Turkish Pop in Berlin. In: Cultural Dynamics 10: 243–261. Catalbas, Dilruba (2000): Broadcasting deregulation in Turkey: Uniformity within diversity. In: Media Organisations in Society. Edited by: J. Curran. London. Arnold: 126–148. Dollase, Rainer (1998): Musikpräferenzen und Musikgeschmack Jugendlicher. In: Handbuch Jugend und Musik. Edited by: D. Baacke. Opladen. Leske & Budrich: 341–368. Farin, Klaus (2001): Generation-kick.de: Jugendsubkulturen heute. München. C. H. Beck. Flender, Reinhard and Rauhe, Helmut (1989): Popmusik: Aspekte ihrer Geschichte, Funktionen, Wirkung und Ästhetik. Darmstadt. Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Gaus, Bettina (2000): Es gibt die Integrationsgrenze. In: die tageszeitung 19. December: 3. Gökalp, Ziya (1968): The Principles of Turkism. Leiden. Brill. Greve, Martin (2003): Die Musik der imaginären Türkei: Musik und Musikleben im Kontext der Migration aus der Türkei in Deutschland. Stuttgart. Metzler. http://www.beys.de/content/html/de/content0305.html 06.05.2005. Katz, Jack (1999): How Emotions Work. Chicago. University of Chicago Press. Mikos, Lothar (2003): Bad Music oder die Lust am Trash: Differenzästhetik in der popkulturellen Praxis. In: Popvisionen: Links in die Zukunft. Edited by: M. Mai, K. Neumann-Braun, and A. Schmidt. Frankfurt/Main. Suhrkamp: 226–245. Moser, Johannes (2000): Kulturanthropologische Jugendforschung. In: Jugendkulturen: Recherchen in Frankfurt am Main und London. Edited by J. Moser. Frankfurt/Main. Institut für Kulturanthropologie und Europäische Ethnologie der Universität: 11–57. Oerter, Rolf (1985): Kultur und Musikpsychologie. In: Musikpsychologie: Ein Handbuch in Schlüsselbegriffen. Edited by: H. Bruhn, R. Oerter, and H. Rösing. München. Urban & Schwarzenberg: 347–351.

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Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung (2001): Mediennutzung und Integration der türkischen Bevölkerung in Deutschland: Ergebnisse einer Umfrage des Presseund Informationsamtes der Bundesregierung. Potsdam. Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung. Reddy, William M. (2001): The Navigation of Feeling: A Framework for the History of Emotions. Cambridge. Cambridge University Press. Schulte, Joachim (2002): Reichweitenerhebungen für türkische Fernsehsender in Deutschland. In: Zwischen Autonomie und Gängelung: Türkische Medienkultur in Deutschland II. Edited by: J. Becker, and R. Behnisch. Rehburg-Loccum. Evangelische Akademie: 173–197. Tekelioglu, Orhan (1996): The Rise of a Spontaneous Synthesis: The Historical Background of Turkish Popular Music. In: Middle Eastern Studies (32): 194–215. Wurm, Maria (2006): Musik in der Migration: Beobachtungen zur kulturellen Artikulation türkischer Jugendlicher in Deutschland. Bielefeld. Transcript. Zinnecker, Jürgen (1987): Jugendkultur: 1940–1985. Opladen. Leske & Budrich.

PART V

MEDIA

“I CAN WATCH BOTH SIDES”—MEDIA USE AMONG YOUNG ARABS IN GERMANY Judith Pies

This paper examines the media use of young Arabs living in Germany. It focuses on two objectives. First, it offers a way to think about the relationship between media use and integration of migrants beyond the anxiety of ghetto-building through media use. Secondly, the paper asks whether the media use among Arab youth in Germany is an indicator of their cultural identity. Here, it is important to know how the young people give meaning to media and its contents and to what extent they share these meanings.

1. Media Use among Migrants—A Question of (Dis-)Integration? The discussion about the relationship between media use, migrants, and integration is an example of the general scientific debate concerning the role of mass media for integration into society. The debate still lacks a theoretical framework and an empirical clarification. Yet it is not only a scientific but also a political matter, especially when it comes to migrants who are to be integrated (Vlasic 2004: 50–66). The history of empirical studies on migrants’ media use in Germany reflects this statement very well. The first studies showed a loss of viewers of German television and radio programs accompanied by an increasing use of programs produced by the mother-tongue broadcasting stations. The results evoked an anxiety of “mediale Ghettoisierung” (Eckhardt 2000: 270), i.e. the forming of ghettos through the choice of media. But later studies made clear that language-oriented media use is not an adequate indicator for integration in general. A study on media reception among Turkish migrants in Germany was more intensive and elaborated. It was realized by the media research institute GöfaK and the German Institute for Middle East Studies (DOI). The crucial results were that even a differentiation in three integration dimensions did not show a clear media influence. While social and political integration was only

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slightly touched on by media use, cultural integration was related to an open-minded attitude towards German and Turkish public discourse (DOI-Studie 2002: 10ff.). But this relationship still does not say anything about the direction of the influence; openness towards both discourses in this case might be a product of as well as a precondition for a certain user’s menu. Facing these findings, Hafez is right to be skeptical about the lineal media influence on integration and the forming of identity (DOI-Studie 2002: 50). After these findings, the outcomes of scientific research on the relationship between migrants’ media use and the extent of integration have to be reconsidered. One way of doing this is to turn the question around. Instead of asking how media consumption impacts integration I am going to ask what media consumption stands for. If media use was an indicator for cultural identity, it might allude to the degree of cultural integration for which cultural identity is again relevant.

2. Media Use and Cultural Identity For the theoretical connection between cultural identity and media use, it is important to look at two main concepts in communication science, Cultural Studies and Reception Studies. They both combine concepts of communication, culture and identity and define culture as a complex of signifying systems which people use for generating meanings. This definition mainly goes back to Clifford Geertz: “Believing, with Max Weber, that man is an animal suspended in webs of significance he himself has spun, I take culture to be those webs, and the analysis of it to be therefore not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretative one in search of meaning.” (Geertz 1973: 5). Therefore, the study of human behavior, seen as symbolic actions, necessitates the search for its meaning. How this works for communication and the construction of identity can be well demonstrated with the ‘circuit of culture’ by Hall and du Gay. With its symbols and signs, language may function as a medium for human beings through which they represent their concepts, ideas and feelings. As a consequence, language is central to the process of constructing meanings. Culture as a process or a set of practices is marked by the “giving and taking of meanings” (Hall 1997a: 2) between the individual members of a group. Thus, to belong to the same culture means to give the world a similar meaning. These ascribed meanings have effects on every-day life and are reflected in specific cultural practices (cf. Hall 1997a). Human beings give things a

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meaning by using them in a special manner, integrating them in their lives, interpreting and representing them in their own ways and by associating specific emotions with them. So, in every social interaction they present and interchange meaning. This is why the meaning one gives to a thing can be regarded as an impression of one’s identity and identification with a special group or culture (cf. du Gay et al. 1997; Hall 1997a; Hall 1997b). If media use is defined as a social practice, the way one uses a special medium and interprets it is also a kind of representation. Several findings from a Cultural Studies’ and Reception Studies’ background demonstrate what it means for empirical research to understand media use in this way. Here, the model of mass media communication and the concept of media audiences are of special interest. The model of mass media communication in this tradition is highly influenced by Hall’s encoding/decoding model, which underlines the special relationship between reader and writer. On the one hand, the writer of a text (producer of mass media content) encodes meanings in his text which are determined by common knowledge, social relations and technical conditions. So every text bears a specific meaning. On the other hand, the reader (receiver of mass media content) decodes this meaning by using his cognitive abilities (cf. Hall 1980). It has not yet been clarified among researchers how far the reader is free to interpret the text along a given meaning. Hall, for example, gives the reader a certain influence in decoding the text. But for him, the writer is in a more powerful position as he sets the framework for interpretation. Fiske, on the other hand, prefers the ‘reader-as-writer’ position, which stresses the reader’s autonomy towards the text through the context of reading. For him it is not only the social class which determines the interpretation, as it is for Hall, but also other social differences like nationality, age, religion, profession, education and gender. Besides these social pre-conditions, Fiske hints at the influence of special reception conditions and points of time on the reception process. The same reader may interpret the same text in a different way just because of reading it in a different situation or moment (cf. Fiske 1992). Therefore, it is important to analyze the process of reception carefully. For my scientific purpose I concentrate on two reception models. They both deal with the construction of identity through mass media reception. One is the communicative constructed identity by Krotz (1997), and the other the reception model referring to structural analysis by Charlton (1997). Krotz, like Charlton, regards the reception as a multiphase process. Although both authors draw on different theories, they also have important assumptions in common: They regard the

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reception situation as self-defined and the media perception as a first phase followed by at least a second phase. In this following phase the main process involves the dealing with the perceived media topics and their implementation into the (re)construction of identity. Charlton, for example, considers personal communication as an important supporting action for this phase (1997: 24). The theoretical considerations on the process of mass media reception show three basic assumptions: 1. The recipient is partly active during the reception. 2. He is able to ascribe meaning individually within a cultural frame and as far as the text admits it. 3. His interpretations are influenced by the reception conditions. Therefore, it is not sufficient to ask whether an Arab immigrant living in Germany uses German or Arab media. In fact you have to ask what meaning this recipient credits the media and its content. Following this concept of reception processes the mass media audience is neither a homogenous mass nor a group of atomized individuals. As the recipients’ decoding is based on individual, interpersonal structures as well as cultural practices and formations which they participate in, the audience is rather a mass of many specific subcultures or groups, in which its members decode media messages in a similar way (Morley 1996: 39). According to this reading, an audience only becomes an audience when it constitutes an interpretative community, i.e. when it refers to a shared knowledge and a binding frame of interpretation or like Lindlof defines “an interpretative community is a collectivity of persons who share strategies for classifying and decoding certain texts.” (Lindlof 1987: 29).

3. Methodological Approach1 Because of the explorative character of the study and the theoretical thoughts ahead I decided to refer to an individual case study. This approach offers the possibility of an in-depth analysis of meanings given to the media, its consumption and contents by every single case and afterwards a prescription of shared meanings within a relatively

1 I refer to research data that I collected in 2004 for a project at the Kompetenzzentrum Orient-Okzident Mainz (KOOM) and my MA-thesis. At this point I would like to thank my interviewees for their kind cooperation. Without them my research would not have been possible. At the end of this paper you find a list of all interviewees. The names have been changed. I also express my thanks to the fi nancier of the project, the Zentrum für Interkulturelle Studien (ZIS) at the University of Mainz.

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small sample. My sample included 19 German and Arabic speaking or understanding male and female adolescents aged between 16 and 23 who live in the Rhine-Main region (mainly Mainz and Rüsselsheim, Germany). 17 described themselves as Sunni Muslims, one as a Greek Orthodox and one as an Assyrian Catholic.2 The interviews were mainly guided by my first two research question: • What meanings do the young Arabic recipients living in Germany attribute to the media and its contents? • How relevant is the situation of migration for their reception? The interpretation of the interviews was done with the help of the qualitative content analysis and defined seven relatively wide categories for the individual case study: 1. Information about the individual situation and aspects of the biography which are relevant for the research questions; 2. Statements about their own cultural location; 3. Statements that highlight open and hidden motives for the use of mass media; 4. Statements that hint at the degree of involvement during the reception; 5. Statements that show the relevance of the language for the reception; 6. Attitudes towards special forms of communication and mass media contents; 7. Statements that allow conclusions on how the recipients treat the media contents and deal with it. As it is not possible to present the individual findings here, I will concentrate on my third research question: • Are there any shared meanings that lead back to similar interpretations? To answer this question, I have compared the 19 single cases by using the same categories at first and by raising them to a more abstract level in a second step. I searched for similarities in motives and patterns of action which could be explained by shared interpretations and described meanings to the media and its content. The individual case interpretation had shown that it is not realistic to refer only to language but to consider other influencing factors like age, gender, place of medial and educational socialization, religion, their status in Germany etc. Having in mind these 2 As the precondition for my sample was the possibility to be part of an Arabic and/or German media using audience, I included all religions and all Arabic speaking nationalities. I did not exclude non-Arabic ethnicities either (four Berbers and one Assyrian), because four of them knew Arabic beside German and Berber, Assyrian respectively. Only one girl, Salma, said, she did not know Arabic at all, but as her media menu showed a high concentration on Arabic media contents, like Iqra (which has English broadcastings, too) or Arabic Music Channels, I decided to keep her in the sample.

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findings, the results of my comparison focused on individual frames of interpretation that are shared by different quantities of my sample. The most important frames of interpretation will be presented here.3

4. Shared Frames of Interpretation The shared frames of interpretation are integrated into four main patterns of media use: 1. the use of entertaining media genres; 2. the selection of important media subjects; 3. the use of information through news programs, and 4. the criticism of media. For each subject, I provide a table to demonstrate the numerical distribution in my sample. 4.1

Search for Orientation in German TV Entertainment

For several years, a general trend in television broadcasting has been the growing popularity of entertaining genres that are similar to everyday life. Two main motivations can be identified for the reception of these fast changing formats like soap operas, talk shows, reality TV, etc. One is the need for escapism and excitement and the other is the search for information in order to use it for social orientation and identity construction (Vorderer 1996: 321–324). A combination of the two motivations together with a partly ritualized reception is reflected in my findings, too. 4.1.1 Soap Operas as an Identification Genre and a Mediated Experience For the female interviewees who were brought up in Germany, German early evening soap operas4 are of special interest. One of the oftenmentioned motivations for watching these series is the desire to be part of the society. Everybody in school or in the peer group watches them, they say. And as they want to talk about what happened in the last series with their classmates, they regularly watch the popular soaps.

3 A detailed description of my methodological procedure and all research data can be found in Pies (2004a, 2004b). There, I also make visible the scaling procedure of political interest, importance of religion in every day life, language skills, credibility of al-Jazeera etc. from my research material. 4 The most popular German soap operas among the Arabic youth are Gute Zeiten, schlechte Zeiten (RTL), Marienhof (ARD), Verbotene Liebe (ARD), Unter uns (RTL). This mirrors the German wide ranking of soap operas. A majority of their audience is female and aged between 14 and 29.

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So, watching soap operas seems to be one precondition to be integrated into and accepted by the peer group. And that is what the girls long and sometimes even fight for in front of the television. Salma, for example, tries to prevail over her elder brother who does not like the ‘girlish’ soaps his sister watches and makes fun of her. Sometimes also their parents’ values stand in contrast to the need for belonging to the audience of German soap operas. This becomes obvious while the parents watch soap operas together with their children. The girls told of scenes with girls wearing short skirts or people kissing each other that their parents criticized and prompted themselves to switch the channel because they felt ashamed. The consequence is that they watch the soap operas at some friend’s house or avoid watching with their parents. The same behavior can be noticed for love stories, too. Another reason why my female interviewees appreciate soap operas is because of the mass media mediated experience they can experience. As their religion and education do not allow them to experience many of these things, soap operas give them the chance to ‘go through’ problems with the partner, for example. They use these mediated experiences to advise friends in conflict situations by comparing them to the scenes they watched or the characters in the soap operas. By doing so, they profit from a deep involvement and emotional feeling for the characters during the reception, which becomes obvious through crying, laughing or being angry with them or by showing a high tension in general. Some of the girls interviewed showed this emotional proximity with love stories, too. If they themselves are in love or are lovesick, they avoid love genres and switch to comedy in order to see an intact world. Soap operas are considered to articulate mainly problems and at the same time have a high credibility because of being close to reality. This makes them a popular source for mediated experience, but loses attraction as soon as the experience becomes a real one. The reception of soap operas for the girls therefore is not only influenced by the external situation (with or without parents) but also by the intrinsic constitution (good or bad mood). As the soap opera in general is a genre which discusses and creates images of gender roles, sexuality and concepts of partnership in an intensive way,5 the girls use the content to discuss and build up their

5 Several analyses of soap operas have examined the image of males cf. Williams, Carol T. (1994). Soap Opera Men in the 90s. In Journal of Popular Film and Television, 22. 3/1994. 126–131, the presentation of sexuality cf. Ward, Monique L. (1995). Talking about Sex: Common Themes about Sexuality in the Prime-Time Television Programs Children and Adolescents View Most. In Journal of Youth and Adolescence, 24, 5/1995.

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own concepts. This happens during the immediate reception as well as afterwards through talks with friends or parents. Here, the partly contrary concepts of German soap operas and the girls’ parents are of special interest. Assia’s example shows clearly that the girls handle this in an ambivalent way. She mainly watches German soap operas although she says that the German TV presents kissing and loving in a “perverse” and “far too free” way. At the same time, she likes to watch theses scenes as long as her parents are not watching, because then she does not feel ashamed anymore. When asked for the representation of her own life in German soap operas, she says that the action, problems and characters of Arabic soap operas come closer to her life than the German. Nevertheless, she prefers the German soaps. Unfortunately, my findings cannot go deeper into the interpretation of the importance of German soap operas and the identity construction of gender roles, sexuality and partnership. This needs a detailed empirical study. But referring to Nökel’s (2002) findings on the imagination of femininity among the second generation of Muslim girls in Germany,6 it seems as if the reception of soap operas might be a strategy to discuss and to construct emancipated Islamic images of femininity. 4.1.2 The Talk Show as a Provider of Positions Most of the young people I interviewed (10 out of 19) said they watched talk shows: four of them being males who grew up in Arabic countries and six of them being females who grew up in Germany. Although eight of the users consider talk show subjects as realistic reflections of the German society and its problems, Hisham thinks that all this has nothing to do with German reality and culture. Said at least doubts the authenticity of the talk show guests without explicitly doubting

595–615 or Greenberg, Bradley & Busselle, R. W. (1996). Soap Operas and Sexual Activity: A Decade Later. In Journal of Communication 46, 4/1996. 153–160, the concept of sexual relations with regard to the reception of soap operas cf. Haferkamp, Claudia. (1999). Beliefs about Relationships in Relation to Television Viewing, Soap Opera Viewing and Selfmonitoring. In Current Psychology, 18, 2/1999. 193–204. 6 Nökel mentions this strategy referring to Muslim girls of the second generation in Germany. They have to handle two sometimes incompatible moral standards. On the one hand, they have to deal with the Islamic morals, which for example legitimize sexuality only within marriage and is sometimes contrary to the idea of sexuality mediated through soap operas. On the other hand, they try to implement the idea of an emancipated femininity (cf. Nökel 2002: 213–262).

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the subjects. In particular, topics that deal with Islam and the debate on headscarves attract the attention of the youngsters. This is remarkable because the findings from a study by Paus-Haase et al. (1999) on the meaning of talk shows for young people’s daily life assumed that from the preferred topics religion, politics, society and culture were the least interesting ones for them. Moreover, the results showed that the chosen subjects had a very close connection to their own lives (Paus-Haase 1999: 377). I can confirm this for my interviewees, since Islam plays an important role in their lives as both a religion and as a matter of identification.7 Therefore it is not surprising that Islam as a subject also plays a role in their media use and their choice of talk shows. The opinions of talk shows differ within the group: some believe that the talk show guests as well as their arguments are both pro and anti-Islamic. Yasmin, for instance, regards talk shows as an exceptional genre, in—and apart from this—more or less anti-Islamic reporting in German media. This would back up Spuler-Stegemann’s thesis, from before September 11, that Muslim women often appear on TV talk shows because their appearance and their competence in speaking for their interests attracts attention (2002: 187–188). The anti-thesis that talk shows are an exclusively anti-Islamic genre creates the impression that the majority of the German population supports the defamation of Islam. As they believe talk show life is identical with real life, the feeling of being outsiders not accepted by German society rises. But why do they nevertheless love to watch these talk shows? The profit they make by watching talk shows lies in the searching for arguments, pros and cons. In this case their point of view towards talk shows is not relevant. They extract arguments for their own position as Muslims on the one hand and try to find out how their counterparts argue on the other hand. By knowing the behavior and arguments against their own position they get the feeling of ‘being prepared’ for attacks. To come back to the Paus-Haase et al. study one could characterize my interviewees as ‘orientation seekers’, a category which contains talk show users who find entertainment and social orientation in this genre (1999: 331–334). Through talk shows they get the possibility of verifying their opinions and lifestyles and of finding advice and solutions for real life problems. The degree of interest in these functions depends on the kind of reception: naïve or reflected, involved or distanced, etc. It is remarkable

7

Cf. Individual findings in Pies (2004a).

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that the percentage of the ‘orientation seekers’ was only 16% in PausHaase’s study (1999: 375), whereas in my analysis I found eight out of nineteen. My assumption, therefore, is that the relatively large number is caused by the special situation of migration and the feeling of not being accepted which makes the search for social orientation more necessary. It must again be analyzed how true this is for a larger sample and with a focus on talk show reception. But other evidence for this assumption is the widespread use of discussion groups in the internet, which above all cover Islam and Muslim life in Germany or Europe (cf. 4.2). 4.1.3 Reality TV: Mediator of Real (German) Life Aside from talk shows, reality TV is a format which can mediate an idea of real life. Two of the male interviewees who were brought up in Arabic countries considered reality TV as a way of receiving information on the German way of life as well as profession-related behaviors. But the level of plausibility varies according to the extent the young men believe in this genre. Abdallah, for example, considers court shows as a suitable genre to gain knowledge about “problems that exist in Germany”, while Hisham stopped watching reality shows after a short while because he thought that “this is not the way the Germans live [. . .] What they show is a lot of rubbish.” It is not only specifically German life but also the professional world in which the young people will be working one day that is of interest to them. Abdallah, medical student, and Said, medical student-to-be, both favor reality TV in hospitals, with doctors or a rescue team, like the weekly broadcasted Notruf on the German RTL channel. Researches have seen voyeurism and the pleasure of a state of anxiety as the predominant motivation for watching reality TV. Theunert adds in her study on children’s reception of reality TV that as soon as the recipient identifies with one of the presented characters, he gets a kind of practical advice for his life. In his own view he prepares himself for possible problems and dangers by learning from the given behavior and preserving actions. In this connection, reality TV can also be regarded as a genre for orientation seekers (Theunert 1996: 22–24). Until now, much has been said about the imagined lack of security in Germany through reality TV and the concern about a growing anxiety among watchers. Therefore it would be interesting to study how reality TV subjects, e.g. xenophobic criminality or criminality committed by foreigners, are perceived by migrants who tend to feel excluded and attacked by society in their host land.

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1 Samir

Reality TV: Mediator of (German Real Life)

Talk Shows as Providers of Positions

Arabic Soaps as Identification Genre

Soaps as Mediated Experience

German Soaps as Identification Genre

Interviewees

Table 1: Search for Orientation in German TV Entertainment

++

2 Mohammed 3 Rowaida 5 Isa

+

6 Said

+

7 Abdallah

++

8 Kevin 9 Ghinna 10 Assia

++

++

++

++

++

++

++

11 Hisham

+

12 Khaled 13 Salma

++

++

14 Nadja

+

+

15 Yasmin

++

++

+

++

+

+

16 Rafiq 17 Samira

+

++

++

+

+

++

++ +

++

18 Raoud 19 Ghania

++

20 Najib male

++

female

underlined name = brought up in Germany + = importance high ++ = importance very high

+

406 4.2

judith pies Important Media Subjects: ‘Heimat’ and Islam

In 17 of 19 cases, the active search for information is adjusted to at least one of the two subjects, Heimat and/or Islam. Exceptions are Kevin, who describes himself as a non-religious catholic, born in Germany and not interested in information on Iraq (his parents’ native country) at all. The other is Nadja, who describes herself as a “not very religious Muslima”, born in Germany with little contact (only vacation) to and interest in her parents’ native country Morocco. 4.2.1 Wired ‘Heimat’ Most of the interviewees call the Arabic country their Heimat, even if they were born in Germany and have German citizenship. They associate the word Heimat with the (extended) family’s place of residence, the use of their mother tongue (another flexible, ambivalently used expression for those born in Germany) or the place where the family’s traditions are practiced. For those who were brought up in Germany and have never lived abroad, this sometimes means a mixture of a German and an Arabic Heimat. In connection with the media reception they use Heimat exclusively for the Arabic country. Heimat as a media topic is a frequently appearing motivation for the search of information and an important factor for news selection, primarily for those interviewees who have only lived in Germany for a short period. Apart from the moment of identification, the desire to stay in contact with their Heimat is a determining motive to select specific media and media contents. Especially those who feel a return to their home country could eventually take place, try to stay up to date with the developments of the country and the personal relationships. During his summer vacation in Syria, Abdallah, for instance, buys new books and burns DVDs from new Syrian TV programs in order to participate in the “new freedom in Syria”. This behavior brings to mind the times when satellite TV had not yet been installed or widespread. During this time (esp. the 1970s and 80s) the German Gastarbeiter (foreign workers) used to import quantities of official and private video and audio cassettes to Germany. Nowadays with the opportunities of internet, digital, satellite and cable TV this practice has become unnecessary. My interviewees speak of Arabic books as the only medium crossing the real borders sometimes, due to the difficulty to purchase Arabic books in Germany. The favorite medium for getting information on developments at home is the internet. Depending on their language skills, they seek internet sites in German or English specialized on their Heimat. They read

media use among young arabs in germany

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Arabic online newspapers, or ask friends and family members living in the country to let them know what is going on. A further advantage of the internet for them is the variety of internet formats, like e-mail, chat or internet telephone, that make personal communication and interchange easier. But the analogue telephone has still not lost its importance, as a growing number of telephone shops in many German cities offering cheap calls to all Arabic countries proves. It is important to stay in contact with one’s family and with friends who still live at home. Although the subjects they mainly talk about are of a personal nature, many of the conversations, internet chats or e-mail discussions are on the latest developments in politics and economics or the verification of news. (cf. chap. 4.2) As the internet makes the need of staying in contact so easy to satisfy, Lohlker speaks of a “new quality of modern migration” (Lohlker 2000: 316). Leaving the native country does not mean saying goodbye forever any more because of the highly developed forms of communication combined with fast and cheap transportation. However, all this is not a remedy but rather an alleviation of their homesickness. 4.2.2 Virtual Islam—Virtual Umma The interviewees’ interest in religious media topics is influenced by the relevance of religion in their lives. Furthermore, the country where they grew up and gender, respectively the wearing of the headscarf, all have an impact on the form and manner of their media content selection. Six out of eight interviewees, for whom religion is an important reason of media reception, were brought up in Germany and wear a headscarf. I have to mention the fact that in my sample there is only one woman, Nadja, who does not wear a headscarf and only one, Rowaida, who was brought up in Palestine. So, for a substantiated comparison one has to keep in mind the missing number of comparable cases. What makes my assumption plausible, however, is the fact that headscarf-wearing women in a non-Muslim society are more visible because of this piece of clothing. Therefore, they become more vulnerable, which is even intensifi ed by the ongoing, often very emotional debate on headscarves in the German public.8 8 For Allievi the debate on the headscarf is one of the extraordinary events through which Islam is mediated in European media. He mentions the presentation of other events like the Rushdie affair, the Israeli-Palestininan conflict, Afghanistan etc. and phenomena like fundamentalism, women’s circumcision etc. which influence the interpretation of all following reports on Islam in general and the Muslim Community in

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Consequently, the women observe the topic in mass media more attentively than their male Muslim counterparts. For my findings, the gender-related search for religious topics is true for the headscarf, but not for religious subjects in general. The so-called “Islamic virtual community” (Mandaville 2000: 288) or the “digital Umma” (Bunt 2000: 11) attract women as well as men. For most of the Muslims in the (European) diaspora, the internet is a medium for religious affairs. They look for information about Islam, search for and publish religious advice on becoming good Muslims, and contact those who share the same religious interests (cf. Mandaville 2000: 290–292). That is why different internet formats are interesting for them, e.g. internet chats, discussion groups, internet pages by mosques, Islamic organizations and associations etc. The outcome of my research supports the importance of religious media topics and the identification with the virtual Umma as motives for the use of the internet and sometimes television, too. The use of Islamic media contents in different languages (English, French, German, and Arabic) and via different media (internet, TV) supports the interviewees in their endeavor to seek help in everyday necessities, like clothing. Salma and Ghinna, for example, are enthusiastic about Islamic fashion on Arabic and Islamic television channels. They find tips, new stimuli and guidelines on how to dress in an Islamic way in the ordinary programs that originally do not intend to provide (Islamic) fashion, but show the ‘everyday’ clothing of Arab female reporters, TV announcers, show masters etc. There are a few German websites which offer a column ‘Islamic fashion’, but the young women find them boring. Interestingly, they consider the fashion in the Islamic Saudi-controlled Iqra channel sometimes very bold and would not have the heart to wear it in this way. Hence, they only imitate parts of the collections, for example a special way to bind the headscarf. By doing so, the young women get the chance to represent their Islamic identity and their individuality through their clothing, mainly the headscarf. Their TV or internet reception, even of non-Islamic content, can stimulate or promote this representation.9

Europe in particular (Allievi 2003: 13–14). Allievi, Steffano. 2003. Islam in the Public Space: Social Networks, Media and Neo-Communities. In Muslim Networks and Transnational Communities in and across Europe. Edited by S. Allievi, J. Nielsen. Leiden, Boston: Brill: 1–27. 9 Venel shows the different functions the headscarf has for French Muslim Women

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Another reason for using religious media content is the search for moral advice. One example is Samir, who regularly listens to the lectures of his favorite imams on the Iqra channel. Here he receives behavioral guidelines that help him “to become a better man and Muslim”. This motivation for using internet pages has been explicitly studied by Anderson by depicting the web page IslamOnline (www.islamonline.net). The site offers information and hints for a daily Muslim life and is used by a large number of mainly middle-class Muslims every day. A forum with the famous Shaykh Yusuf Qaradawi answers practical questions asked by IslamOnline users (cf. Anderson 2001). For Germany’s Muslims, there are several web pages with similar goals, www.muslimmarkt.de, www. islam.de, www.mjd-net.de are only a few among them. The ARD/ZDF Online-Study 2002 showed that for young people, the communication via e-mail, internet chat, and discussion groups is extremely important. Sixty-eight per cent of the young people between 14 and 19 years old said that the contact to other people through the internet had become important to them (van Eimeren 2003: 69). This is true for my interviewees as well. Sometimes they are motivated to surf and chat just because they like flirting or chatting. But more often they use these formats because they want to verify their own views and search for new arguments for their religious ideas and ways of life. Their favorite chat rooms deal with Islamic or Muslim related subjects and serve as argument provider (as mentioned for talk shows, too) and/or as test for their own arguments. Salma, for example, describes her chat activity: “I listen to what they say, I mean, I read. And, when I have any arguments, then I give them into the chat.” She is curious about what her chat partners will respond. As she, like most of the other chatters among my interviewees, chats in inner-Muslim as well as non-Muslim chats about Islam, she can choose from a wide range of arguments in her ‘real life’, too. A third motive for the reception of Islamic Media and contents is the wish to widen and deepen the religious knowledge by Koran recitations and interpretations. To achieve this goal, the young people mainly use three types of media, internet, books, and above all the religious TV

in France. One among others is the symbolic representation of their identity in a French context. Venel has found three reasons for wearing the headscarf as such an identity symbol. 1. a reaction to a stigmatisation, 2. a self-awareness in their religion, and 3. as a symbol for the new religiosity in France. Venel, Nancy. 1999. Musulmanes Françaises. Des pratiquantes voilées à l’université. Paris, Montréal: L’Harmattan.

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channel Iqra. Referring to Mohammad Hammam, Executive Manager of Iqra, the Saudi government controlled satellite channel has the following mission: “the gap separating Islam and the West must be bridged, and that the media have a moral obligation to attempt to provide that much-needed bridge, avoiding generalizations and stereotypes, which is not the actual state of things.”10 The analysis of the Washington based MEMRI Arab-TV Monitor Project comes to the conclusion that the broadcasted contents of this channel are far from achieving these aims: “Calls for the annihilation of Christians and Jews, rampant anti-Americanism and anti-Semitism, support for Jihad, incitement against U.S. troops in Iraq, and the coming Islamic conquest of the U.S. Segments from these TV shows can be found” (cf. Stalinsky 2004). The reasons that some of my interviewees enjoy the reception of Iqra programs are diverse. One is the above-mentioned search for religious improvement. Here, Koran and Hadith recitations and interpretations are the preferred programs. Some of the youth, Samir e.g., watch Iqra only when their favorite Imams, whose interpretations they have found convincing, are on screen. Others, like Ghania, listen to all interpretations, reconsider or discuss them with their parents or brothers and sisters afterwards and then decide whether they are convincing or not. Another reason is the need for religious and social self-affirmation towards the German society. Ghania, for example, speaks very highly of Iqra because “about Islam, they say only positive things.” Due to the German media coverage of Islam, which they consider to be negative, they are sometimes confronted with arguments, descriptions or pictures of their religion that are strange, hurtful or discriminating to them. Samira, for example, says she feels personally hurt when “we are negatively presented in the media, because Muslims are associated with Osama Bin Laden”. Iqra stands opposite to this felt confrontation with anti-Islamic media contents. With its positive image of Islam, Iqra allows the young Muslims a kind of recreation time in their self-affirmation. For the viewers, the presentation of European converts to Islam is a proof for the convincing power of their religion and the esthetics of Koranic recitation and Islamic songs make them feel particularly satisfied.

10 TBS author Maha Shahba’s (2005) talk to Mohammad Hammam. Shahba, Maha. 2005. Iqra: Channel with a Mission. Mohammad Hammam, Executive Manager of Iqra Satellite Channel Talks to TBS. In TBS Online Journal No. 14, Spring 2005. [cited 16 December 2005] Available <www.tbsjournal.com/shaba.html>.

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Table 2: Motives for the Use of the Two Media Topics ‘Heimat’ and Islam

+

2 Mohammed

+

+

3 Rowaida

+

+

5 Isa

+

+

+

+

6 Said 7 Abdallah

Recreation

+

Religious Knowledge

+

Provider for Arguments

Seek for Help in Every Day Life

1 Samir

Interviewees

Stay in Contact

Media Topic Islam

Stay Up to Date

Media Topic ‘Heimat’

+

+ +

8 Kevin 9 Ghinna

+

10 Assia 11 Hisham 12 Khaled

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+

+ +

+

13 Salma 14 Nadja 15 Yasmin

+

+

16 Rafiq

+

+

17 Samira 18 Raoud

+ +

+

+

+

19 Ghania 20 Najib

Religion in every day life = important

+

+

Religion in every day life = less or not important

Underlined name = brought up in Germany

412 4.3

judith pies Use of Information: Al-Jazeera—The Island of Truth11

As I have shown above, the young people are highly motivated to seek information on their Heimat in the Arab World. Al-Jazeera is the favorite and mainly used news channel among them. This points at the importance of al-Jazeera but simultaneously at the importance of news for the interviewees, especially on politics. Only four (Kevin, Ghinna, Salma, Nadja) of the 19 interviewees showed low or no political interest and did not make a statement about al-Jazeera, either. Among the other 15 who said they were politically interested, my analysis faces three different ways of using al-Jazeera that go hand in hand with a specific judgment of the channel: Type 1 uses al-Jazeera as main source of information. That means either al-Jazeera TV or al-Jazeera Net are the first places to go when it comes to receiving news from all over the world, including the latest news as well as political, historical, economic facts and general interest topics about Germany (all relatively rare on al-Jazeera). Besides, the four youths that belong to this type, favor al-Jazeera because they consider it to be more credible than other German or Arabic news. Although they all additionally use German media, they differ from the others (types 2 and 3) regarding their way of reception. Hisham and Rafiq, who sometimes refer to German news, but only on Germanyrelated topics, do not compare Arabic and German news. Instead, they clearly divide between Arabic news on Arabic and German news on German subjects. That is why they do not doubt either the one or the other, contrary to Assia or Ghania who sometimes do. Normally they give al-Jazeera a higher credibility, because its news “goes deeper” and is “more balanced”, as Ghania says. But as both girls often watch German entertainment TV, they sometimes, voluntarily or not, are confronted with German news. They are aware of the “two perspectives” but, to quote Ghania again, they “often don’t know what is true.” In comparison to the following two types, Ghania and Assia confess that they prefer the news that does not “attack” them as “Muslims or Arabs”. As they think that the media image of Islam in Germany is predominantly negative, they give preference to al-Jazeera, which they consider to be less biased.

11 Al-Jazeera describes itself on his homepage www.aljazeera.net as the island of freedom and truth in an Arabic TV landscape that is dominated by state repression and control and as a counterpart to the western news monopoly.

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Type 2 mainly uses al-Jazeera Net as a source of information to add and deepen German news, mostly TV or internet overviews. This type is a result of the criticized lack of detailed information on the Middle East in German news and characterizes nine of fourteen al-Jazeera users in my sample. The motive of using al-Jazeera in this way does not necessarily mean a decision for or against al-Jazeera’s credibility as Isa illustrates, for example. He regularly watches news on ZDF, ARD and RTL to get an overview of what is happening in the world. At the same time, he complains about a lack of information about the Arab world, especially Syria, in the news. In order to get sufficient information, he reads al-Jazeera Net or ash-Sharq al-Awsat Com, but he doubts neither his German nor his Arabic sources. In eight out of ten cases, type 2 is characterized by a high credibility of al-Jazeera. This can be explained by the fact that the adding and deepening motive mostly goes along with the comparison motive of type 3. Only Najib and Khaled explicitly reject the credibility of al-Jazeera, but nevertheless use the channel. But these two cases are special, because they generally mistrust all media and try to verify any news via different communication channels. In order to get the “right picture” of the situation in Palestine e.g., they call or e-mail their friends and family there, read German, English and Arabic (Khaled even reads Hebrew) news. While the other al-Jazeera users of type 2 tend to trust al-Jazeera rather than the German news, if there is any doubt, Khaled and Najib are not fixed in their trust. Type 3 uses al-Jazeera TV or al-Jazeera Net as a comparison with German news. This type is represented by 11 out of 14 al-Jazeera users. The chance to have access to and understand German and Arabic news provokes this comparison between the two. The young Arabs I interviewed have developed a high sensitivity for different media reporting. They compare special expressions as well as video presentations or journalistic working methods and are able to illustrate their findings with vivid examples. On the one hand, they like the advantage of seeing the “two sides” from different perspectives. But on the other hand, they sometimes do not know whom to trust. As Arab and/or Muslim issues attract my interviewees in a specific way (cf. 4.2), al-Jazeera’s reporting is particularly interesting for them, not only because of the news agenda but also because of the news presentation which they consider less biased than the German presentation. It is worth mentioning that the youths see al-Jazeera not only as a counterpart of German but also of other Arabic news. Here, they point out that al-Jazeera is far better than other

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Arabic TV channels, which they find “boring”, think, like Mohammed, that they “broadcast too much rubbish” and “depend to much on the Arab regimes”. Subsequently, their high opinion and credibility of alJazeera as a free, independent and objective news channel can be seen as a result of a lack of alternatives: they miss free and independent Arabic news on the one hand and extensive and objective broadcasting on Arab and/or Muslim issues in German media on the other hand. 4.4

Criticizing German Media: Iraq, Palestine and the Headscarf

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is also a big issue for many of my interviewees’ media use (11 of 19), but the reporting on the headscarf (5 of 19) and the war on Iraq (5 of 19) are similar. They search for information on the three subjects in German and Arabic media and have detailed opinions on them. Almost all politically interested interviewees assess the German media coverage on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as being one-sided, pro-Israeli. Mainly, they criticize the divergent presentations of Israelis and Israeli military actions in comparison to Palestinians and Palestinian suicide bombings by using different terms. They, for example, object to the different words journalists use for actions of killing: While Palestinian suicide bombings are called terror, Israeli military actions are not termed the same and are even justified by calling them self-defense. Another criticized point is the missing illustration of Palestinian suffering. It is striking, that none of the interviewees made any differentiation in medium (internet, TV, Radio, Newspaper e.g.) or ownership of the media companies (under public law or private e.g.). This is not true for the criticism of reporting the headscarf. Here, the reporting in the broadcasting companies under public law and the magazine Stern are said to be exceptions from the negative campaigning of Islam in German media. Some of the arguments that support their critical points of view are the producing of an association between Islam and terrorism, the warning of a disintegration of Muslims in Germany and the neglecting of reporting on positive and ‘normal’ ways of Muslim (daily) life in Germany or Europe. In contrast to the two highly criticized topics Palestine and Islam, the reporting on the war on Iraq is not under fire. Some of the interviewees agree or even praise the coverage of this subject in German media. How can this high interest in the three issues be explained? One reason is that the topics touch the recipients personally. One example for the Palestine issue is Ghania saying “This thing with Palestine is

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415

Table 3: Use and Assessment of Al-Jazeera

+

+

+

2 Mohammed

+

3 Rowaida

+

No statement about al-Jazeera

+

neutral

high

+

1 Samir

low

Comparison

Credibility of al-Jazeera

Source for Adding and Deepening

Main Source of Information

Interviewees

Al-Jazeera as

+

5 Isa

+

6 Said

+

+

+

+

7 Abdallah

+

+

+

8 Kevin

+

9 Ghinna

+

10 Assia

+

11 Hisham

+

+ +

12 Khaled

+ +

+

+

13 Salma

+

14 Nadja

+

15 Yasmin 16 Rafiq

+

+

+

+

+

17 Samira

+

18 Raoud 19 Ghania 20 Najib high political interest

+ +

+ +

+

+

+

low or no political interest

underlined name = brought up in Germany

+

416

judith pies

something which really hits me hard.” This goes hand in hand with the findings from news selection research. In their early research, Galtung and Ruge identified so called news selection factors to which they also count meaningfulness including a cultural proximity and a personal relevance. “The more meaningful a signal, the more probable it will be recorded as worth listening to.” (Glaltung & Ruge 1965: 65ff.). Today it is clear that these factors are general human selection factors and also play a role in the implementation of information and for the construction of identity (Eilders 1997). For those with a Palestinian or Arab-Israeli origin (Samir, Mohammed, Rowaida, Hisham, Khaled, and Rafiq) or for those who wear the headscarf themselves (Rowaida, Ghinna, Assia, Salma, Yasmin, Samira, and Ghania) this explanation would make sense for the subject in question. But what about the others? Or what about the Iraqi question, as the only young man of Iraqi origin is not interested in the country at all? Why does this combination of topics seems so important? From a journalistic point of view, the three topics have been extremely popular, especially since September 11, and a lot has been published about them. Several content analyses of the German media with regard to the coverage of Islam have been completed so far. Hafez summarizes the research results which show a more or less biased presentation, coming close to the interviewees’ criticism: 1. Islam is often associated with repression, hostility towards modern trends, and misogyny, 2. There is hardly any differentiation between moderate and extremist views of Islam, 3. Problems that are of a social origin are mostly explained with normative-religious causes, 4. Islam is seen rather as politics than as religion, and religious subgroups are neglected (Hafez 1999: 124ff.) The headscarf in this context is the most covered media topic with reference to Islam and has become a symbol in two opposite ways. On the one hand, it serves as an identification symbol for the new minority, and on the other hand as a symbol for the cultural difference of Islam. Although the image of Islam in German media is predominantly negative, Hafez does not believe that the German society is per se Islamophobe due to the strong criticism of antiquated Islam conceptions (1999: 127). Here, a last finding in my research should be noted. In spite of their harsh critique on the media coverage, most of the interviewees do not question their location. Some tell of discriminating situations in Germany but nevertheless prefer living in Germany to living in their Arabic Heimat.12 12

Cf. Individual findings in Pies (2004a).

media use among young arabs in germany

417

Table 4: Identification with Iraq, Palestine and the Headscarf/Islam

+ +

3 Rowaida

+

+

+

+ +

+ +

+

6 Said

+

+

7 Abdallah

+

8 Kevin

+

9 Ghinna

+ +

11 Hisham

+

12 Khaled

+

Headscarf / Islam +

+ + +

14 Nadja

+

15 Yasmin

+

16 Rafiq

+

+

17 Samira

+

+

18 Raoud

+

+

19 Ghania

+

20 Najib

+

+ + +

+ +

+

+

+

+

low or no political interest

underlined name = brought up in Germany

13

+

+

+

13 Salma

high political interest

+

+

5 Isa

10 Assia

War on Iraq

13

Non Observed

Headscarf / Islam

Iraq

Palestine

Interviewees 1 Samir 2 Mohammed

Palestinian-Islraeli Conflct

Criticism of the German Media Reporting on

Focus of Interest

Does not exclude the interest in this topic, but does not show a clear focus.

418

judith pies 5. Conclusion

In order to answer the question as to whether media use is an indicator for cultural identity, I referred to a theoretical frame which considers media use as a cultural practice. Cultural identity in this way can be expressed through shared strategies of interpreting and of giving meaning to media and its contents. Therefore, my paper has focused on similarities in media use and reception among Arab youth in Germany. Three of these shared interpretations are striking. Firstly, the search for orientation is a major motive to use German TV entertainment. Here, the young people’s status of being migrants is reflected in two different ways. On the one hand, the young seek guidelines to integrate themselves into the German society and they also try to maintain their position as a minority in it. On the other hand, via media they meet new concepts of ways of life, which sometimes diverge from their families’ way of life. Comparing and reviewing these concepts is an important part of their media reception. Secondly, two subjects dominate their media use, ‘Heimat’ and Islam. While the link to the ‘Heimat’ is mainly to keep up with developments in their native country, the dominance of Islam in their media use is often a reaction to the feeling not being welcome or accepted as Muslims in Germany. A third interpretation shared by many of the interviewees is the criticism of the negative reporting on Islam and on the Israel-Palestine conflict in German media. This criticism is evoked by the challenge to compare Arabic and German media contents and the feeling of being personally attacked by the negative images produced by the German media. At the same time, al-Jazeera, the most popular Arab news channel, is higher in the interviewees’ confidence than German news programs. With regard to these findings, it should be said that the young Arabs living in Germany form some kind of interpreting communities. Consequently, the way they use media indicates their cultural identity. But it is not so much the language or their Arabic origin which causes their shared interpretations. Their motives and meanings of media reception are predominantly influenced by their status as migrants and/or as Muslims. Further factors like gender, age and educational background play a role as I have shown by way of the soap operas. Hence, there is not one single interpreting community to which they belong but several changing and overlapping ones. They have diverse media menus and

media use among young arabs in germany

419

reception habits, but they all try to participate in societal debates, search for orientation in German society and are critical towards media in general and German news in particular. As they, additionally, deal with their opponents’ arguments and positions, they come close to Weßler’s ideal of integration through conflict communication (Weßler 2002). My findings underline his suggestion to understand the so called fragmenting of the audience as a chance by accepting diverse interpreting communities as long as they are in contact with the others, do not stay exclusively in their internal communication and deal with the others interests.

6. List of Interviewees Alias (age, educational status, nationality, native country and religion) Samir (22, student, without nationality, Palestine, Sunni Muslim) Mohammed (22, student, Palestinian, Palestine, Sunni Muslim) Rowaida (19, college for university preparation, Palestinian, Palestine, Sunni Muslim) Isa (20, student, Syrian, Syria, Greek Orthodox Christian) Said (23, student, Syrian, Syria, Sunni Muslim) Abdallah (22, student, Syrian, Syria, Sunni Muslim) Kevin (18, trainee, German, Iraq, Assyrian Catholic Christian) Ghinna (16, pupil, German, Morocco, Sunni Muslim) Assia (17, pupil, German, Syria, Sunni Muslim) Hisham (23, student, Israeli, Israel, Sunni Muslim) Khaled (22, student, Israeli, Israel, Sunni Muslim) Salma (17, pupil, German, Morocco, Sunni Muslim) Nadja (17, pupil, German, Morocco, Sunni Muslim) Yasmin (18, trainee, German, Morocco, Sunni Muslim) Rafiq (20, college for university preparation, Palestinian, Palestine, Sunni Muslim) Samira (18, unemployed without school qualification, German, Syria, Sunni Muslim) Raoud (19, student, Jordanian, Palestine, Sunni Muslim) Ghania (20, student, Moroccan, Morocco, Sunni Muslim) Najib (23, student, Syrian, Syria, Sunni Muslim)

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judith pies References

Anderson, Jon W. 2001. Muslim Networks, Muslim Selves in Cyberspace: Islam in the Post-Modern Public Sphere. [cited 23.4.2004] Available Bunt, Garry. 2000. Virtually Islamic. Computer Mediated Communication and Cyber Islamic Environments. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Charlton, Michael. 1997. Rezeptionsforschung als Aufgabe einer interdisziplinären Medienwissenschaft. In Rezeptionsforschung. Theorien und Untersuchungen zum Umgang mit Massenmedien. Edited by M. Charlton, S. Schneider: Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag. 16–39. (DOI-Studie 2002) on behalf of the German Press and Information Office (Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung): Hafez, Kai. 2002. Türkische Mediennutzung in Deutschland: Hemmnis oder Chance der gesellschaft lichen Integration? Eine qualitative Studie im Auftrag des Presse- und Informationsamtes der Bundesregierung. Hamburg, Berlin: DOI. Du Gay, Paul et al. 1997. Doing Cultural Studies: The Story of the Walkman. London: Sage. Eckhardt, Josef. 2000. Mediennutzungsverhalten von Ausländern in Deutschland. In Migranten und Medien. Neue Herausforderungen an die Integrationsfunktion von Presse und Rundfunk. Edited by H. Schatz, C. Holtz-Bacha, J.-U. Nieland. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag: 265–271. Eilders, Christiane. 1997. Nachrichtenfaktoren und Rezeption. Eine empirische Analyse zur Auswahl und Verarbeitung politischer Information. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag. Fiske, John. 1992. British Cultural Studies and Television. In Channels of Discourse, Reassembled: Television and Contemporary criticism. Edited by R. C. Allen. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press: 284–326. Galtung, Johan and M. H. Ruge. 1965. The Structure of Foreign News. In Journal of Peace Research 2, 1/1965: 64–91. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Culture. New York: Basic Books. Hafez, Kai. 1999. Antisemitismus, Philosemitismus und Islamfeindlichkeit: ein Vergleich ethnisch-religiöser Medienbilder. In Medien und multikulturelle Gesellschaft. Edited by C. Butterwegge, G. Hentges, F. Sarigöz. Opladen: Leske & Budrich: 122–135. Hall, Stuart. 1980. Encoding/Decoding. In Culture, Media, Language. Edited by S. Hall et al. London: Hutchinson: 128–138. —— 1997a. Introduction. In Representation. Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Edited by S. Hall. London, Thousand Oaks, New Delhi: Sage: 1–11. —— 1997b. The Work of Representation. In Representation. Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices. Edited by S. Hall. London, Thousand Oaks, New Delhi: Sage: 17–74. Krotz, Friedrich. 1997. Kontexte des Verstehens audiovisueller Kommunikate. Das sozial positionierte Subjekt der Cultural Studies und die kommunikativ konstruierte Identität des Symbolischen Interaktionismus. In Rezeptionsforschung. Theorien und Untersuchungen zum Umgang mit Massenmedien. Edited by M. Charlton, S. Schneider. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag: 73–89. Lindlof, Thomas R. 1987. Media Audiences as Interpretative Communities. In Communication Yearbook 11. Edited by A. Anderson: 81–107. Lohlker, Rüdiger. 2000. Moscheen im Äther. Islamische Gemeinschaften und das Internet. In Die islamische Welt als Netzwerk. Möglichkeiten und Grenzen des Netzwerkansatzes im islamischen Kontext. Edited by R. Loimeier. Würzburg: Ergon: 311–327. Mandaville, Peter. 2000. Information Technology and the Changing Boundaries of European Islam. In Paroles d’islam. individus, société et discours dans l’islam européen

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contemporain. / Islamic Words. Individuals, Society and Discourse in Contemporary European Islam. Edited by F. Dassetto. Paris: Maisoneuve et Larosse: 281–297. Morley, David. 1996. Medienpublika aus der Sicht der Cultural Studies. In Die Zuschauer als Fernsehregisseure? Zum Verständnis individueller Nutzungs- und Rezeptionsmuster. Edited by U. Hasebrink, F. Krotz. Baden-Baden: Nomos Verl.-Ges Baden-Baden: Nomos: 37–51. Nökel, Sigrid. 2002. Die Töchter der Gastarbeiter und der Islam. Zur Soziologie alltagsweltlicher Anerkennungspolitiken. Eine Fallstudie. Bielefeld: Transcript Verlag. Paus-Haase, Ingrid et al. 1999. Talkshows im Alltag von Jugendlichen. Opladen: Leske & Budrich. Pies, Judith. 2004a. Mediennutzung arabischer Jugendlicher in Deutschland. Ein Indikator kultureller Identität? Mainz. Unpublished MA-Thesis at the Department of Journalism and Mass Communication (Institut für Publizistik), University of Mainz, August 2004. —— 2004b. Anhang zur Magisterarbeit. Mediennutzung arabischer Jugendlicher in Deutschland. Ein Indikator kultureller Identität? Unpublished MA-Thesis at the Department of Journalism and Mass Communication (Institut für Publizistik), University of Mainz, August 2004. Spuler-Stegemann, Ursula. 2002. Muslime in Deutschland. Informationen und Klärungen. Freiburg: Herder. Stalinsky, Steven. 2004. Incitement to Jihad on Saudi Government-Controlled TV. In MEMRI Special Report No. 29, 24 June 2004. [cited 9 July 2004] Available <www.memri.org/bin/articles.cgi?Page=archives&Area=sr&ID=SR2904>. Theunert, Helga. 1996. „Da kann ich lernen, was ich nicht machen soll.“ Kinder rezipieren Reality-TV. In Medienlust—Medienlast. Was bringt die Rezeptionsforschung den Rezipienten. Edited by B. Schorb, H. J. Stiehler. München: KoPaed-Verl.: 17–30. Van Eimeren, Birgit. 2003. Internetnutzung Jugendlicher. Erlebniswert des Internets beruht wesentlich auf Kommunikation und Unterhaltung. In Media Perspektiven 2/2003: 67–75. Vlasic, Andreas. 2004. Die Integrationsfunktion der Massenmedien. Begriffsgeschichte, Modelle, Operationalisierungen. Wiesbaden: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Vorderer, Peter. 1996. Rezeptionsmotivation. Warum nutzen Rezipienten mediale Unterhaltungsangebote? In Publizistik 41, 3/1996: 310–326. Weßler, Hartmut. 2002. Multiple Differenzierung und kommunikative Integration—Symbolische Gemeinschaften und Medien. In Integration und Medien. Edited by K. Imhof, O. Jarren, R. Blum. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag: 56–76.

ISLAM IN GERMAN MEDIA Sabine Schiffer

As a topic in and of itself, Islam is rarely presented in the mass media if any. It may be mentioned in passing if events drawing sufficient media attention are being covered. Only then do so-called Islamic issues come up and every time before an unchanging backdrop. In the last three years an increase in the frequency of this thematization has become discernible, whereby events are more and more rapidly being categorized within a framework which equates Islam with a “problem”. This outlook appears plausible because we have been able to accumulate certain experiences pertaining to Islam and Muslims indirectly through foreign media coverage in the last few years (Hafez 2002). This emphasis focuses on current, up-to-date aspects of the situation which are not always proportionate to our suppositions about the freedom of the press and thought. Ultimately, media coverage is crisis-oriented. The urge to focus in this way is, however, a natural element of human communication. The media is our most important source of information, particularly as it regards issues to which we lack direct personal access. While it allows us to participate in events which we do not experience directly, it also simultaneously structures our perception of these same things (Burger 1990, Schulz 1990, Früh 1994). This is happening with increasing frequency, because the gathering of secondhand experience via the media is constantly proliferating. One must actively reflect on these happenings lest the inevitably resulting distorted conception of the world replaces further exploration and analysis on our part. The economic and political structures of the everyday media, the power structures behind media corporations and the media’s management by influential political factions are not the focus here but rather the normal, structured dissemination of news (Hall 1989: 126–149). Because the automatism of the handling of information treatment via news reportage culminates in what is more or less distortion, we need to develop the conscious ability to see through this type of representation with the necessary distance and objectivity: we must not succumb to unsophisticated conspiracy theories which generate nothing but feelings of powerlessness.

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sabine schiffer 1. Revealing and Concealing1

The choice of a certain word or image decides which extracts of reality are shown and consequently focused upon and which of the many others remain shielded from view. If I were to perhaps mention only the acts of violence perpetrated by Israelis and Palestinians in connection with the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, then I would take no notice of the nonviolent initiatives from either side to overcome the conflict. Any sense of the everyday life of the people would fade from view as well. Individuals and the media regularly structure realities in this manner through the use of symbols which do not correspond to reality as experienced even when only pure fact is being reported. Given that we orient ourselves according to what we already know, an unseen repetition occurs, comprising identical factors which further strengthen the impression of authenticity. This is how the stereotypes emerge which are upheld pars pro toto as the complete “truth” (Quasthoff 1978: 1–48). Through our daily media consumption, we fare like the proverbial three blind men who must describe an elephant: The first, who touches the trunk, thinks the animal resembles a snake. The second takes it for a pillar, since he touches the leg. Finally, the third likens it to a rug, as that is how the ear he touched seemed to him to reveal the complete shape. Each feels an actual part of the elephant: each—a fact. We experience daily how a completely false impression of a whole can develop from a series of seemingly related facts. Visualize the following: 1.2 billion people in the world are Muslims. They are at home in many diverse states and continents, they live in cities or in the country, they are rich or poor, they are educated or not, sometimes they participate in government, sometimes they do not, they are content, or not, they have good prospects in life—or they don’t, they can travel—or not . . . These divergent socio-cultural factors make it clear that it must involve a multitude of distinct and diverse realities of human existence. Nevertheless, it can be established that Muslims are increasingly being perceived as a homogenous mass, threatening or at the very least backward. According to the Allensbach Institute “Islamophobia” has increased appreciably in recent years—fed most notably by external events such as

1

Schiffer 2004: 27.

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9/11 and Beslan, which are indeed almost exclusively presented and perceived as being in the category of ISLAM.2 Developments are increasingly being glossed over in the news reports; the media’s propensity to flit from crisis to crisis has become generally accepted as a result of the orientation towards strong images. If however, a decades-long process, the current situation in Chechnya for instance, is not reported in depth over time by the media, then it cannot be understood. In times of crisis, such information doesn’t allow itself to be pushed away because it is then viewed at the forefront of the shock and the scandal. So again we stand abruptly before an event that appears to be explained by these so-called Islamistic tendencies. This rapid and automatic retreat to pre-established categories—this “Framing”3—is increasingly occurring and virtually thrusts itself upon us, when for example an assassin explicitly refers to Islam. Seeing through to the actual connections and the question of relevance for actions and attitudes will be an important challenge for journalists in the future. This promises to be no easy task, for images of the enemy (Feindbild) are created from this substance: Black and white, worst case scenario thinking, double standards, projections, homogenization of the “out”-group from without and faulty evaluations of self-fulfilling prophecies (Flohr 1991: 71).

2 Noelle, Elisabeth. 2004. Der Kampf der Kulturen. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 15 September. Köcher, Renate. 2004. Die Herausforderung durch den Islam als Chance. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 15 December. Naturally, the method of data collection is of crucial importance here, in order to demonstrate the soundness of the findings. In connection with their research into communities’ willingness to accept members of particular populations, the institute compiles an annual table of minorities, whom one might wish to have as neighbors. This can be confirmed through careful, objective questioning. According to this report, the reputation of the Muslim minority is ranging in the lower third of the spectrum. This supports the survey results mentioned above (in contrast to the numbers, which were publicized in connection with anti-Semitic attitudes). See: The Allensbach Institute for Public Opinion Polls. 2002. Allensbach Annual of Public Opinion 1998–2002. Munich. 3 I.e. the increasing and rash classification of an issue in a pre-conceived context. Scheufele, Bertram, 2003. Frames-Framing-Framing-Effekte. Theoretische und methodische Grundlegung sowie empirische Befunde zur Nachrichtenproduktion. Wiesbaden: Westdeutscher Verlag. See: Rosch, Eleanor. 1977. Human categorization. In Advances in cross-cultural psychology. New York: Academic Press.

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sabine schiffer 2. Expectations as Filters for Perception4

That a direct contact can only conditionally dissolve pre-established perceptions proves to be especially malicious in this context. Our first impression, our knowledge generates an unconscious expectation which filters unseen that which we already know. So we quickly and effectively seize upon those segments of reality which meet our expectations and blithely overlook the multitude of counter examples which are perhaps larger in number (Strube 1984, Donsbach 1992). Journalists fare no differently thus the “proof ” of a particular prejudice is quickly regurgitated as a convenient and suitable example can always be found. With regard to the perceptions of Islam, the perniciousness of the system lies precisely in the widely-ranging diversity of the so-called Islamic World. With large enough a group, one can unfailingly find what one is seeking. The examples then mutate into repeated recurrences which serve as proofs. It is the result of this mechanism that makes stereotypes so difficult to dismantle. When an example or indeed many already satisfies us as the ultimate proof, then the expected is always quickly confi rmed and consequently true. Partial truths have the potential to legitimate this mindset of denial, the basis of which rests upon no established experience, but rather on a conglomeration of disconnected shreds of information. In today’s media consumption one can see a collective uncritical absorption of these broken bits of knowledge. The next piece quickly supersedes any contemplation or inquiry whatsoever if a context was not understood or was not present at all. In the media coverage of Islam, this mechanism is demonstrated as it is with other topics, be they our perceptions of Judaism, Africa, the GDR respective to the FRG, or the USA. For a start, the normal, un-spectacular remains hidden since only bad news is good news and who would actually buy anything lacking sensation? Things which we overlook with regard to the realm of Islam, based on our limited and culture-specific view range from, for instance, the large proportion of female professors in Egypt and Turkey (ca. 30% versus 10% in Germany) to the discussions of a male quota at Iranian universities because there females make up the majority of students. The degree to which exposure and concealment blur our perception is also illustrated by the following example: more and more we read often that Muslim girls only

4

See: Schiffer 2004: 42f.

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inherit half what their brothers do. This is true. What is not disclosed is that Muslim men traditionally assume the responsibility for caring for their unmarried sisters, invalid relatives and so on, while the women have their inheritance at their disposal. Thus, an impression of equity emerges. Meanwhile, in modern Islamic societies this apportionment no longer plays so great a role as the foundation of communal family life has changed. In the countries concerned, the laws are adapted to varying situations. The reality could not in any event be completely presented in a single sentence—the one very often cited above, or indeed any other.

3. Symbols instead of Information The examples taken from the standard dialogue on the subject of the Muslim woman likewise serve as a striking illustration of how the reverse perpetually occurs in regards to their often-supposed oppression. All too frequently partial truths concerning the lives of Muslim women are stated as being representative of Islam’s mechanism for oppression. Often the situation of female Muslims must also serve for the presentation of Islam as a whole, if for instance the topic of Islam is raised by displaying someone in a headscarf. In this manner it plays the role of a fused symbol, of a symbol twice occupied. But Islamism is also represented by the headscarf if, for example, the outcome of the election in Turkey is accompanied by the following heading: “Are veils again the fashion?”5 Since a specific religious group is focused upon, the headscarf assumes significant meaning as a symbol of Islamism. This shift in focus is reflected in current articles: regarding the outcome of the election in Iraq it is referred to under the title “Democracy or Theocracy?” and among others “Will women be required to wear the veil or will they be able to dress fashionably?”6 The adoption of the “veil as symbol” is here quite distinct. This accounts for why the headscarf debate arouses such excitement. This stereotyping is also manipulated by submittals from the Islamic world. Take for instance Nawal el Saadawi’s campaign in Egypt which sought to improve

5 6

Der Spiegel 28 February 1994: 155. Nürnberger Nachrichten 14 February 2005: 2.

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the situation in the country via “the unveiling of consciousness.” In the course of this, publicly acknowledged political involvement was in many cases heavily abridged. Her criticism of the hierarchical economic structures worldwide that lead to more money flowing out of third world countries into the first world than the other way around also remains hidden. The reduction to the topic of women’s rights leads to the false conclusion that she holds Islam responsible—which is by no means what is being stressed in her lecture tours.7 The complexity is in complete contrast with the sensational career of the headscarf, which allows for genuine information to be replaced by what is assumed. What should the wearing of a headscarf reveal about the thoughts of the wearer? The concentration on this item of clothing has, among other issues, been imbued with the meaning in our culture which is now being projected outward. For western socialized people, the importance of visual perception is now logically being carried over to the situation of the Muslims. As a consequence of industrialization and the associated division of spheres [work life, private life etc.] the external space—the public—has been developing as the more important one in the west. The potential to be able to maneuver oneself within this space means having power. Thus the emancipation of women goes hand in hand with the conquest of this external sphere. For this reason, women in the public eye are more visually discernable and powerful than those who perform housework or other not-so-easily observed activities. “Home and Hearth” became a metaphor for regression. The word “work” meanwhile almost exclusively means work outside the home, in a career. Regardless of how little prestige it may have, the career outside the home is increasingly becoming more heavily valued than work within the home. This explains why feminism is often content to go by the numbers of women in gainful employment as an indicator of emancipation without further reflection upon this establishment of priorities which has effectively declared man the norm against which women are compared (Honegger 1991). The acknowledgement of the external space, the “outside world” as the domain in which power lies is now simply transferred to another

7 When Saadawi criticized the patriarchy in Egypt, she was naturally naming Imams and other Muslims as the opressors—as elsewhere others would be named. Furthermore she criticized time and again the translations accepted by her publishers, who for instance translated the title of her book The Woman with the Naked Face to I Spit on You in German.

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cultural realm. The veiled woman whom one cannot see, one who heads a household, for example and is not active in this public domain, contradicts our ideas of emancipation. And then there is actually the veiling dogma of some extremist groups, who stylize women’s clothing as a symbol, too. It is too great a simplification however to equate freedom and emancipation with the license to dress as one pleases. Incidentally, when it is stipulated that certain items of clothing are not to be worn, this often does not actually concern real autonomy of dress. The headscarf as a readily identifiable symbol can now be conveniently employed as a very persuasive argument. If a veiled woman scurries across the screen, firmly established chains of association are exploited. No discussion of Islam can proceed without the issue of headscarves, whereas successful women, such as Iranian Nobel Prize winner Shirin Ebadi are most often shown without a headscarf. Moreover, the topic of “foreigners” on TV news as well as in newspapers has a headscarf for years and years, ever more often been peppered with images of women in headscarves, so that the idea that “Islam equals strangeness” and is “a foreign issue” is further strengthened. All of this serves no benefit for the integration of Muslim women who increasingly feel misunderstood as opposed to “rescued” (Minai 1984, Pinn/Wehner 1995, Roald 2001).

4. Arbitrary Linkages Suggest Responsibility Since 9/11, we have seen a marked increase in the habit of explicitly blaming Muslims for a wide variety of misdeeds. These accusations are no different in quality, however, from the negative insinuations made on a subliminal level that were already discernable long before. It is for precisely this reason that the many allegations being made today look to us like plausible evidence. One effective technique for linking the most divergent areas is the so-called “meaning-induction cut” used in fi lm (Wember 1972, 1983, 1985; Bordwell 1989; Wuss 1993; Beller 1995) which we find not only in the documentaries of Peter Scholl-Latour (Klemm/Hörner 1993), for instance in the program titled “The Battlefield of the Future,” which takes us on a tour of the far-flung capitals of southern Soviet republics, climaxing in an “explosion in a Russian soldiers’ camp in Kaspisk.” We are shown images of destroyed houses and bulldozers plowing through the rubble. Then a cut: “And now we are looking at a mosque, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque, based on a Turkish model . . .” And the dome of the

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mosque with its crescent moon comes into view, the architectural origins of which are then explained. Is there any connection between the mosque and the explosion? No explicit reason is given why the themes of Bombing and Islam are implicitly linked here with an uncommented swiftness. We still do not know today what caused that explosion? But if we were of the opinion that the explosion must have something to do with so-called Islamist terrorism—which is distinctly stereotyping— then we would actually have to back up this assumption with a cogent argument. Besides, in this case the mosque as symbol for Islamism would have been a very poor choice, because what do we have left as a symbol of Islam when mosques, prayers, headscarves, and beards have to do double duty as signs of terrorism? After the bombings in London we again observe—despite the quite differentiated acknowledgements by British politicians—the combination of the subject of terror and images of prayer. Meaning induction as device also lends itself well to print media. There as well, images, texts combined with images, or even disparate text passages can be juxtaposed without an explicit justification and with the same potential for suggestiveness (Zimmer 1983; Muckenhaupt 1986; Titzmann 1990; Liehr-Molwitz 1997). For example, the following montage illustrating an article on Israel/Palestine:8 A comparatively large picture on the left shows Palestinian youths throwing Molotov cocktails. The key features here are flames, an aggressive mood, and hostility. Directly adjacent on the right is a picture about 1/3 the size showing an Israeli settler carrying a baby dressed all in white, turning in the direction of the “attackers” and seemingly presenting the baby to them. The Kalashnikov he is carrying in his shoulder harness is partly concealed by the baby. The subject of this picture seems to be the theme of innocent (settler) children. These images thus perceived together send out a message in advance of the text, if anyone ever actually reads it at all, saying something like “aggressive Palestinians attack innocent Israeli settlers.” A clear allocation of blame has thus already taken place, no matter how the article may try to present a carefully balanced assessment of the situation. A purely text-based induction (Grice 1975, Hörmann 1976) of meaning is apparent in the following example, where the subject is the

8

Der Spiegel 16 December 2000: 240/241.

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genital mutilation of girls in Egypt. “In order to launch a campaign in Egypt against female circumcision, the religious leaders there would first have to be convinced of its pointlessness. Islam is the state religion. 93% of the population is of the Muslim faith.”9 This all happens to be true, which is bad enough, but this tradition has nothing whatsoever to do with Islam, as a consideration of the countries where the practice is widespread soon shows. Female circumcision is an ancient African tradition, which is indeed practiced in some of the Islamic countries of Africa, but is found in the non-Islamic areas as well. The same effect of meaning-induction is generated by referring to the fact that this procedure was carried out “in the vicinity of a mosque.” 10 The fact that some influential religious figures are trying to make this practice seem like an “Islamic” tradition does not confirm the accuracy of this allegation. Normally we see through such ploys and are not taken in by them, but only when the subject matter is closer to home. A simple manipulation of the adjectives used will also generate a meaning induction effect, as in a news report concerning the situation of women in Bangladesh. While throughout the article it is clearly decided that in the poor country, economic factors determine ones destiny, it states at the end “. . . the talk here is about Islamic Bangladesh.”11 One could have likewise finished the sentence as follows, just as “correctly”: . . . the talk concerns the democratic Bangladesh, or . . . the talk is about the Asiatic Bangladesh, or . . . the talk concerns the Bangladesh governed by a woman. Although in each case these were facts from 1992, a totally different impression of causality is created in each circumstance. This shows how the decision to take an extract of reality influences the perception of this reality. Investigations of this type can help avoid perversion of the facts—or the chronicler mythos. When in the fall of 2002 a sniper threw Washington into a state of fear and horror, we often heard, for example on BR 5 (Bavarian Broadcasting) radio station: “John Allan Muhammad, a convert to Islam . . .”12 Even today, we still know nothing about the motives of the Washington sniper and his stepson; however an implied association between the violence against other human beings and the religion of the offender remains

9 10 11 12

Frau im Leben 7/1993: 8. Die Welt 14 December 1996: 3. Die Zeit 28 August 1992: 75. B5-aktuell 14 November 2002.

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at the back of our minds because this information was included.13 Something similar can be found in a recent report concerning a Tunisian man who is facing deportation: perhaps it was solely a stylistic consideration that he was identified as a “Muslim” throughout the text.14 Before the backdrop of expectations it is clear which conclusions will be drawn from this. By now we are able to speak of a certain tradition of representation: if the offender is a Muslim, this will definitely be mentioned, regardless of whether it is relevant to the issue at hand or not. We call this profiling: the same that was once applied to our Jewish fellow citizens (Horzitz 1988; Andics 1965; Katz 1989).

5. Placement and Ordering While on television the program and time slot denote the significance and degree of attention given to an issue, in the print media, placement is the decisive factor in determining the apparent importance of the information being presented. A powerful impact will put an issue on the front page, as is the case with the raids that were made on mosques in the aftermath of 9/11. What is interesting here is the following observation—described here using the example of the Nürnberger Nachrichten: by means of a representative analysis over the course of a few months in 2002. We discovered that the announcements of raids were always placed on the front page. Reports on the failure of such raids to turn up any evidence, however, were always hidden somewhere inside the newspaper or were completely absent. The press generally just disappear after capturing a few interesting pictures. Although in most cases the suspicions turned out to be groundless, the impression was left that the mosques harbor a potential threat. This, too, explains why the word ‘mosque’ has undergone a marked transformation in meaning: rather than being viewed as a place of prayer and meeting, it has come to be construed as a potential abode of conspiracy. The difficulty in drawing a line between Islam and Islamism, or even terrorism, can be seen at the 13 Apart from giving his name, this is a clear infringement of the German Press Board Guideline Number 12.1, which prohibits the naming of group affiliations, such as nationality, religion, etc. in the context of crime reporting, because the problematic nature of using individual actions to represent group phenomena is clearly recognized. See: Deutscher Presserat. 1994. Publizistische Grundsätze (Pressekodex). Bonn: Druckerei Plump. 14 Nürnberger Nachrichten 14 February 2005: 11.

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moment in the latest news from London. It will be an important task for the media to avoid helping the extremists to polarize society—one of the goals of extremists. One can recognize attempts on the part of the media who have recognized the problem of the escalating reportage on the subjects of Islam and Muslims. These efforts are attested to by the conferences on the subject,15 alternative information portals that have been created, such as www.qantara.de for example, as well as many other initiatives and sound contributions from radio and print media that are in evidence. It has been recognized that there is a great deal that is worthy of criticism throughout the world and not all of it can be fixed upon with a single explanation. But again this effort is put into perspective through an analysis of placement, when critical, controversial and supplementary aspects are mentioned on television minimally and at 11:00 pm or on the back pages of the newspaper. The categories of Positioning and Space need to be viewed jointly in all types of media analysis in order to have any feasible potential for impact.

6. Metaphors and the Creation of Menace16 Research into anti-Semitism has already shown that certain metaphors have a dehumanizing effect and can be suggestive of possible actions to be taken. Labeling a group of people dangerous “vermin” naturally inspires others to try to protect themselves from this menace. If you continually call someone names derived from the world of pests, then measures taken against such “pests” seem like an act of self-defense and acquire a patina of legitimacy—as demonstrated by Daniel Goldhagen for example (Goldhagen 1996). With regard to Muslims, one of the metaphoric realms currently in vogue is that of disease. When Islamism is referred to as a “cancerous tumor”,17 this fear mongering already implies the idea of eradication—or how would you treat a cancerous tumor? One might argue that strictly speaking Islamism is the issue here and not Islam. This is correct. But it is unfortunately the case that the concept of Islam is only rarely distinguished clearly from that 15 Deutsche Welle. 1991. Der Islam in den Medien. Ein Symposium der Deutschen Welle. Köln: Schäfer & Schott. 16 Lakoff / Johnson (1980). 17 Der Spiegel 25 February 2002: 172f.; Spiegel special 2/2004.

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of Islamism. Again and again, terms such as “Islamic terror,” “Muslim extremist,” “Islamist assassin” etc. are used freely and interchangeably. The recent London attacks are being referred to as acts of “Islamic“ terrorism—so again, any distinction is omitted. The French press also provides plenty of provocative examples of these mix-ups, such as the oft-cited “fever of Islam”,18 which clearly refers to Islamism instead of Islam and which was offered in this case as an illustration and discharge of Putin’s restrictive policies in the southern Soviet territories.

7. Retreating into the Shadows of Stereotype19 When we can no longer ignore certain aspects of our reality, we manage often to find such explanations in order not to change our worldview (Reimann 1998: 47–56). This however is a knee-jerk reaction which we succumb to and of which we must therefore be fully conscious. Facts which run contrary to our usual expectations can so easily and surreptitiously revert to a stereotypical light. The example of Benazir Bhutto illustrates this mechanism. When Bhutto was elected to the office of prime minister of Pakistan in the late 80s, this was in contradiction of the commonly understood role of the Muslim woman. In order not to force a revision of these truths, the following explanations were offered as reasons why Ms. Bhutto had come into office “the lineage of her father”, to the “illiteracy of the population” and to her “Oxford education” and even to the election strategy of the Shi’ite Muslims whose reasons for were in particular need of clarification.20 All in all, so many explanatory conjectures were supplied that the opinion that a woman holding such a position was contrary to Islam did not even need to be questioned. Bhutto was the exception and it is widely known that exceptions confirm the rule. The many female heads-of-state in the west must bear witness to this. Similarly, the rearrangement of the facts of the matter, which had been so hastily arranged within a familiar framework, proceeded in a similar manner. When the media took up the case of Taslima Nasrin of Bangladesh, it was swiftly labeled as another case of an “unjustly persecuted

18 19 20

La fièvre de l’islam L’Express 1 November 2001: title page. Lutz (1989). E.g. Der Spiegel 47/1988: 159; see: Le Monde 11 April 1989: 5.

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feminist”.21 In spite of these initial newspaper reports, one could immediately find numerous examples of elements which pointed to an injustice, that the case was not so simple. Bangladesh was a democracy with women as leaders. The intellectuals remained silent. There was a warrant for Nasrin’s arrest and police protection. The explanations which should have put these facts into the proper light appeared to be purely strategic: for instance, “election strategies of certain politicians”, “fear of extremists”, amongst others. In the meantime, it could be confirmed that the situation was actually entirely different (Hashmi 2000). Nasrin can nevertheless still be seen to this day as leading the fight against a misogynistic Islam due to our fragmentary traditions of presentation. Labels also have a comparable relativizing quality. When Fallujah was designated as a “rebel stronghold” the bombing of the town was given legitimacy. In contrast how would the bombardment of “densely populated city of F.” be received? To cite Al Jazeera as “Al Qaida’s personal broadcast station” makes it unreliable. For Tariq Ramadan, a reformer on whom the hopes of European Muslims are pinned, the metaphor of the Trojan Horse is a public vote of no confidence and suggests that one ought not invite him into one’s living room. His clear statement to the London attacks is seen as an attempt at infiltration. In the end, the established dialogue which has survived for years is dismissed as being “cuddly politics.” The crisis of credibility of all who are in dispute with Muslims is complete.22 These examples clearly illustrate how specific and truthful information does not influence our perception of the facts—our system is artificial and has been around for some time. Indeed, since a well-wishing or mistrustful outlook decides how the detail is perceived and interpreted means the following as regards Muslims today: It is irrelevant what they do it will always be wrong (Müller 1988: 478–488). Because this outlook is one of mistrust, this allows all efforts to appear in a specific light. Should a Muslim woman insist on wearing a headscarf, it is perceived as a shield, a rejection of the non-Muslim majority. If in contrast she rejects

21 E.g. Venzky, Gabriele. 1994. Im Visier islamischer Eiferer. Frankfurter Rundschau 28 June: 7. 22 The examples of this section are widespread and found repeatedly in print as well as on the radio and on television. On the basis that they are firmly established and can serve as examples, more precise references will not be provided.

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the headscarf this is conversely dismissed as a chic disguise, camouflage, again an attempt at infiltration. See the interpretations of bearded or clean-shaven men and many others. At this point we must examine precisely whether demands on Muslims and the prospective consequences posed are actually in complete agreement. Foreign policy must examine which of the governments supported abroad meet these protested standards. Conversely we must publicly acknowledge that fear of Islam is, if anything a misunderstanding and not a malicious intention. Two different types of observations can be derived: the imaginable threat scenario of Islam and its representatives is a dangerous mechanism which is focused through individual deeds; our general interpretation is continually gaining strength. This means however that there is no conspiracy against Islam and Muslims—nor vice versa.

8. Public Discourse and Group Dynamic This information should not serve to allay our fears, for if we assume that politicians and media players are acting to the best of their knowledge and in good faith, we have to concede not only that much educational work still needs to be done, but that the ability of self-criticism must also be cultivated in order to break through this mechanism. We have clearly seen how the seemingly innocuous stating of pure facts can lead to false conclusions. Calling upon facts alone a sufficient means to fight discrimination and racism is never enough. Taking effective action against a confrontational development requires cognizance of the unfavorable interplay between fact and categorization in order to be able to work out constructive solutions. For this we need people who are prepared to take others seriously, with their different needs, concerns, desires and ideas—no matter how these have come about—and who do not let themselves be discouraged by previous failures. This goes for everyone, because the mechanisms described here unfortunately work in the other direction as well, where the politics of George Bush increasingly stand for “the west” and a “crusade” against Islam. For us it is part of the discourse of hierarchy that certain groups, that is to say, prominent representatives of such groups—the so-called agendasetters—can define the themes of the so-called “in group” to which members of the “out group” can and must react. The defensive stance of those reacting means that the range of their objections is reduced.

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They cannot operate in the same way as the members of the in group. An identical occurrence would quickly be seen as aggressive in this context. The members of the out group thereby have a reduced scope of possible conduct. Although equality should be the goal of modern societies, much would indeed be won if these reduced possibilities were at the least perceived by the societal majority. Then rash and prejudiced shortcuts which reinforce hierarchy rather than dialogue could be rejected (Tajfel 1978a). In the meantime, there is a palpable sensitivity to threats on both sides. Non-Muslims feel threatened by Islam and there is a sweeping fear of the so-called West among Muslims, or, more specifically, of the legislation that is empowered by such fear. Many find an inspiration to mobilize in this tangibly bad atmosphere and for this there are indicators. On both sides there is a tangible pattern of reaction that is both distinctive and similar: submission and retreat, idealization and extremism. Many give up all hope of further integration and retreat into the background. In particular active negation begets idealization; i.e. they perceive the immediate group to be better than the “other” group—so the dialectic of enlightenment fades away in any discussion on reforms in Islam, just as when Muslims try to establish that only defensive wars were fought in the early days of Islam. But also to a lesser degree a radicalization can be observed toward which youth, above all, are inclined. They consider themselves enforcers of that which is on everyone’s minds. In any case this discourse does not strengthen the level-headed. They run the risk of being crushed between the majority and the minority, both of whom accuse them of naivety, unreliability and of being mere followers. In the end, it is these people who need public support. Even publishing the statements made by Islamic groups who have condemned the attacks in New York and Madrid would have aided efforts toward integration. It is a pity that such opportunities for deescalating reportage have until now rarely been seized upon. At the moment a change in these publishing attitudes can be observed after the London attacks, which gives hope of further steps in this direction. In the future initiatives such as www.nindi.de and www.muslimegegen-terror.de should gain more positive attention. Also of interest are the developments taking place in the so-called Islamic communities— seen particularly in the discussion about the implications of the London attacks in Al Jazeera, Al Arabiya and so forth. There too, the importance of a de-escalating coverage has been realized. Otherwise, Islamists and other extremist groups will happily be supported by the media coverage of their goals in polarizing and spreading fear instead of understanding.

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Media education has the potential of contributing to the fight against media discrimination as well (Tajfel 1978b). All the mechanisms mentioned have proven themselves to be part of the media’s perception—just as the acknowledged and publicized contributions have been shown more than anything to be negative prototypes. However one media doesn’t exist but our reference must be the media. Media are perceived with similar tendencies toward stereotype. One primarily sees what is expected. Anything to the contrary is reinterpreted as an exception. The image is nurtured of an all-powerful Moloch who issues precise directives for the representation of Islam, controlled by invisible forces. Th rough this we have a clear view of the structural conditions in the affected area: the time constraints, the absence of time needed for research, editors as consumers of agency reports and independent photographs for which they provide a caption and headline and integrate them into a newspaper article. But time constraints prevent compliance with instructions since such compliance would require more time for reflection and perhaps an insider debate on the content. This is exactly what does not occur often when rushed agency reports are abridged. And in the face of the economic decline here, a decline of the structural conditions is to be expected. Apart from that, instructions would require a familiarity with the subject matter which is demonstrably absent. Therefore a greater awareness of the following context needs to emerge: 1. Within media groups, without whose cooperation our culture would have disintegrated. In times of professional media-management they must be especially on their guard in order not to submit to official agenda-setting and thereby become tools for specific groups—e.g. political parties, Islamists, Evangelicals. 2. For those who use the media, for whom media competence is a key qualification which makes responsible citizens in a functioning democracy, the need to remain in opposition to hysteria.

References Andics, Hellmut. 1965. Der ewige Jude. Ursachen und Geschichte des Antisemitismus. Wien: Moldan. Beller, Hans. 1995. Handbuch der Filmmontage. Praxis und Prinzipien des Filmschnitts. München: TR-Verlagsunion. Bordwell, David. 1989. Making Meaning. Inference and Rhetoric in the Interpretation of Cinema. Cambridge/MA: Harvard University Press.

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Burger, Harald. 1990. Sprache der Massenmedien. Berlin u.a.: de Gruyter. Flohr, Anne Katrin. 1991. Conceptions of the Enemy in International Politics. Münster: LIT. Goldhagen, Daniel Jonah. 1996. Hitler’s Willing Executioners. New York: Knopf Inc. Grice, Paul H. 1975. Logic and conversation. In Syntax and semantics. Vol. 3: Speech acts. New York: Academic Press: 41–58. Hafez, Kai. 2002. Die politische Dimension der Auslandsberichterstattung. Das Nahost- und Islambild der deutschen überregionalen Presse. Bd. 2. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Hall, Stuart. 1989. The Structured Communication of Events. In Argument (Selected Works): 126–149. Hashmi, Taj ul-Islam. 2000. Women and Islam in Bangladesh. Beyond Subjection and Tyranny. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Hörmann, Hans. 1976. Meinen und Verstehen. Grundzüge einer psychologischen Semantik. Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp. Honegger, Claudia. 1991. Die Ordnung der Geschlechter. Die Wissenschaft vom Menschen und das Weib 1750–1850. Frankfurt/Main: Campus. Horzitz, Nicoline. 1988. Früh-Antisemitismus’ in Deutschland (1789–1871/2). Strukturelle Untersuchungen zu Wortschatz, Text und Argumentation. Tübingen: Niemeyer. Katz, Jacob. 1989. Vom Vorurteil bis zur Vernichtung: der Antisemitismus 1700–1933. München: Beck. Klemm, Verena and Karin Hörner. 1993. Das Schwert des „Experten“. Peter SchollLatours verzerrtes Araber- und Islambild. Heidelberg: Palmyra. Lakoff, George and Mark Johnson. 1980. Metaphors We Live By. Chicago: University Press. Liehr-Molwitz, Claudia. 1997. Über den Zusammenhang von Design und Sprachinformation. Sprachlich und nichtsprachlich realisierte Wissens- und Bewertungsprozesse in Überschriften und Fotos auf den Titelseiten zweier Tageszeitungen. Frankfurt/ Main: Peter Lang. Lutz, Helma. 1989. Unsichtbare Schatten? Die ‘orientalische’ Frau in westlichen Diskursen—zur Konzeptualisierung einer Opferfigur. PERIPHERIE, 37: 51–65. Minai, Naïla. 1984. Schwestern unterm Halbmond. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Muckenhaupt, Manfred. 1986. Text und Bild: Grundfragen der Beschreibung von TextBild-Kombinationen aus sprachwissenschaftlicher Sicht. Tübingen: Narr. Müller, Ulrike. 1988. Was immer wir auch tun, man dreht uns einen Strick daraus. Beruf und Bibliothek. 5/88: 478–488. Pinn, Irmgard and Marlies Wehner. 1995. Europhantasien. Die islamische Frau aus westlicher Sicht. Duisburg: DISS. Quasthoff, Uta. 1978. The uses of stereotype in everyday argument. Journal of pragmatics 2: 1–48. Reimann, Michael. 1998. Zweiseitige Botschaften und Doppelbindungen als Mittel zur Abwehr ‘subversiver’ Informationen. In Krieg, Nationalismus, Rassismus und die Medien. Münster: LIT: 47–56. Schiffer, Sabine. 2004. Die Darstellung des Islams in der Presse. Sprache, Bilder, Suggestionen. Eine Auswahl von Techniken und Beispielen. Ph. D. diss. University of Erlangen-Nürnberg. Schulz, Winfried and Norbert Waldmann. 1985. Effekte der Film-Montage. Experimentelle Überprüfung der Wechselwirkung einiger Gestaltungsmittel von AVMedien. In Zeichengebrauch in Massenmedien. Zum Verhältnis von sprachlicher und nichtsprachlicher Information in Hörfunk, Film und Fernsehen. Tübingen: Niemeyer: 332–348. Schulz, Winfried. 1990. Die Konstruktion von Realität in den Nachrichtenmedien. Analyse der aktuellen Berichterstattung. Freiburg u.a.: Karl Alber.

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Strube, Gerhard. 1984. Assoziation. Der Prozeß des Erinnerns und die Struktur des Gedächtnisses. Berlin u.a.: Springer. Tajfel, Henri. 1978a. The social psychology of minorities. London: Franklin. —— 1978b. Differentiation between social groups. Studies in the social psychology of intergroup relations. London: Academic Press. Titzmann, Michael. 1990. Theoretisch-methodologische Probleme einer Semiotik der Text-Bild-Relationen. In Text und Bild, Bild und Text: DFG-Symposium 1988. Stuttgart: Metzler. Wember, Bernward. 1972. Objektiver Dokumentarfilm? Modell einer Analyse und Materialien für den Unterricht. Berlin: Colloquium. —— 1983. Wie informiert das Fernsehen? Ein Indizienbeweis. München: List Verlag. Wuss, Peter. 1993. Filmanalyse und Psychologie. Strukturen des Films im Wahrnehmungsprozess. Berlin: Sigma. Zimmer, Hubert. 1983. Sprache und Bildwahrnehmung. Die Repräsentation sprachlicher und visueller Information und deren Interaktion in der Wahrnehmung. Frankfurt/ Main: Haag und Herchen.

THE TURKISH PRESS IN GERMANY: A PUBLIC IN-BETWEEN TWO PUBLICS? Christoph Schumann

Today, the existence and consumption of foreign-language media is an unquestioned part of everyday life in the West. Three factors have reinforced this development during the last three decades: the revolution of communication technologies, the globalization of markets for media products, and the continuing migration from the Middle East to the West. Consequently, the supply and demand of foreign-language media in Europe and America has increased since the 1970s and has remained at a high level ever since. As a result, immigrants in Western societies find themselves caught between two public spheres, each defined by its respective national language: the national public spheres of the receiving countries, on the one hand, and their homelands, on the other. However, immigrants rarely find their specific situation reflected appropriately in either of them. In the public spheres of the host societies, the issue of immigration is often connected to fears of cultural fragmentation, crime, and even terrorism. Stereotypes and cultural prejudices against immigrants persist unconsciously or, even worse, are being exploited deliberately in populist political campaigns. Conversely, in the public spheres of the homelands, the situation of diaspora communities abroad is merely of minor importance. Reports on their living conditions, cultural production and political struggles are scarce and only those personalities of the diaspora with an international reputation, like Edward Said, have a voice in the mainstream media of their homelands. For these reasons, immigrants have tried to establish their own channels of communication. In the United States, for instance, ‘foreignlanguage press’ and ‘ethnic media’ have a long history, which is tightly intertwined with the history of immigration. In this connection, Robert Park’s study of 1922 entitled The Immigrant Press and Its Control is still regarded as path breaking. At the time he wrote this book, ethnic media was comprised mainly of printed newspapers and periodicals directed at the immigrant community. It was produced either in the native language of the immigrants or in the national language of the receiving

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country. Today, satellite dishes, cable TV, and last but not least the internet provide additional opportunities for communication among immigrants and between diaspora communities and their homelands (Anderson/Eickelman 1999). These new media have changed the diasporic mediascapes (Appadurai 1996) tremendously, but they have not superseded the importance of the printed press. On the contrary, the Arabic press in the United States, for instance, went through far reaching changes and is still of importance today (Schumann 2004). In Germany, Turkish dailies can be bought at most newspaper stands. In addition, during the 1990s, a completely new Russian press emerged in Germany and other West European countries, set up by recent immigrants from the former Soviet states (Darieva 2002). Needless to say, all of these above-mentioned groups use internet and satellite television as well. Yet, obviously, the press is still fulfilling certain functions that other media does not provide. The following article will try to conceptualize the specifi c function of the ethnic press. It will argue that this function is characterized by two basic aspects: First, ethnic press can be regarded as a sub-public sphere which is connected to two major national public spheres, i.e. the public sphere of the sending country and the one of the receiving country. Second, it fulfills certain economic, societal, and political functions with regard to the ethnic community. The Turkish press in Germany, however, represents a very peculiar form in comparison to the ArabAmerican and Russian-German examples mentioned above. The reason for this difference is the fact that Turkish newspapers were introduced to Germany as an import product, first, and were later adapted to the specific needs of the environment. This article will evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of this particular model of ethnic press.

1. Foreign-language press as a sub-public sphere Habermas’ normative concept of the public sphere has been widely criticized for a variety of normative and empirical reasons (see Calhoun 1992). Nevertheless, there is little doubt that free speech, freedom of the press and the freedom of association are the basis of any functioning democracy. In his works, Habermas has provided the philosophical arguments to legitimize these norms, and he has provided the intellectual tools to criticize deviations from them, particularly the deformation of the public sphere by economic interests, irrational arguments and power

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relations (Habermas 1962; 1981). His constructive critics in Germany and the United States have further elaborated on his ideas (Gerhards/ Neidhardt 1990; Fraser 1992; Peters 1994; Neidhardt 1994; Gerhards 1997). By following Habermas, they conceive the public sphere as an indispensable link between the citizens and the state. Free elections, they argue, must be framed by a ‘public opinion’ that can only emerge from free debate. Furthermore, they have shown empirically that the national public sphere is not homogeneous but rather differentiated into several “sub-publics” or so-called “Teilöffentlichkeiten” (Peters 1994). Yet in order to prevent fragmentation, these sub-publics must be connected to one another by “porous boundaries” that allow the flow of arguments and information between them. The American political scientist Nancy Fraser (1992) has taken this theory one step further. She argues that subaltern groups such as women, workers or ethnic minorities should seek to establish so-called ‘counter publics’. This would enable them to define their own agenda and their own goals, first, before they enter the wider public sphere with its unfavorable power relations. For all these mentioned theorists, the ultimate point of reference is still the public sphere of the nation-state, since most political rights and material claims can only be realized on this level of politics. Of course, this does not deny the fact that the national public spheres have been increasingly put under pressure from ‘above’ and ‘below’, i.e. from sub-national and trans-national publics (Kastoryano 2002). This brief theoretical overview sheds some light on the opportunities as well as the problems of a ‘sub-public sphere’ based on foreignlanguage media such as the Turkish press in Germany. At this point, it is important to bear in mind that the majority of ethnic Turks in Germany has so far gained neither citizenship nor the right to vote on the national or the municipal level (Migrationsbericht 2005: 306–325). Nevertheless, the German Basic Law grants the right to free speech and free association to non-citizens as well as citizens. This is why the public sphere has become so important for the political participation of Turks in German politics and society. Time and again, German Turks have voiced their concerns by public promulgations, demonstrations and gatherings. For instance, they have collected signatures for the introduction of dual citizenship, they have founded lobby groups, and they have engaged in public-relation campaigns. In this context, Turkish media and particularly the Turkish press have a double function: they provide a forum for activists and, at the same time, they appear to be a public actor in themselves. With view to the

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foregoing theoretical considerations on the functioning of the public sphere, this raises two major questions. First, does the Turkish press facilitate communication within the Turkish community, i.e. does it make discussions on common goals, strategies and identities possible, and does it help to transcend boundaries within the community such as ethnic, denominational or ideological differences? Second, does the Turkish press enhance communication between the Turkish community and the broader public sphere in Germany and, beyond this, also in Turkey? In other words, does the Turkish press give ethnic Turks a voice in German affairs and, vice versa, does it allow for Germans to speak to the Turkish community? The choice of language is essential for both questions. Processes of translation (Edwards 2004) are always needed to link up two groups which communicate in different languages. In this sense, a language gap certainly exists between the Turkish sub-public and the broader German public. Yet this gap is also a growing problem within the Turkish community itself, since the Turkish reading and writing skills of the second and third generation of immigrants who have been educated in Germany are, for obvious reasons, limited. German studies on Turkish media have been dominated for a very long time by the paradigm which is described by the German word Integration. The meaning of this notion oscillates, according to the context, between ‘incorporation’ and ‘assimilation’. From the beginnings of the recruitment policy onward, the notion Integration was used in very ambivalent ways. Until the reform of the German citizenship law in 1999/2000, Integration was thought to be temporary, i.e. “Integration auf Zeit”, since it was the ultimate goal of German ‘foreigner policies’ (Ausländerpolitik) to encourage the guest-workers to return to their sending countries by supporting their re-integration back there (Herbert 2001; Özdemir 2000). Today, Integration generally has a very positive connotation in the German public sphere (Jung/Niehr/Böke 2000). Although the word has still no clear-cut meaning, it is widely assumed that Integration is the opposite of ‘segregation’ and ‘ghettoization’. Most German studies on Turkish media reflect these ambiguities and dichotomies of Integration vs. Ghettoisierung. The dominant question is, therefore, whether the Turkish media serves the desired goal of Integration or whether it enforces tendencies of segregation and fragmentation. In spite of the fact that most authors emphasize the positive contributions of the Turkish ethnic press, many of them apparently feel compelled

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to reproduce the semantics of the worried majority society by titles such as Between Demarcation and Integration: Turkish media culture in Germany (Becker/Behnisch 2001; similarly: Aktan 1981; Iskender 1983; ZfT 1991; Karacabey 1996; BPA 2001; Becker/Behnisch 2002). Apart from all merits, the deficit of these studies is the exclusive focus on Integration while neglecting the inherent dynamics of the Turkish community as well as its trans-national links transcending the borders of the nation state. For this reason, more recent studies have widened the scope of their analysis with regard to the trans-national context (Heinemann/Kamcili 2000; Argun 2003).

2. The Turkish-German Press Since the German-Ottoman alliance in Word War I, there has always been a small number of Turks in Germany, especially in Berlin. Most of them were diplomats, students, scholars, or political émigrés. The first foreign-language periodicals with a Middle Eastern background emerged in Germany in the late 19th century. Yet more concentrated efforts were made by students and intellectuals in Berlin during the Weimar Republic. While some research has been done on Arab and Muslim publications (Höpp 1994; 2000), very little is known about the activities of Turks. After World War II, publication activities were not resumed on a larger scale until the coming of the ‘guest-workers.’ This mass immigration was triggered by the so-called ‘recruitment treaty’ between the Turkish Republic and West Germany in 1961 and 1964. Back then, most Turkish ‘guest-workers’ did not intend to stay for good. They were not only dreaming of their future return to the homeland and saving money for it, but they actually moved back and forth constantly. It was not until the German proclamation of the recruitment halt in 1973 and the CDU policy in the 1980s of trying to motivate immigrants to return to their home countries that forced the Turks to make a decision. Despite all efforts of the German government to reduce immigration during the 1980s and 90s, the Turkish community in Germany kept growing due to political asylum and family reunification. The latter, especially, was the most visible sign of the settling process of the Turkish immigrants in Germany (Joppke 1999; Bade 2000; Herbert 2001).

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2.1

Turkish periodicals produced by Germans

With the beginning of the recruitment policy, the German Länder started to provide foreign-language programs on radio and television. It was the stated goal of this policy to incorporate the ‘guest-workers’ into the production processes while preserving their cultural identity and therewith their assumed inclination to return to their homeland at a later point of time. The European Ministers of Culture, for instance, agreed in a meeting in 1984 to intensify their cooperation in order “to secure the continuing bonds of the emigrants [sic] to their national cultures, the enrichment of the national culture by the culture of the emigrants [sic] as well as their access to the culture of the host countries” (Zamnonini/Barbi 1987). The paternalistic attitude which is reflected in this statement was a part of the whole recruitment process. Since 1961 (in Turkish since 1964), the public radios of the Länder broadcasted (some still do) foreign-language ‘guest-worker programs’ with the objective of trying to combine the coverage on current events in the homelands with ‘practical’ information on Germany (bureaucratic questions, job market, etc.) and folkloristic entertainment (Dallinger/Schmidt-Sinns 1987; Darkow et al. 1985: 87–96; Iskender 1983). Turkish native speakers assisted in the production of these programs, but the final responsibility for all contents and the political orientation remained in the hands of German officials. In addition to the guest-worker programs on radio and television, several German public and semi-public institutions set up printed periodicals for guest-workers. Usually, these publications were composed in German and then translated into the main languages of the immigrants. Examples are the quarterly AD-Arbeitsplatz Deutschland (Iş Yeri Almanya) of the Federal Ministry for Labor and Social Affairs, the bi-weekly DGB-Haberler and Metall-Haberler of the labor unions and the bi-monthly Berliner Bär of the Senate of Berlin (Iskender 1983: 56–60). With regard to the position of guest-workers in the German public sphere, the situation of the 1960s and early seventies was paradoxical. The Turkish immigrants were virtually cut off from the public sphere of their home country, since Turkish media were—not yet—available in Germany. At the same time, the media produced by German state officials and semi-public organizations did not constitute a sub-public in the meaning that was laid out above, since it enhanced discussions neither among the immigrants themselves nor between them and the

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broader German society. Instead, the so-called ‘guest-worker programs’ resembled a monologue of the German state directed at the immigrants while (mis-) perceiving them as ‘temporary sojourners.’ This concept of paternalistic state media was merely one aspect of a much broader set of institutions which linked the guest-workers to German society and politics. Since the new immigrants had neither the right to vote nor representative organizations which would enable them to voice their demands vis-à-vis the state, the diverse ethnic groups were linked instead to the government by intermediary institutions such as bureaucracies, social workers, charity organizations and the labor unions (Joppke 1999: 208ff.). It was the function of these institutions to translate expectations and demands linguistically and to pass them on from bottom up and from top down. The most visible of these intermediary institutions has been, since 1978, the Federal Commissioner for Foreigner Affairs (Bundesausländerbeauftragter) who is appointed by the federal government. So far, all commissioners have been Germans without an immigrant background and it is hard to tell whether the Commissioner’s task is to represent the government vis-à-vis the immigrants or vice versa. In any case, this system of intermediary politics has been modified and extended with the introduction of the Turkish press in Germany, but it has not been abolished, as will be shown in the following section. 2.2

Import and Adaptation of the Turkish Press

The first successful efforts to establish Turkish newspapers in Germany was made by the dailies Hürriyet, Tercüman and Milliyet in the years 1971/72. At first they were imported from Turkey by air mail and sold on the German market with a delay of one or two days. In 1972, Hürriyet opened a printing plant in Zeppelinheim near Frankfurt, which was used by other Turkish newspapers as well. Hence, it became possible to supply the German market with Turkish press products with almost no delay. Heinemann and Kamcili (2000) rightly point out that the Turkish community with its two million potential consumers should be large enough to sustain its own community media based in the host country as is the case with the Russian community in Germany or Arab-Americans in the United States. However, the highly capitalized and monopolized media groups in Turkey have been able so far “to drive media with a less elaborated production out of the market” (ibid.: 121).

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In the course of time, most papers have adapted themselves in one way or another to the expectations of their readership in Europe. The papers are not only printed in Germany, but their European editions have developed their own features which differ from the editions in Turkey. So Turkish newspapers in Europe contain a section with articles on German and European politics as well as on issues of the Turkish community in Germany. These articles are written by professional and semi-professional journalists who are resident in Europe. Then the articles are sent electronically to the headquarters of the papers in Istanbul where the Turkish and European sections and the advertisements are laid out. Thus, the ultimate responsibility for the contents and the editorial policies remains exclusively in Istanbul rather than in Frankfurt (Heinemann/Kamcili 2000). In this way, the influence of the editorial offices in Germany on the policies and contents of their newspapers or even the supplements is rather limited. Yet the Turkish press in Europe is not merely a mirror image of the press in Turkey. Not all Turkish dailies are successful on the European market. The young and popular liberal paper Radikal, for instance, has made no effort as yet to enter the European market. Maybe the reason for this is the fact that it belongs to the Doğan Media Group which already runs two successful dailies in Europe, namely Hürriyet and Milliyet. Another example is Cumhuriyet, the traditional mouthpiece of the secular and left-leaning intellectuals. It appears in Europe as a weekly rather than a daily as is the case in Turkey. However, it was withdrawn temporarily for economic reasons. A last major difference between Europe’s and Turkey’s Turkish-language mediascapes (Appadurai 1996) is the weakness of the daily tabloid Sabah of the Ciner Media Group in Europe. While Sabah is still a major competitor of Hürriyet in Turkey, the latter has gained a strong dominance over the market for Turkish press in Europe (Kara 2001). Hürriyet’s European edition contains a daily supplement, Hürriyet Avrupa, of four pages (pp. 15–18) and, in addition, weekly regional supplements such as Hürriyet Güney for southern Germany as well as a German-language weekly supplement, Europa Hürriyet, which mainly consists of the television program and some minor articles. In contrast to most other Turkish dailies in Europe, Hürriyet Avrupa does not only report on European and German affairs as well as news from the ethnic community, but it also comments on them regularly and it provides a section for ‘letters-to-the-editor’ titled söz sizin. Within the ideological

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boundaries of the paper, there is at least some exchange of arguments on European affairs and issues of the Turkish diaspora. Of course, the quality of Hürriyet’s European edition is a matter of controversy, but it is certainly more vivid than any other European edition of other Turkish newspapers. Another far-reaching characteristic of the Turkish mediascape in Europe is its ideological fragmentation. This polarization of the Turkish press was originally imported from the Turkish homeland to the European diaspora. So far, no Europe-based Turkish periodical has emerged which is able to transcend the frictions over Turkish politics by a predominant focus on the situation of the ethnic Turks in Europe. However, it is necessary to point out that the political dynamics among ethnic Turks in Europe is not at all dependent on developments in Turkey, despite all obvious links. The emergence of Cemalettin Kaplan’s Kalifat State (hilafet devleti) was a purely diasporic phenomenon as Schiffauer (2000) has convincingly argued. The radicalization of this group was partly due to the escalation of provocations and counterprovocations between the Kaplancis, on the one hand, and the Turkish press, on the other. The relationship between Kurdish nationalists in Europe, particularly the PKK and the Turkish press, follows a similar pattern of action-and-reaction (Rigoni 2001, Atilgan 2002, Hassanpour 1998; 1999). Theoretically speaking, political groups in the European diaspora are linked to politics in Turkey by a social and communicative space for which Argun (2003) has coined the notion “Deutschkei” by blending the two words Deutschland and Türkei. Following Argun, Deutschkei is “a trans-state or transnational entity, which is neither a mirror image of Turkey proper nor does it quite display the characteristics of Germany” (ibid.: 6). The papers available in Germany today cover the whole political range from the religious and nationalistic right to the Turkish and Kurdish left. It can be argued that the Turkish media market in Europe is grouped around the publications of the Doğan Media Group particularly Hürriyet. This great importance of Hürriyet is based on two reasons: its high numbers of circulation and its close links to the political establishment in Turkey as well as the Turkish embassies in Europe. Th e Islamicnationalistic Türkiye, the Islamic-conservative Zaman, and, earlier on, the weeklies Dünya Hafta and Cumhuriyet Hafta are equally part of the moderate Turkish mainstream. More distant, on the political fringes, are those newspapers which openly oppose the Kemalist state ideology.

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christoph schumann Table 1: Selection of Turkish Newspapers in Germany Political orientation

Circulation in Germany 20011

First year of distribution

Hürriyet

Nationalist, secular, conservative, close to military

107 000 (2005: 76 266)2

1971

Milliyet

Liberal

ca. 16 000

1972

Sabah

Liberal tabloid

ca. 25 000

1996

Türkiye

Religious, conservative, nationalist

ca. 40 000

1987

Mill§ı Gazete

Islamist

ca. 12 000

1986

Evrensel

Leftist

Dailies:

Kurdish nationalist, Yeni Özgür leftist Politika (formerly Gündem and Özgür Politika)3 Zaman

ca. 8 000

1995

ca. 15 000

1995

Center-right, religious ca. 13 000 (close to Fethullah Gülen) (2005: 21 850)4

1991

Weeklies: perşembe

Leftist, alternative

Connected to taz 2000–2001 (Berlin)

Dünya Hafta

Business oriented, liberal 2 500

1990–2002

Cumhuriyet Hafta

Secularist, leftist

1990

5 000

Source: Sen/Sauer/Halm 2001, translated and modified by the author.

1 Most cited numbers are estimates. Only two papers, Hürriyet and Zaman, disclose their numbers of circulation officially. 2 In the third quarter of 2007, the printed edition of Hürriyet was at 72 970 of which 36 109 are being sold—mainly by newspaper stands. Numbers according to IVW (Informationsgemeinschaft zur Feststellung der Verbreitung von Werbeträgern e.V.) <www.ivw.de> (23.11.2006). 3 The Kurdish nationalistic newspaper Özgür Politika was renamed in Gündem in 2005 after efforts of the former German Minister of the Interior, Otto Schily, to ban the paper due to its affiliation to the PKK, which is officially classified as a “terrorist organization” in Germany. The ban has not yet been legally enacted by November 2007. 4 In the third quarter of 2007, the printed edition of Zaman was at 23 857 of which 23 307 were sold—mainly by subscription (22 980). Numbers according to <www.ivw. de> (23.11.2006).

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Table 2: Other Periodicals Name

Publisher

Language of Publication bi-lingual

IGMG Perspektive IGMG (formerly Millî Görüs & Perspektive) alevilerin sesi Alevitische bi-lingual Gemeinde Deutschland (AABF)

Start of Frequency Publication since 1995 irregular, ca. monthly

since 1996

monthly

Millî Gazete can be described as Islamist in a more narrow sense and is positioned close to Erbakan’s Saadet Partisi. The paper obviously has numerous readers among the rank-and-file of the Islamic Community Millî Görüş (IGMG), yet it is unclear how close the political bonds between the Turkey-based paper and the Europe-based organization really are. The papers of the far left, Evrensel and Yeni Özgür Politika (formerly Gündem and Özgür Politika) are attractive only for a rather small readership among Turkish and Kurdish leftists, including Kurdish nationalists. As a whole, the Turkish press in Europe provides a broad variety of viewpoints and it reaches a high percentage of the Turkish population in Germany (ZfT 1997). Therefore, ethnic Turks in Europe have excellent opportunities to keep in touch with intellectual, political, ideological, societal and sportive developments in Turkey. The question remains, however, whether this press constitutes a sub-public sphere for the Turkish minority in Europe. As was already said before, all mentioned papers have somehow adapted to the European market. At least a part of their contents is dedicated to European and diaspora affairs. Yet, it is a serious restriction that all editorial decisions concerning the European editions are still made in Turkey rather than on the spot. Another major deficit is the fact that an exchange of arguments on questions of community life is only visible within the more or less narrow confines of each newspaper’s ideological scope. Hence, what appears to be a Turkish sub-public is, in fact, divided by deep ideological gaps which go back to frictions over politics in Turkey rather than in Europe. A political communication process among ethnic Turks in Europe that transcends these boundaries is virtually absent. Political communication between the Turkish sub-public(s) and the wider German public sphere is also problematic, albeit for a different reason. In general, all mentioned papers claim to contribute to the

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Integration of the immigrant community in one way or another (ZfT 1991; Karacabey 1996). None of them advocates segregation or ghettoization. They see their own contribution to the process of Integration in the services and information they provide for their readers. Most of these services deal, for instance, with the legal aspects of naturalization, the right to residence, and social welfare. Beyond this, the European editions of the Turkish newspapers have claimed to be ‘advocates’ of the ethnic community with regard to German politics or, in other words, to serve as a new intermediary between ethnic Turks and the government (Gülay 1993: 115; Şen/Goldberg 1994: 121). In the late 1990s, for instance, Turkish newspapers embraced a campaign for dual citizenship and supported the collection of signatures in favor of this demand. More recently, Turkish papers have called upon their readers to join the central demonstration against terror in Cologne on November 21, 2004.5 Although this public statement was welcomed by Germans and Turks alike, criticism was heard as regards the fact that the event was not organized by grassroots organizations but rather by a common effort of the semi-official Authority of Muslim Religious Affairs (Ditib), the Turkish consulates and the Turkish press. Yet, with regard to the language barrier, it seems questionable how the Turkish press may gain real leverage in the German political process. German politicians and journalists without Turkish language skills have, for obvious reasons, no access to the contents of the Turkish newspapers. Apart from this, especially Hürriyet has gained itself a bad reputation in Germany for its campaign journalism targeting single personalities of public life in Germany. This has improved remarkably since the former editor-in-chief of the European edition, Ertuğ Karakullukçu, quit his post, not least after pressure from German politics.6 The instigation of emotions, however, still fulfils the function of binding readers to the paper rather than achieving political goals. For this reason, ethnic mobilization in Hürriyet very often has little to do with the specific problems of the Turkish community such as exclusion from the labor market or deficits in the educational system. 5 The demonstration was organized by the Ditib, the semi-public organization of mosque communities. It was strongly supported by the Turkish consulates and the Turkish press. Civil society organizations, however, have not been included in the planning process. The slogan of the demonstration was „Barış için teröre karsı el ele“. 6 Eva Busse: “Dankeschön, Deutschland! Die mächtige türkische Zeitung Hürriyet, die früher als integrationsfeindlich galt, schlägt nun versöhnliche Töne an”, in: Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 10 January 2002, no. 8, 3.

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Instead, mobilization of ethnic Turks by the Turkish press obviously suits the prevailing nationalistic mood or, more concretely, the political agenda of the Turkish Republic. This is particularly the case when the Turkish newspapers call upon their compatriots to form a Turkish lobby in Europe to support the Republic’s quest for admission into the European Union.7 Another frequent topic on the pages of Hürriyet’s European supplement is the refutation of all criticism of Turkey’s official version on the treatment of the Armenians during WW I. Although the Turkish press in Europe is, contrary to its frequent claims, not really an influential “voice of the Turks” (Türklerin sesi) in the European and German publics, it does provide a voice for German politicians and bureaucrats who want to address the Turkish minority. German officials regularly use interviews with the politically moderate Turkish newspapers to call for better Integration and the need for the second and third generation to acquire better German language skills and a good professional education in order to enter the labor market successfully. Two weeks before the last federal elections in Germany, the Hürriyet invited the then-chancellor Gerhard Schröder to a press conference. Schröder was welcomed warmly with the paper’s issue of that day stating that 77 per cent of Hürriyet’s readers would consider giving their vote to Schröder’s Social Democratic Party. 8 This event was scandalized the next day on the front-page of the major German tabloid Bild-Zeitung asking “Will Turks decide the elections?” (Entscheiden Türken die Wahl?).9 From this perspective, it can be said that the European editions of the Turkish press in Germany provide some space, even if quite limited, for the exchange of information and arguments. In addition to these limits, there are a number of serious flaws which have prevented the development of an effective sub-public for ethnic Turks in the diaspora so far. First, the discursive structure on the pages of the Turkish newspapers resembles less a discussion among members of the ethnic community but it rather seems like a diversity of monologues by German and Turkish officials and semi-officials directed at the Turkish

7 So did the Turkish ambassador Mehmet Ali Irtemçelik in his new year’s speech to his Turkish compatriots in Germany. “Her Avrupalı Türk bir Türkiye’dir,” Hürriyet, 3 January 2004, 15. 8 The number was the result of a telephone survey. 9 Bild-Zeitung, 14.09.2005.

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community. Second, the lasting dominance of the Turkish language in all newspapers has helped to maintain the links between Turkish immigrants all over Europe, but it has also impeded them from gaining a voice in the national public spheres of the receiving countries such as Germany. Third, the Turkish press in Europe has, so far, reproduced the deep frictions between moderates and radicals as well as between the diverse ideological camps which go back to cleavages over politics in Turkey rather than Germany. In any case, this political fragmentation has prevented an effective process of communication among ethnic Turks on common identities and shared goals in the diaspora. 2.3

The Failure of the Bilingual Weeklies

The dominance of the European editions of the Turkish press was seriously challenged for some time between 2000 and 2002 (Horn 2004). In September 2000, the German daily newspaper die tageszeitung (taz, Berlin) started an eight-page bilingual supplement named perşembe (Thursday) once a week (Dietert-Scheuer 2001; Schmidt-Fink 2001). Soon after, the business-oriented Dünya Hafta and Hürriyet followed this example and produced German supplements for their editions. However, the promising project of perşembe failed financially due to the lack of an identifiable target audience which would provide a stable and sufficient economic basis for this publication. Most Turkish-German intellectuals had already subscribed to the left-leaning and multicultural taz, anyway. So they were content to receive this new bilingual supplement without paying a higher subscription prices. Beyond the milieu of left-leaning intellectuals, however, perşembe was not able to address a broader Turkish-speaking readership because the paper was displayed at the newspapers stands under the German name taz with the German front-page while the Turkish-German supplement perşembe was hardly visible at first glance.10 In 2001, on occasion of the 40th anniversary of the recruitment treaty, the Turkish newspaper Dünya Hafta started its German supplement Dünya Deutschland which survived for only half a year. Contrary to perşembe, which commented critically on both German and Turkish

10 Another example of a German paper with a bi-lingual supplement is the monthly Graswurzelrevolution (liberitarian, pacifistic) with its quarterly Otkökü. It seemed to be rather short-lived as well. (http://www.graswurzel.net/257/otkoku.shtml)

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politics, thereby attracting much criticism from Turkish papers like Hürriyet, Dünya Hafta and Dünya Deutschland had the appearance of an almost semi-official organ. It mostly covered very general subjects while trying not to offend anybody. Broad space, for instance, was given to representatives of Turkey and Germany expressing their appreciation of the immigrants’ cultural and economic “achievements.”11 Yet, comparatively little information could be found on activities and discussions within the German-Turkish community itself. Although perşembe and Dünya Hafta did not operate for long, they had an obvious effect on other Turkish newspapers while they existed. Hürriyet made much more efforts to extend its German supplement. Cumhuriyet Hafta extended, at least, its section on European affairs (Avrupa fisıltıları). In 2002, the paper provided a forum for journalists who tried to organize a Union of European-Turkish Journalists (Avrupa Türk Gazeteciler Birliği) in order to pursue their specific interests.12 The future of the Turkish press in Europe was never discussed as intensively as during this brief era. However, after perşembe and Dünya Hafta had failed, the German supplement of Hürriyet shrank in size and quality, and the European section of Cumhuriyet Hafta was cut back before the whole paper was withdrawn from the European market eventually. Unfortunately, the development of a bilingual Turkish-German press ended without lasting results, but this brief interlude pointed out clearly the problems yet to be solved. The weeklies perşembe and Dünya Hafta were the first Turkish-language newspapers which were produced for a national German market and not for ethnic Turks all over Europe. This focus on one country seems to be the prerequisite for starting a more intensive debate among ethnic Turks about their specific needs and desires at the place of their residence. Moreover, Turkish newspapers which cover the whole breadth of Turkish minority issues all over Western Europe while their responsible editors are situated in Turkey can hardly gain the same public presence as publications based directly on the spot in Germany. Another crucial point is the fact that the use of the German language, besides Turkish, opened the debate for interested Germans without Turkish language knowledge and, more

11 Tellingly, the first issue was filled by official addresses of the president of the Turkish Republic, Ahmet Necdet Sezer, the former Turkish ambassador Osman Korutürk, and the director of the semi-official Turkish-Islamic Council in Germany (DİTİB), Mahmut Gürgür. See Dünya-Deutschland, 11–17 Oct. 2001, no. 1. 12 Güray Öz: Avrupa Türk Gazeteciler Birliği, in: Cumhuriyet Hafta, 11.

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importantly, has helped to reach out to the second and third generation of ethnic Turks without good reading skills in Turkish. In this context, perşembe was explicitly a political project aimed at moving the editorial responsibilities away from the economic rationality of the big media groups toward the needs of civil society organizations and grassroots activists—regardless of whether they were ethnic Germans or Turks (Horn 2004: 71–82). 2.4

Publications of Ethnic and Religious Organizations

Apart from the daily and weekly newspapers, which have been at the focus so far, many other local, regional, topical and religious publications have existed or still exist. Güney’in sesi, for instance, was one example for a monthly regional paper published between 1979 and 1991 in Heilbronn and distributed in southern Germany, particularly Baden-Württemberg. To my knowledge, no research has been done on this kind of publications so far. Today, ethnic or religious organizations of ethnic Turks in Germany seem to be suited best to build up their own publications in the form of magazines or newsletters. Two examples are the magazines IGMG Perspektive (formerly Millî Görüş & Perspektive) of the Islamic Community Millî Görüş and alevilerin sesi (Die Stimme der Aleviten in Deutschland) of the Alevite Community of Germany (AABF—Alevitische Gemeinde Deutschland). These two magazines have a number of aspects in common. They are both mainly focused on religion, but also touch upon other subjects such as politics and societal questions. Together with their mother organizations, both magazines are based in Cologne, a city which is well known for its diversity of Turkish and Muslim associations. Although the two publications can be bought at some newsstands and bookstores, the system of distribution relies mainly on subscription. Since the magazines address rather limited audiences which stretch little beyond the membership of each organization, they can only be classified as ‘semi-public’. Seen from another perspective, however, their use of German makes them more accessible and, thus, more ‘public’ than the Turkish press. Although the introduction of German as a second language of publication is obviously a difficult task for Turkish publications, the necessity of this development is generally acknowledged by those activists who see a growing gap between the first generation of immigrants and their

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children and grandchildren. In this regard, the Turkish press faces increasing competition by internet sites, most notably <www.vaybee. de>, as well as by lifestyle and city magazines such as Merhaba Berlin13 and by Islamic publications in German such as Islamische Zeitung14 or Explizit15 (banned in Germany since 2003) of the radical Islamist organization Hizb ul-Tahrir. Politically, the German-Turkish organization Millî Görüş and its publication IGMG Perspektive finds itself challenged from two sides. The non-ethnic, German-language Islamische Zeitung presents itself as a young and activist newspaper which blends a modern and non-violent form of Islamism with a sharp criticism of globalization and neo-liberalism. On the other side is the Turkish-language Millî Gazete which is barely adapted to the German environment and still draws attention only by its old-style Islamism and its vulgar anti-Semitism. Similar to IGMG Perspektive, the relationship between the Alevite magazine alevilerin sesi and the Turkish daily newspapers is also not without tensions. There is an on-going debate between alevilerin sesi, on the one side, and mainly Hürriyet, on the other, on the question of whether Alevism should be recognized by the Turkish Republic as a religion. While this is the main goal of the Alevite Community in Germany, Hürriyet defends the official position of the Turkish state, arguing that Alevism is not a religion but rather a kind of popular philosophy. This specific problem cannot be discussed in detail at this point, but the controversy shows that the Turkish press provides some space for controversies, even though the quality of this space is ambiguous. On the one hand, there is a public exchange of arguments, while, on the other hand, this exchange does not take place within each publication but rather across the boundary between the two camps. In this context, both publications present themselves as mouthpieces of their respective group.

13

Merhaba Berlin: Deutsch-Türkisches Stadtmagazin, Berlin: concept Verlag. Islamische Zeitung: Nachrichten & Lebensart. Unabhängiges Forum für Europa, Berlin: IZ-Medien. 15 Explizit: Das politische Magazin für ein islamisches Bewusstsein, London: AlKhilafa Publications. 14

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The Turkish press in Germany has helped to establish public spaces for the flow of information and the exchange of arguments. This communicative space has been analyzed as a sub-public sphere of ethnic Turks in Europe and particularly Germany, which is thoroughly connected to the two national public spheres of Germany and Turkey. This space for communication, however, is neither homogeneous nor free of power relations and forms of political exclusions. From the 1970s onward, the introduction of the Turkish newspapers has helped the ‘guest-workers’ to keep in touch with the political, cultural and religious developments in their homeland. The Turkish press in Germany has reached comparatively high numbers of circulation and offers a broad diversity of political and religious worldviews from the extreme left to the right and from secularism to Islamism. Yet this whole spectrum is clearly dominated by the press products of the Doğan Media Group, particularly the newspaper Hürriyet. Besides, all newspapers have their peculiar ideological world views which they preach constantly to their readers. Nevertheless, the European editions of the Turkish press help ethnic Turks in Europe to keep in touch with developments in their (former) homeland. However, the flow of information functions only in one way, since readers of the Turkish press in Turkey learn almost nothing about the intellectual and political developments of the Turkish diaspora. The only exception to this rule is news coverage in Turkey on the activities of extremist groups in the diaspora such as the PKK or Kaplan’s Caliphate State. With view to the German public sphere, Turkish newspapers pretend to serve as a mouthpiece for the concerns of ethnic Turks in Europe. In fact, however, the German media and German politicians take almost no notice of what the Turkish press writes. One problem here is obviously the fact that the dominant use of the Turkish language makes the Turkish press inaccessible for most Germans. Yet, in spite of this fact, German politicians and bureaucrats frequently use interviews with Turkish papers to address the ethnic Turkish community. From this perspective, the readers of the Turkish press in Germany are addressed by two forms of perpetual monologues: the ideological discourses of each paper and the paternalistic monologues of the German officials. With view to processes of communication within the ethnic Turkish community, the Turkish press functions only within very strict limits. Due to the ideological fragmentation of the Turkish mediascape in Ger-

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many, Turkish newspapers provide a variety of sub-publics rather than a single sub-public which allows for debates among all ethnic Turks in Germany. Furthermore, the political agendas of the Turkish press are still dominated by issues with little connection to the living conditions of ethnic Turks in Europe such as Kemalism and the historiographical question of the ‘Armenian genocide’. Meanwhile, other more important matters such as youth unemployment and deficits in the educational systems are not sufficiently covered. Last, but not least, the failure to include German as a second language of publication will hinder the inclusion of the second, third and fourth generation of immigrants. Hence, it is the linguistic adaptation to the European realities of the Turkish diaspora which will decide on the future prospective of the Turkish press in Germany.

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PART VI

GENDER

RE-FASHIONING THE SELF THROUGH RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE: HOW MUSLIM WOMEN BECOME PIOUS IN THE GERMAN DIASPORA Jeanette S. Jouili

Recent literature on the Islamic revival among second generation Muslims in Europe has often insisted on the acquisition of religious knowledge as part of the re-Islamization process in terms of ‘intellectualization’ of Islam. This observation also holds for research concerning Muslim women in Germany. When talking about the relationship between religious knowledge and re-lslamization, the insistence has been generally on ‘intellectualization’ either through the individual nature of this self-socialisation process or more recently through the growing influence of theologians, conference speakers and preachers (Maréchal 2003). This shift from the individual believer to the “new religious entrepreneurs” (Saint-Blancat 2002: 145) is a very important insight reflecting more correctly the various channels of Islamic knowledge dissemination. Literature has also rightly emphasized the importance of this intellectualized approach to Islam for changed gender discourses put forward by Muslim women. However, very little thought has been given to the central implications of Islamic knowledge for the formation of the self. I address these questions in this article by drawing on my fieldwork conducted in Cologne where I studied Muslim women who are or who have been engaged in Islamic organizations whose principal goals are the acquiring and transmitting of religious knowledge. It concerns women of Turkish and to a lesser extent of Arab background, socialized in Germany and who in general have received a higher education.1

1 The fieldwork was part of my empirical research undertaken for my Ph.D. thesis conducted in Germany, Cologne, and France, Paris, from September 2002 through May 2003, and in Spring 2005. It included 20 interviews in each country and observant participation in some Islamic organizations, especially through attending conferences and religious instruction classes. I also accompanied my interviewees to the informal study groups they set up, as well as during their leisure time, to meetings with friends, sport activities, wedding or religious holiday ceremonies, and so on. In this article, I will only draw on the results from the data gathered in Cologne.

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The article starts by portraying briefly the beginning involvement with religious knowledge as was reflected in the narrative of the women. By regarding the different means they use in order to instruct themselves, it becomes apparent how these means of knowledge transmission constitute a distinct Islamic public characterized by its German context. It is conceptually important to identify the features of this public because my second argument depends on it: the ways particular Islamic subjects are being formed. I discuss in this context how religious knowledge not only forms instructed female Muslims, but constitutes the condition for becoming and acting as what Saba Mahmood refers to as an ‘ethical Islamic subject’ (2005).2 By this notion, drawing on Aristotelian ethics, she means the creation of certain inner dispositions through the conscious cultivation of virtuous actions in order to transform the self. In the last part of the article, I consider briefly the implications of this self-refashioning for the Muslim women’s participation in German social life.

1. The first moments in religious instruction Generally, literature on Muslim women in Germany and elsewhere in Europe situates the beginning of interest in their religion and for their search for Islamic knowledge at adolescence. In their narratives, these women do insist and research does c oncur on their “autonomous choice” for turning to their religion. However, what is, in a sense, underestimated is the importance of early religious education received from their parents as well as in local mosque organisations. These women generally view their parents’ knowledge as “traditional”, since it is not scriptural but oral. Still, most of the women I interviewed claim that their parents handed down something akin to a consciousness of their Islamic affiliation by giving them a religious sensitivity and normative values. Therefore, they are pre-disposed to later become interested in religious research. As Chantal Saint-Blancat puts it, “the symbolic data bank from where to draw has been put into place by the parents”

2 In the course of the article it will become clear that my own focus on the work on the I am indebted, in this article, to Mahmood’s stimulating study on the formation of pious Islamic subjects.

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 467 (Saint-Blancat 2004: 239). Women with parents who had already been through a process of re-Islamization took special care in giving their children a deeper religious education at home.3 The second line of early Islamic education is the knowledge received in the local mosque organizations. Most of my interviewees with a Turkish background claimed to have attended Koran classes at an early age and they spoke of their past experience in rather positive terms, especially since it was a way for them to meet new friends and socialize.4 Although they considered that they had not learned much there and sometimes criticized the pedagogy of the instructors, they still became acquainted with the basis of Islamic worship and norms. They usually take this knowledge for granted, yet women who become pious as adults without having received any prior religious education sometimes deem the learning of these basic skills to be difficult including achieving full command of the Arabic alphabet or the correct recitation of the Koranic verses (tajwid). But more specifically, by having received this early Islamic education, even if fragmentary, they became acquainted with an Islamic environment where the necessary discipline as concerns their Islamic habitus was shaped (Jonker 2002). However, although most women I interviewed did receive some Islamic education at a very early age, either from their parents or in mosque organizations at their parents’ initiatives, the deliberate and conscious quest they undertook at adolescence represents nonetheless a decisive moment for them. It represents the break between the former mode of belonging to Islam which they often refer to as “Muslim by tradition” and the new mode of belonging which they often describe in terms of “becoming really Islamic.” The differentiation they operate on here is one which contrasts an Islam which is the foundation of a family identity and lived in a more or less private manner inside the family or the

3 This concerned especially my interviewees’ parents who came as students from Middle Eastern countries in the nineteen-seventies, and to a lesser extent those who came as guest workers from Turkey and who, after their migration, became more and more involved in their local mosque communities, in the nineteen-eighties. There, they gained not only a new Islamic consciousness but also tried to acquire some deeper Islamic knowledge. This observation reflects a more general phenomenon, as has shown Werner Schiffauer (1991) in his studies on Turkish migrants. 4 According to the president of one of the two Islamic federations in Germany, the percentage involved in Koran schools for Turkish children in 1997 in Germany was 10% (Maréchal, 2004, 231). My interviewees from Middle Eastern and NorthAfrican background usually began their religious education much later within Islamic organisations.

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Islamic community, and one which is put into practice by adopting a comprehensive Islamic life-style. In the literature, this step is sometimes equated with the donning of the veil (Weibel 2000), especially since these women themselves ascribe a very high symbolic weight to this act. Although the two decisions might often coincide, I still consider it important not to confuse the two phenomena. The headscarf can be worn much earlier, much later, or not at all. I suggests that, what counts is the process of achieving a consciousness which comes about with the desire to acquire religious knowledge. Without denying the significance of the headscarf, which can be one of the possible steps leading more or less immediately to this process, and one bearing the most drastic social consequences, I still consider that it is important to treat the two phenomena separately. The motivations which trigger this commitment to religious knowledge reflecting the start of the conscientious Islamization process are multiple and have been outlined in several studies; facing an illness or death, the quest for the meaning of life concurrent with a general identity crisis for teenagers, meeting other people with a religious life-style, issues related to the non-Muslim Other, especially at school, and so on (Amir-Moazami 2004; Nökel 2002: 105f.; Klinkhammer 2000: 126). The confrontation with one’s own ‘difference’ is particularly important for triggering the search for religious knowledge. Almost all the women I interviewed singled out the gender issue in Islam as the one on which they were particularly questioned and often attacked. In Western societies, femininity and gender relations, as Siegrid Nökel puts it, are the primary parameters of self- and heterodefinition. They operate as systems of signs attached to the body through which one recognizes whether one is, to paraphrase Norbert Elias, ‘civilized’ or not (Nökel 1999: 187, see also Göle 2005: 91). Therefore, in order to be recognized by the Other, the negative representation of Islam in this regard has to be refuted in a convincing manner. Knowing Islam is also a way of distinguishing themselves as informed women in contrast to the “ignorant” and therefore “oppressed” women of the generation of their mothers. This becomes, as literature has repeatedly shown, an important way for women to better the female condition in Islamic surroundings, through their claiming of women’s “Islamic rights”.5

5 See for example Amir-Moazami, op. cit., Klinkhammer, op. cit., or Nökel 2002, op. cit.

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 469 The desire to “understand” and “know” Islam is very often mentioned by these women and it is valued by them as a feature of the democratic culture into which they were socialized. Traditional emulation deemed as non-reflexive which the generation of their parents represents in their eyes is rejected to the benefit of a practice determined by choice. While accepting “the congenital affiliation to the Muslim condition” (Charnay 1997: 222), these women also demand the freedom to understand in order to be convinced. In their statements one finds traits of the idea of the modern (Western) subject, with a libre arbiter refusing blind submission to an authority, who is able to reflect intelligently and take self-responsibility (Taylor 1989). It is in this sense that literature has rightly underscored the individualizing aspect of the process of knowledge acquisition. However, as we shall see in this contribution, the disciplines involved in the construction of the self of the pious women interviewed for this study are slightly different from the foundations of the liberal subject as accounted for in political theories.

2. Quest for Islamic knowledge and construction of an Islamic ‘counter public sphere’ As has been shown in the literature, the quest for Islamic knowledge, which women undertake at adolescence, can be, at times, very personal. They notably read books, starting with the foundational texts such as the Koran, the traditions of the Prophet (ahadith) and the histories of the life of the Prophet (sira) which they usually find accessible in their homes. Later on, they acquire some specialized literature of contemporary ‘Islamic books’ (Gonzales-Quijano 1991). This vast literary genre, which nowadays is translated from Arabic into German and several other European languages, is available alongside books in Turkish sold in Islamic bookstores which are increasingly springing up in Germany.6 Besides this literature which is purchased with the objective of acquiring Islamic instructions, several women of Turkish background revealed how they also loved to read Islamic Turkish novels which, so they claimed, deepened their awareness of their Islamic

6 In Cologne, Islamic bookstores are generally integrated into the spaces of the Islamic organisations.

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identity.7 This personal approach to Islam, a solitary self-education, carried out privately, constitutes for some authors a further proof for the hypothesis of the individualization of Islam in Europe8 reflecting the theories of religious modernity. There is much evidence accumulating along the direction of individualization. However, regarding the women I interviewed, this hypothesis has to be qualified since, as it will be shown, the reference to the Islamic community and its authorities is ubiquitous and is fundamental for the constitution of the pious Islamic (female) subject. For my interlocutors the search for knowledge through the channels of organizational life of the community was crucial. Participation in conferences and courses within Islamic organisations or mosque associations is often in tune with their earlier extra-familial religious socialisation. Several studies have observed how institutional Islam has adapted itself to the evolutions of the ‘Muslim clients’ in Europe, especially to the desires of second generation Muslims to acquire some Islamic knowledge. In other words, the spaces of knowledge dissemination initiated by mosque rectors, Islamic organisations or private persons have multiplied to fill this need. As Chantal Saint-Blancat states, this active minority of religious entrepreneurs attempts to develop a “community structuring” strategy trying to work against “the drift towards a privatized Islam” and “the cultural divisions of a cultural Islam” (SaintBlancat 2002: 145). However, the broader framework of the situation of religion in the West must also be taken into consideration, where “religious affiliation has become a matter of individual choice with no sanctions applied to those who lapse out of it”, as Danièlle Hervieu-Léger puts it (Hervieu-Léger, 1993, 240). Therefore, the Islamic organizations address themselves basically to Muslims who are already committed to the quest for leading a pious life.9

7 The Islamic novel is a literature genre specific for the Turkish context. Numerous women of Turkish background mentioned reading especially Islamic novels written by female writers. For an analysis of the development of the Islamic Turkish novel, see Cayir 2004. 8 See for example Babès, Leila. 1997. L’islam positif. La religion des jeunes musulmans de France. Paris: Les Editions de l’Atelier; Césari, Jocelyne. 2003. Muslim Minorities in Europe. The Silent Revolution. In Modernizing Islam: Religion in the Public Sphere in the Middle East and Europe. London: Hurst: 251–269. 9 An interesting account on the educative work undertaken in Germany by the Organisation of the Islamic Cultural Centers (Islam Kültür Merkezi) is done by Gerdien Jonker, 2002, op. cit. See particularly Chapter 6.

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 471 With this broader offer of Islamic education, my interlocutors attend weekly classes or sporadically go to special lectures. The Islamic organisational landscape in Cologne is a fine example for the development of new sites of Islamic knowledge dissemination, specially developed by women for women.10 Such are, for example, the Begegnungsstätte und Bildungsstätte für Muslimische Frauen e.V. (BFMF), or the Deutschsprachige Islamische Frauengemeinde. In these women’s organisations, next to women of Turkish, or to a lesser extend Middle Eastern or NorthAfrican (Moroccan) background, German converts are to be found in leading positions. In these more recent initiatives, there is a conscious effort to transcend the fractures imposed by the ethnic dimension which still characterizes German Islam. Some women, pursuing their desire to acquire solid Islamic knowledge, might also decide to study classical Islamic sciences more deeply. Several women I interviewed were, for instance, enrolled in the programme of the Institute for Islamology. This is a ‘mobile’ institute for Islamic theological studies with its head office in Vienna, Austria, which sends teachers to various cities in German speaking countries, including Cologne.11 Another institute in Cologne is the training centre of the Islam Kültür Merkezi (IKM) of the Sulaymançi. However, this programme is usually followed only by women who are themselves part of this specific community.12 Generally, the women I interviewed were very flexible in respect to the organisations where they seek religious knowledge. They do not limit themselves to the organisations to which their parents are attached. This fluctuation on the religious market has already been noted in the literature, read as a certain autonomization of the believer vs. the religious offer (Tietze 2003: 202). The decision regarding the choice of organisation does not depend on political ideology, but on personal desire and is related to a curiosity displayed by the women with respect to anything ‘Islamic’. These young adults decide for themselves which

10 Gerdien Jonker shows how these organizations also might become sites for the production of knowledge, from a more particular female perspective. This is an important but still marginal development (Jonker 2003). 11 The classes take place one weekend per month, last two years and offer at the end a diploma which is not recognized by the state. The courses are hold in the rooms of the BFMF which provides them to the institute. 12 Women who acquire the diploma from this institute may work as teachers in mosques belonging to the IKM, administer sermons or lead female prayer circles (Jonker 2002, op. cit., and Jonker, 2003, op. cit.

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organisation they want to join and what contents they deem believable; this also reflects a conscious selection in terms of religious authorities, as suggests the following statement by a young woman: I went to Koran school until the age of twelve; afterwards I only attended the mosque [Milli-Görüş] at week-ends. Then I went to several other Islamic centres, Suleymançi, DITIP, I even went to events from Kaplan. I wanted to hear what the other side, what the Hodjas there preach. [. . .] But I myself always stayed neutral, I never got involved anywhere.

Besides the more institutional instruction, women also set up their own informal meetings with other young “sisters”. These meetings where usually each attendee is supposed to prepare a talk on a particular topic are at times directed by a more “knowledgeable” woman, and reflect the fluctuating character of the quest for religious knowledge. Th e participants of these meetings often vary as do the gathering’s formats in order to match the needs of the individual’s history at a particular time (see also Nökel 2002: 52–61). Alongside literature and Islamic organizations, there are other means of acquiring religious knowledge of which the women I interviewed made use, especially media technologies. Satellite TV broadcasting religious programmes from the Middle East or from Turkey became particularly important in this context. Among women of Arabic background in Germany, as well as among the Arabic-speaking Diaspora worldwide, al-Jazeera’s “Sharia wa-l-hayat” is very popular, with Youssouf al-Qaradawi regularly featured as a guest, as well as sermons and talks by Amr Khaled, the popular Egyptian TV preacher, on Iqra. These women also use audiotapes on which sermons and lessons were recorded. Since this kind of material is difficult to come by in Germany, they usually purchase it in their countries of origin.13 Several women who give courses in religious education told me that these various media technologies were an important resource for the preparation of their own classes. On the other hand, women of Turkish origin also had access to a range of TV programmes from the Turkish broadcasting services

13 If one goes by the literature available, Islamic bookshops in Germany seem to address primarily Turkish speaking Muslims, German speaking ones in the second place. This is different in France, for instance, where the bookshops address French speaking and Arabic speaking Muslims alike. Therefore, they also sell tapes with sermons from Middle Eastern preachers.

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 473 such as Samanyolu14 or Kanal 7.15 Sir Kapisi on Samanyolu is a popular programme among these women. It is less about formal dissemination of knowledge than a programme in which “conversion stories” are told. A popular figure appearing now and again at these broadcasting stations is Nihat Hatipoğlu, whose sermons and lectures are also available on CDs, DVDs and VHSs. This diversity of means through which religious knowledge can be acquired, including organizations and print or audiovisual media, gives the German Islamic landscape a particular shape. While this landscape is on one hand characterized by a dominant transnational Turkish German dimension, where Turkish religious diversity is transplanted into the German environment, ‘Arabic’ Islam gives it a slightly more global feature. With German converts occupying high profile roles in the newer non-ethnically dominated Islamic organisations, particularly within women’s organisations, German Islam is characterized by its migration history as well as its local dynamics, combining local, transnational and global features. The consumption of this diverse material of religious knowledge circumscribes the individual believer into a Muslim community market. As mentioned above, studies on Islam in Europe have sometimes analyzed the consumption of Islamic literature in terms of individualization because it represents a certain autonomization and privatization of the quest for knowledge. While this is true, the flip side of the coin should not be overlooked. The consumption of religious commodities, in general, can be understood as a signifying practice through which a sense of belonging and identification is constructed and affirmed (Werbner 1990). Benedict Anderson shows how print media created a public through which individuals came to imagine themselves as a national community (Anderson 1983). Talal Asad adds that the importance of media lies in the fact that they also mediate the imagination and construct the sensibilities that underpin it (Asad 2003). Therefore, these various media disseminating religious knowledge, which are accessible to German Muslims, must be regarded as essential elements of a German ‘Islamic counter public sphere’ (Hirschkind 2001a, see also Göle 2004).

14 Samanyolu (milkyway) is a private broadcasting programme owned by the leader of the Nurçu movement, Fetullah Gülen. This programme is not only popular among his followers but generally among the religiously-oriented Turkish Diaspora. 15 Kanal 7 is a broadcasting station closely related to the former Refah-Partisi.

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jeanette s. jouili 3. Knowledge dissemination as da’wa

The diverse means of knowledge dissemination which I have analysed so far in terms of participation in the construction of an Islamic counter-public sphere are circumscribed within a broader logic governed by the Islamic principle of da’wa. This principle has become the most substantial constant factor of contemporary Islamic activism, whether in Muslim majority societies or within the Diaspora. Da’wa can be seen as the “conceptual resources grounded in a long tradition of Islamic practice and scholarly inquiry” (Hirschkind, 2001a, 11) which are now being given a new shape within a contemporary Diaspora situation with their specific needs through particular pedagogical techniques and media forms. Da’wa means literally “call” or “invitation”. From the early days of Islam, da’wa has been viewed as a duty incumbent on the believers in order to foster fellow-Muslims in their struggle to lead a more devout and pious life (Canard 1977). The notion of da’wa has received little systematic elaboration from the late medieval period until early in the 20th century.16 Reformist-thinker Rashid Rida, who insists that da’wa should be considered as an obligation of every single believer and not of the community as a whole, is particularly important for the modern perspective of the notion of da’wa (Roest Crollius 1978: 276–277).17 However, while Rida focuses on missionary activities among non-Muslims, Hassan al-Banna’, founder of the Muslim Brotherhood and product of the Reformist Salafi school of thought, directed his efforts towards reforming fellow Muslims who were, in his view, increasingly westernized and had abandoned Islam in favour of Western values and ways of life (Mahmood 2005: 63). The ‘democratization’ of da’wa had practical implications on the contemporary organisation of da’wa activities not only in Muslim majority societies, but also in Muslim communities within Western societies. This shift has favoured what Saba Mahmood refers to as a general tendency toward “the individualization of moral responsibility” which had significant consequences on women

16 Mendel, Miloš. 1995. The Concept of “ad-Da’wa al-Islâmîya”. Toward a Discussion of the Islamist Reformist Religio-Political Terminology. Archív Orientální 63: 286–304. (see page 289). 17 Scholars in the classical age didn’t discuss this concept in terms of da’wa, but in terms of xamr bi-l-ma‘ruf wa nahy {an al-munkar (commanding the right and preventing the reprehensible). The common view held that xamr bi-l-ma‘ruf should be fulfilled by those members of the community who are the best qualified, which meant, the religious scholars. Cf. Cook (2000: 18–19).

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 475 as they are now included into the duty of da’wa (Mahmood 2005: 64). Da’wa became “the key point of reference for a wide variety of other activities in some way oriented toward promoting and fortifying the ethical practices that constitute Islamic modes of piety and community” (Hirschkind 2001: 7). All the various forms of activities in the Islamic counter-public space in Germany mentioned above can be subsumed under this term. Its shifted understanding also translates into the work of centres of Islamic learning in Europe. These do not limit themselves to knowledge dissemination and re-Islamization, but also encourage their students to participate in da’wa activities. Among the goals of the above stated Institute of Islamology, for instance, is the training of qualified da’wa workers.18 Although the notion of da’wa has not received specific interest in Western public discourses—unlike other terms like shari‘a, fatwa or jihad—a very strong feeling of Islam being inherently proselytizing remains. In attempt to “Islamize the West” da’wa can easily be understood as yet another Islamic proselytizing activity. However, in the case of the women I interviewed, da’wa did not concern any missionary effort directed towards the European public, as it is at times portrayed in public debates. Although da’wa addresses Muslims as well as nonMuslims, it does have rather distinct objectives with respect to each. Da’wa addressing itself towards non-Muslims is not so much about conversion but about the rectification of the negative representations of Islam. This is why representatives of Islamic organizations, conference speakers and theologians ask Muslims to display exemplary behavior, especially those who are visible Muslims (through dress codes). Da’wa, in this sense, also requires as mentioned earlier, the acquisition of a deeper knowledge which enables one to refute the negative ideas stemming from the non-Muslim environment. The other form of da’wa is directed towards fellow Muslims encouraging their re-Islamization through education. Today, many pious Muslim women of the new generation do not participate in organizational life only in order to receive an Islamic education, but also in order to disseminate Islamic knowledge by organising classes in mosques, associations or in private homes. In the name of a pious and social commitment they try to encourage their fellow Muslims to find their

18

Islamologisches Institut, http://www.islamologie.info/?Institut:Ziele. [05.11.2007]

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way to the benefits they themselves experienced in their religious lives. Several women I interviewed were engaged in this kind of da’wa work. For most of my interlocutors, this effort was considered an Islamic obligation as explains a social worker who teaches tafsir (exegesis) in an Islamic women’s organization: From an Islamic point of view, it is ‘khayrukum man ta{allama al-qur’an wa {allamahu which means ‘the best among you are those who learn the Qur’an and teach it. This is of course for me a theological motivation. Furthermore, it is a responsibility for which one will not only be rewarded but will be held accountable if you don’t hand down this knowledge. In this respect, I see it as my duty.

But da’wa is not only experienced as an obligation imposed to oneself, but also as a very personal “desire to disseminate a word one deems useful to the individual and to society” (Babès 1998: 138). In this sense, da’wa becomes a “vocation” (Mahmood 2004: 64). Furthermore, da’wa work is motivated by the Diaspora context of the Islamic community in Germany. Pious Muslims feel an urgent need to hand down their Islamic knowledge to Muslims of the future generations in order to encourage them to lead a pious life. They see it as the condition for the survival of the Islamic community in Germany, for the consolidation of its identity, a way to maintain the boundaries enabling it to resist the Western way of life and its pressures of assimilation. Another young woman, who is currently completing her teacher training and who simultaneously offers classes in Islamic instruction for adolescent girls reflects this fear very strongly: They have to learn it [Islam], we have to meet in groups and do something. How else can they get to know Islam? Otherwise they will become Germanized, we have to do something, otherwise we will lose our community, [. . .].

There is yet another aspect which is reflected by the effort of da’wa. For my interlocutors proper knowledge of Islam was deemed as a precondition to the welfare of the Islamic Umma. ‘Ignorance’ of the ‘genuine’ Islam, terms often used, is the reason behind the crisis Muslims are experiencing on a global as well as on a local scale, which means in this context in their daily reality in Germany. The arguments used by these women recall the dominant contemporary Islamic discourse. Started by the Islamic Reform movement at the end of the nineteenth century through the beginning of the twentieth century and spread by the

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 477 successive Islamic movements, ‘ilm and the corollary notion of tarbiya (education) became the key terms for the goal of the social and moral reconstruction of the individual as well as for the Muslim community deemed in decline (Shakry 1998). The bad state of the Umma denounced by Reformists and Islamists alike was explained by the “ignorance” of the Muslim populations, a state captured by the Islamic strongly connoted term jahiliyya. In this perspective, the dissemination of only a “pure” Islam, stripped from all traditional deviations, is able to re-establish the glorious state of past Muslim civilizations. It is with this logic that these women identified various problems of the Muslim community, especially the unsatisfactory state of Muslim women, not only in Muslim majority countries but more particularly here in the context of migration, as a consequence of ‘ignorance’ (which is especially personified in the parents’ generation). So, in this sense, da’wa work for women is viewed specifically from the point of view of emancipation from patriarchal oppression within the Islamic community, as the woman teaching tafsir in an Islamic women’s organization mentioned above told me: The objective of this acquisition of knowledge is [. . .] I have a complete new Muslim self-confidence, as a Muslim woman. Therefore I have hope, that I can broaden the horizon of other women and girls through the classes I give. [ . . .] It [Islamic knowledge] was my form of emancipation as a Muslim woman.

In this sense, religious knowledge aims not only at the salvation of the individual believer but also becomes a means for the betterment of the social conditions of Muslim populations within the German Diaspora in this case. Therefore, the involvement of these women is not limited to a simple “consumption” of Islamic knowledge, which implies the individual subject aspiring to piety. On the contrary, it is absorbed into a broader social logic which is expressed by the feeling of responsibility for the welfare of the Muslim Umma. Da’wa is therefore experienced in accordance with contemporary Islamic thought, as an individual duty which one owes to one’s own community. Here, a significant logic for the modern Islamic subject becomes apparent: it is reflexive, innerself, individualized in a certain way, essentially connected to the community, the absolute and ubiquitous point of reference, where the individual selves combine to make up a “collective self ”.

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jeanette s. jouili 4. The relationship between religious knowledge and faith

I mentioned at the beginning of this article the importance of gaining religious knowledge for the formation of the ‘pious’ self. In the following pages, I intend to develop this idea a little further, as becoming pious involves a reflexive and conscious effort on the part of the individual believers in order to create, through this knowledge, certain inner dispositions leading them to feel and act as pious Muslims. The majority of these women identified the acquisition of a deeper Islamic knowledge as the condition sine qua non for developing a strong faith enabling them to resist the ‘temptations’ of a secular environment. Although it was their pre-existing faith which drove their increased interest and commitment to their religion, or to their ‘becoming Islamic’ as they put it, they were also very aware of the fact that having only a basic faith was not enough. In order to transform their lives effectively, as these women told me, they undertook an effort to cultivate their faith, especially by committing themselves to the study of Islamic sciences. For these women, it is clear that this work should not be carried out simply as an individual initiative, but under the aegis of the community. Especially when one is confronted with an environment without the same religious sensitivity, learning in groups provides mutual support and motivation in which faith can grow, as put by the above mentioned teacher of the tafsir class: When I was on maternity leave, [. . .], the tafsir class was cancelled. And a lot of students came to me and said, our Iman [faith] became weaker. And myself, I had noticed that the tafsir class was not like, I am the teacher and these are my students, but it was for all of us [. . .] a group in which we remembered God. We are all the same, and for me, it is a genuine filling station. [. . .] I also need that tafsir class. Therefore, it is important, these groups are important, for mutual support.

The arguments referring to the relationship between knowledge and faith are multiple. First of all, as mentioned earlier, it is about the necessity to understand, to be convinced. To find plausibility in the Islamic dogmas which also sound convincing to oneself is the condition for strengthening one’s own faith. Here, once again, the role of the Other is of fundamental importance. To be able to respond with plausible and convincing arguments to questions and criticisms from non-Muslims, arguments oneself really believes in, is an important means to find comfort in one’s own faith. Here again, it is the gender issue in Islam which

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 479 is often a touchstone for these women. Being confronted with an image of Islam which is particularly negative on this issue, it becomes essential to prove to oneself that this representation is wrong. One young woman who works in an Islamic women’s organization stated along this idea: You are also continuously questioned by the environment about all sorts of things. You have to agree with what you say yourself. Explanations for others, okay, but also an explanation for oneself. You also have questions as a Muslim, why this, why that. And if you don’t have any explanation . . . Are women really at a disadvantage? Are my rights recognized? This knowledge you need to have for yourself. The more you know, the more it seems logical to you, the more your faith is strengthened. You believe more intensely.

So, being able to defend Islam aptly cannot be grasped solely in terms of identity politics or an issue of recognition as has been claimed at various times.19 Although this aspect is doubtlessly true, the issue is also very much about the consolidation of one’s own faith and therefore essential for the constitution of a pious subject. Other women put forward a slightly different aspect regarding the link between knowledge and faith. They assume that faith is never acquired in a stable way but must be continually worked on and cultivated. Islamic science is to help the believer become immersed in a permanent atmosphere filled with divine presence which is felt to be practically non-existent in secularized societies. The woman teaching the tafsir class explained this phenomenon to me through a comparison: It is like in any other relationship. To lead a good relationship, whether as a spouse, or as a friend or in parent-child relationships, all relationships require hard work. For the God—human being relationship, it is the same thing. This is work on the God—human being relationship: through the acquisition of knowledge, you get closer to God. This is the interaction of the cognitive and the spiritual aspect of faith. On the one hand, it is the cognitive acquisition of simple knowledge, facts, hadiths, Qur’an verses and the meaning of their contents. On the other hand, it has an effect on the relationship to God. The more knowledge I have, of course, provided that I am convinced of these things, the more I am fulfilled by faith, the more proud I am of my faith, and the deeper are those roots, the more my faith becomes unshakeable. This spiritual growth is absolutely linked to this cognitive growth, which one achieves through access to the Sources.

19

See for example Nökel 2002: 55–56.

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This attitude not only reflects a religious modernity where “validation of belief ” occurs through knowledge (Babès 1997: 138), it also tells us something about the importance given to religious knowledge (‘ilm) and its dissemination by Islamic thought. The virtues of knowledge are repeatedly emphasized in the founding texts of Islam, i.e. the Koran and the ahadith. Knowledge is understood to be in a causal relationship with faith (iman). Faith emerges and can grow through knowledge (Rosenthal 1970:97–108). This is why classical scholarship has turned ‘ilm into a central Islamic “metaphor” (Lapidus 1984). To illustrate this, several women quoted the Koranic verse “Among his servants, only the knowledgeable fears Allah” (35:28). They also mentioned how the classes they attended, the sermons they listened to and books they read, which underscored, for instance, divine clemency, brought them closer to God and elicited feelings of love for God; a feeling which seemed to be, for most of the women, the principal incentive for faith. As one woman frames it: I just learned to understand the feeling of love [for God] recently. Before, I was not really aware of it. [. . .] Al-Hamdulilah, I am much more involved in it [Islamic studies], right now. You have to build upon it. I am right now in the phase of building upon it. I have read several times that this is very precious. [. . .] For example, God is ninety-nine times more clement than a mother towards her infant.

It is also for this reason that several women insisted on the importance of staying away from an excessively rational course of studies. In order to reach the desired objective, knowledge has to be transcended by a spiritual approach. This is why, for instance, a former student of Islamic Studies at the local University quickly changed disciplines. She explained that the way Islam was taught there was too “cold” and “rational”. Such a secular acquisition of knowledge on Islam was not suitable to elicit the desired feelings. So, listening to the words of a preacher-teacher, be it at a conference or a religious class, in a sermon at the mosque, or by listening to tapes, CDs or watching a TV programme, creates emotions which operate as inner dispositions, which are the very basis on which faith is to be constructed. It becomes in Charles Hirschkind’s words, a “moral physiology”, “an emotional experience of a body permeated by Islamic faith.” (Hirschkind 2001b: 628).

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 481 5. Ethical know-how and Islamic way of life In the previous pages I have suggested how acquiring religious knowledge through different channels of the Islamic counter-public space is essential for cultivating emotional dispositions. These dispositions are not only an end to themselves, but are the necessary condition to enable the individual subject to act properly as a Muslim, according to orthodox norms of Islamic piety. This is in line with the classical opinion of scholars according to whom knowledge is the basis of action and must lead to action (Lapidus 1984: 39). Very early in the process of Islamization, they realize that “it is not enough to have faith in the heart” but “it has to be put into action”, questioning thereby implicitly secularized forms of religiosity which identify as the privileged space for authentic faith the inner mind. Consequently, the women I interviewed aim not only at acquiring a deeper understanding of the dogmatic foundations of their religion, but also an ethical know-how which helps them understand Islamic norms and virtues better and allows them to put them to practical use (often gendered) norms with far-reaching restrictions for women is even more urgent within a Western context, which is governed by a logic of modern secular existence where freedom is the leitmotiv and where obedience—especially to Islamic norms—is viewed as being tantamount to sacrificing freedom. Most of the women underline that it is especially the above-mentioned ‘love of God’ which enables them to put into practice the sometimes difficult religious commands, such as, for instance, the donning of the veil. By searching for practical know-how, the women seek out concrete rules which help guide their behaviour in everyday life. Conferences and religious classes are often held with that objective. When classical manuals of Islamic sciences are reviewed in these classes, they especially serve in the understanding of implications for daily conduct. The title of a class in one of the Islamic women’s organization in Cologne reflects precisely this aspect: “tafsir and fiqh: the meaning of the Islamic sources for everyday life of Muslim women”. This need for concrete guidance is also fulfilled within the large-scale market of Islamic pedagogical literature. These booklets cover a range of topics from the formation of an ethical and moral character, to conduct towards parents, among married couples or the importance of adopting a particular dress code for women. It is also reflected in the popularity of Muftis among European Muslims who are consulted on these various issues by telephone

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or via internet. Several women in Cologne mentioned, for instance, that they have consulted at times a “telephone mufti” at the “Islamisches Zentrum Aachen”. Today, fatwas as non-binding legal opinion are a popular means through which scholars answer questions related to everyday life. Traditionally focused on legal subjects, nowadays they address religious practical problems in everyday situations. They are just another example of the reshaping of old religious themes under new conditions (Mahmood 2005: 81–82). As pointed out by Saba Mahmood, strictly speaking this insistence on aspects of daily conduct is aimed more at social relations issues (mu‘amalat) than towards matters of worship ({ibadat). Here we find an understanding of piety which requires religious obligations to penetrate and transform all aspects of the believer’s daily life, however profane. A set of norms must be introduced to judge one’s own behaviour in every field of life, whether private or public. This implies that every action might be turned into an act of worship, as emphasized by the teacher in an Islamic Organization mentioned above: “you can turn your whole life into worship”. Nadine Weibel sums up this phenomenon: “The most trivial of actions, since they are accomplished in with the goal of non-transgression of Allah’s law, is a tribute to the Creator. By ritualizing everyday life, this system renders null and void the principle of duality between the sacred and the profane.” (Weibel 2000: 15). While this statement refers to an idealized perception of secularized societies where religion is assumed to be contained in the well-defined area of private or congregational life, Muslims generally claim this ‘difference’ as part of their particularity. Such an attitude requires a rigorous awareness for a continuous monitoring of one’s own conduct. Acts of daily life are examined in a self-critical and reflexive way for the determination of their conformity with Islamic norms or their rectification. Such reflexivity concerned with the realization of a pious Islamic life has been analysed by some sociologists and anthropologists in terms of ‘objectification’ of religion considered as a sign of modernization. Two of the representatives of this hypothesis are the American anthropologists Dale Eickelman and James Piscatori. They define objectification as a process through which the most basic issues are under the individual believer’s conscious scrutiny. “These explicit, widely shared, and objective questions” are for these scholars “modern queries that increasingly shape the discourse and practice of Muslims in all social classes” (Eickelman/Piscatori 1996: 38).

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 483 The principal features of this objectifi cation are a heightened selfconsciousness and a systematization of religious tradition. This results in a transformation of religious beliefs into a conscious system distinct from non-religious systems (Eickelman/Piscatori 1996: 38). These observations are valid for the context of my research of pious Muslim women in Germany. In the courses given by Islamic organizations or inside peer groups, participants often discuss, rather openly, the ways to bring seemingly insignificant aspects of their life in compliance with the norms of Islamic piety. I witnessed several times how the lessons shifted from their original topic to a discussion of issues the young women brought up regarding the difficulties of conforming oneself to Islamic norms in everyday life, particularly in the context of contacts with the non-Muslim Other. This suggests that the concern for organizing one’s daily life along Islamic standards of virtuous conduct is not only a consequence of some abstract “modern queries” but seems to grow within an environment where one is constantly obliged to deal with one’s difference.20 Particularly striking is how they continually negotiate their desire to respect Islamic norms conscientiously with their fear of ‘damaging the image of Islam’. The example which illustrates this clearly, and which was discussed repeatedly by the women, was the issue of whether to shake hands with men or not. Numerous studies have underscored the changes which accompany the adoption of an Islamic life style in relation to the daily practices which are then regulated along the dual paradigm of halal and haram. Studies on Muslim women have particularly focused on practices regarding gender relations and dress code which are manifest in visible bodily practices. Yet they ignored the striving for the creation of inner ethical dispositions as a condition for this specific corporal activity.21 While focusing on the visible aspects of an Islamic bodily habitus, they neglected the fact that the “authentic self ” (Nökel 2002)22 which 20 For a corresponding remark qualifying the “objectification” thesis, see Mahmood 2005: 54. 21 Indeed, the link between interior dispositions and cultivation of the body has been since classical Islam, with its incorporation of some aspects of the Aristotelian tradition, the basis of the Islamic concept of education. Rendered conscious and ideologized since the Reformist movement (cf. Shakry, op. cit.), it is one of the important pillars on which contemporary Islamic activism is based. 22 The idea of an “authentic Self ” which may be externalized as part of identity politics assumes a autonomous Self which exists prior to social obligations and where subjectivity is about a private space of self-cultivation (See for example Taylor 1991.

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is externalized, or the “inner-self ” which is “turned to the outside” (Göle 2004: 27), is the result of an effort aimed at the transformation of the self into a specific moral being23 emphasized that Islamic bodily practices only bodily practices become possible through an initial notso-visible effort to transform oneself. Acquiring religious knowledge, as stated above, aims at eliciting distinct emotions within the individual, a sort of affective inner dispositions endowing the believer with the capacity for virtuous Islamic conduct. In this sense, acquiring religious knowledge becomes a ‘disciplinary practice’ technology of a righteous reform of the self: It is “a technique for the cultivation and training of certain forms of will, desire, emotion and reason, conceived of as intellectual and bodily aptitudes or virtues that enable Muslims to act correctly as Muslims in accord with orthodox standards of Islamic piety” (Hirschkind 2001a: 10).

6. In lieu of a conclusion In the previous pages, I have showed how my interlocutors by acquiring knowledge in the course of their Islamization process, effected a “selfreform”. This self-fashioning was not realized in an isolated, individualist mode but inside a specific Islamic public sphere set up through institutions of Islamic education, modern media technologies, and/or semi-private gatherings. Unlike the liberal bourgeois public sphere, as conceived by Habermas, this ‘Islamic counter-public’ sphere crosses

The Ethics of Authenticity. Harvard U.P. Cambridge, London). The ethical Islamic self I have tried to describe here, however, is regulated, informed and instructed through a particular religious discourse (Asad, op. cit.: 125). In contemporary Islamic discourse, it is through this process that the authentic self is created: it is by leading a God-willed life that human beings may live in correspondence to their real ‘fitra’ (original nature). It is in this sense that some women told me that they experienced their becoming pious as the “realization” of their “true self ”. 23 I use “moral” in the sense Foucault gave to this notion (Foucault 1984). To Foucault, morals concern the way individuals submit themselves to a principle of conduct and the way they constitute themselves as a moral subject acting in reference to prescriptive elements which compose the code. (36–37) It is in relation to this aspect, the aspect of subjectivation, that Foucault uses the term ‘ethics’. In this schema, ethics is a subset of the category of ‘morality’, but is given special attention by Foucault: it is the fi eld of relation of self to self in which critical reflection occurs (41–44).

how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 485 distinctions between private and public by addressing and discussing openly the moral and spiritual conduct through the “disciplining power of ethical speech” (Hirschkind 2001a). Yet, we should not confuse this counter-public debate on moral virtues with an authoritarian space where these virtues are imposed. In the Islamic spaces in Germany as elsewhere in the West, it is primarily about “forms of social life and organization more intensely regulated by voluntary associationism”. (Salvatore 1998: 92). The women I interviewed enrol themselves at their own devices into this “elective fraternity” (Hervieu-Léger 1993: 217) and take part in its counter-public sphere where the ‘nonliberal’ values are emphasized and negotiated. Though ‘anti-liberal’, this sphere, essentially created through religious knowledge dissemination, is not anti-modern, but involves a different, alternate modernity (Göle 2002) in which typical for the (post)modern condition a “rising introspection and concern for the self are the leitmotifs” (Salvatore 1998: 109). In this counter public sphere, the encouraged virtues constitute a set of public norms (or counter-public norms). I use the term ‘public’ because its goal is not only the salvation of individual Muslims but the articulation of a particular historical project: the constitution of a virtuous Muslim community within the German Diaspora, one which is knowledgeable, exemplary and therefore “civilized” (Göle 1996). For women, this project implies more precisely to form a community which acknowledges and respects Islamic women’s rights. In this sense, Islamization is experienced by the women I interviewed as a way of empowering themselves. Furthermore, it is with these attributes, exemplary and ‘civilized’, that the Muslim community seeks recognition by the majority society. Promoting gender justice (even if Islamically defined, that is in the sense of gender equity rather than equality) is its condition since the ‘oppression of women’ is one of the main accusations that face Muslims in Germany and elsewhere. The specific Islamic virtues and norms, on the other hand, form the basis of the awareness of being different from the perceived Western subject. For Muslims, it also becomes a resource with which they can contribute to the development of Western “laisser-faire” societies, viewed as lacking in moral references. Several pamphlets of German Islamic organizations describe, for example, the role of Islam in Germany in this sense and ask their members to excel in their personal conduct so they may become a model for others (Seufert 1996: 318–319). Therefore, the work of transformation of the inner self might also lead to (more external) identity politics where

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the performance and visibility of the body becomes the means in this game of recognition (Göle 2002). The process of Islamization, as reflected by the women I interviewed, is embedded into a specific dynamic relationship between the self, the Islamic community and the larger social environment. It is a reform turned inwards drawing on community resources (e.g. religious authorities), while at the same time leading to tension within the very community when it comes to the women’s struggle for renegotiating gender relations (an aspect on which recent literature has repeatedly insisted upon). But it also depends, as shown in the course of the contribution, depends heavily on tensions with the surrounding non-Muslim society. Ultimately, the refashioning of the inner-self which I emphasized here, in view of the lack of attention it received in the context of migration, leads to further visible external consequences. These materialize in a gendered way in the body and can, in turn, become at times a basis to operate recognition politics.

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how muslim women become pious in the german diaspora 487 Gonzales-Quijano, Yves. 1991. Les livres islamiques: histoires ou mythes? In Peuples méditerranéens 56–57: 283–292. Hirschkind, Charles. 2001a. Civic Virtue and Religious Reason: An Islamic Counterpublic. In Cultural Anthropology 16 (1): 3–34. —— 2001b. The ethics of listening: cassette-sermon audition in contemporary Egypt. In American Ethnologist 28 (3): 623–649 (See page: 628). Jonker, Gerdien. 2002. Eine Wellenlänge zu Gott. Der „Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren“ in Europa. Bielefeld: transcript. —— 2003. Islamic Knowledge through a Women’s Lens: Education, Power and Belief. In Social Compass 50 (1), 35–46. Klinkhammer, Gritt. 2000. Moderne Formen islamischer Lebensführung. Eine qualitativempirische Untersuchung zur Religiosität sunnitisch geprägter Türkinnen der zweiten Generation in Deutschland. Marburg: Diagonal-Verlag. Lapidus, Ira M. 1984. Knowledge, Virtue, and Action: The Classical Muslim Conception of Adab and the Nature of Religious Fulfilment in Islam. In Moral Conduct and Authority. The Place of Adab in South Asian Islam. Edited by B. D. Metcalf. Berkely and Los Angeles: University of California Press: 38–61. Mahmood, Saba. 2005. Politics of Piety. The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton and Oxford: Stanford University Press. Maréchal, Brigitte. 2003. Modalities of Islamic Instruction. In Muslims in the Enlarged Europe. Religion and Society. Edited by Brigitte Maréchal et al. Leiden, Boston: Brill: 19–78. Nökel, Sigrid. 1999. Das Projekt der Neuen Islamischen Weiblichkeit als Alternative zu Essentialisierung und Assimilierung. In: Kern und Rand. Religiöse Minderheiten aus der Türkei in Deutschland. Edited by Gerdien Jonker. Berlin: Das arabische Buch: 187–206. —— 2002. Die Töchter der Gastarbeiter und der Islam. Zur Soziologie alltagsweltlicher Anerkennungspolitiken. Eine Fallstudie. Bielefeld: transcript. Roest Crollius, Ary R. 1978. Mission and Morality. Al-amr bi-l-ma’ruf as expression of the communitarian and missionary dimensions of qur’anic ethics. In Studia Missionalia 27: 257–284. Rosenthal, Franz. 1970. Knowledge triumphant. Leiden: E. J. Brill Saint-Blancat, Chantal. 2002. Islam in Diaspora: Between Reterritorialization and Extraterritoriality. In International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 26 (1): 138–51. —— 2004. La transmission de l’islam auprès des nouvelles générations de la diaspora. In Social Compass 51 (2): 235–247. Salvatore, Armando. 1998. Staging Virtue: The Disembodiment of Self-Correctness and the Making of Islam as Public Norm. In Islam—Motor or Challenge of Modernity. Yearbook of the Sociology of Islam. Edited by Georg Stauth and Helmuth Buchholt. Lit: Hamburg: 87–120. Schiffauer, Werner. 1991. Die Migranten aus Subay, Türken in Deutschland: Eine Ethnographie. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Seufert, Günter. 1996. Die Millî-Görüs-Bewegung. Zwischen Integration und Isolation. In Turkish Islam and Europe. Türkischer Islam und Europa. Europe and Christianity as reflected in Turkish Muslim discourse & Turkish Muslim life in the Diaspora. Edited by Günter Seufert and Jacques Waardenburg. Stuttgart: Franz-Steiner Verlag: 295–322. Shakry, Omnia.1998. Schooled Mothers and Structured Play: Child Rearing in Turnof-the-Century Egypt. In Remaking women: feminism and modernity in the Middle East. Edited by Abu-Lughod, Lila. Princeton, New Jersey: 126–169. Taylor, Charles. 1989. Sources of the Self. The making of modern identity. Cambridge: Cambridge U.P.

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Tietze, Nikola. 2003. Muslimische Religiosität in Deutschland: Welche Perspektiven für die Forschung? In Berliner Debatte Initial 14 (4/5): 197–207. Weibel, Nadine B. 2000. Par-delà le voile. Femmes d’islam en Europe. Bruxelles: Editions Complexe. Werbner, Pnina. 1990. The migration process: capital, gifts and offerings among British Pakistanis. New York, Oxford, Munich: Berg.

GENDER IN TRANSITION: THE CONNECTEDNESS OF GENDER AND ETHNICITY IN BIOGRAPHIES OF FEMALE ENTREPRENEURS OF TURKISH BACKGROUND Verena Schreiber

1. Introduction Entrepreneurial activities of people with migration background have become a matter of growing interest within migration studies. As part of this process, the entrepreneurial activity of women is receiving increasing attention. This is due to the fact that more women are setting up their own businesses. Currently there are approximately 60.000 Turkish entrepreneurs in Germany. One fifth of these are women (Center for Studies on Turkey 2002/2003: 143 et seq.). To acknowledge this development, several authors have integrated the category “gender” into their theoretical approaches. Although there is an interdisciplinary consensus that the terms gender and ethnicity do not describe essential and given identities, the terms often enter unreflectedly into explanations of different patterns of entrepreneurial behavior in research on immigrant business (e.g. Light/Rosenstein 1995). An application of concepts like gender and ethnicity that ignores the socially constructed character of identities has far-reaching consequences, because it reinforces the discourse of difference between men and women, German women and Turkish women. My essay is based on the idea that not only elements of ethnicity but also gender aspects strongly effect the entrepreneurial activities of women—but not as a gender specific behavior that is founded in some kind of “female nature”. Within different social settings and contexts, female entrepreneurs draw on conceptions of gender and ethnicity as central categories of social knowledge. My theoretical concept is based upon (de)constructive approaches in gender and ethnicity research (e.g. Bondi 1993; McDowell 1999). According to these scholars, gender—along with ethnicity—is a permanently reproduced social output of individuals that can be evoked by any social act (“doing gender”). Consequently gender and ethnicity

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are not given naturally but are in fact the result of social constructions. Applied to the entrepreneurial behavior of women with a migrational background this means that gender and ethnicity form two fundamental patterns of knowledge that are reproduced, modifi ed and inextricably connected in daily business activities. Starting out from these assumptions I secondly refer to studies of “Trans-Difference” that do enable me to gain a more pluralistic perspective. “Trans-Difference” understood as “being-in-between” describes the mutual superposition of socially constructed affiliations (Reuter 2004a). In this sense formerly stable categories as gender or ethnicity that structured the social life unquestionably lose their definiteness in postmodern societies. Theoretically this observation is confirmed by concepts like trans-culturalism, trans-gender or trans-national migration. At the same time dichotomous categories still have substantial influence on the routine practices of entrepreneurs. Boundaries that can be based upon categories as origin and gender offer orientation in communication and have leading effect on interaction. My essay has two aims: At first I want to open the research on conceptions of ethnicity and entrepreneurial action for the (de)constructive approaches of gender studies. With regard to this the fi rst part of the article gives insight into the changes and current streams of gender studies. “Gender” belongs to the “fast traveling notions” between various disciplines, therefore it is indispensable to distinguish between different notions (Knapp 2001: 57). This change of perspectives makes it possible to develop a critical distance instead of focusing solely on the “special features” of entrepreneurs with a Turkish background. It is necessary to retrace how gendered classifications and categories become effective in female entrepreneurial action. By analyzing biographical cases of female entrepreneurs with migration background, I will illustrate how discourses of ethnicity and gender are inextricably intertwined in entrepreneurial action. This approach offers the possibility to analyze the social production of knowledge and meaning in their complexity. In this analysis, two aspects are given special emphasis: On the one hand the female entrepreneurs can be seen as producers as well as users of a symbolic discourse of gender and ethnicity. The question here is how boundaries between “woman” and “man”, “German” and “Turkish” are being constructed by them and reproduced discursively. On the other hand the activities of “doing gender” in everyday-live are of interest—the practice, renegotiation and transition of gender identities.

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2. Migration, Gender and Entrepreneurship Currently there are 12000 female entrepreneurs with a Turkish background in Germany. The most well known lines of businesses in which Turkish women set up their companies, are in the food industry (snackbars, restaurants, grocery stores, catering etc.), the field of “wellness” (hairdressers, cosmetics etc.) as well as in the textile industry (tailor’s shops, bride fashion etc.)1 (Hillmann 1998: 18). But Turkish women are also becoming more active in highly qualified positions. Furthermore, there are numerous Turkish women who gain University degrees and often settle down as doctors or attorneys. Although there is a considerable amount of female Turkish entrepreneurs, a consideration of them as self-maintained entrepreneurs still is blocked by an understanding of Turkish people as “Gastarbeiter” (dependent occupation with a temporal limit). Women in general have been under-represented in migration research (Aufhauser 2000: 99). And when they became the subject of analysis, however, the perspective was influenced by images of West-German women. The first Turkish women, which arrived in Germany due to the “Gastarbeiter”-recruitment, were considered as suppressed and isolated women. The prevailing opinion in the public discourse was that a woman with migration background is closely connected to traditions, to her family, and dependent of her husband (Westphal 1996: 17 et seqq.; Kontos 1997: 282). This had the consequence that women were seen as being socially disadvantaged because of their migration background (Hummrich 2002: 21 et seqq.). Even when the professional activity of the female migrants moved into the center of interest, professional work is solely considered in terms of emancipation. This simplifying conception of migrants as “victims” or “exotic” became a subject matter of critique in political disputes between migrant and german women and for the fi rst time, the variety of womens’ living conditions was embraced in research (Gutiérrez Rodríguez 1999: 23 et seqq.). In the meantime there are numerous studies that reflect a refined image of the everyday life of female migrants and studies that try to draw attention to the connection between processes of gender and ethnicity 1 The Turkish trade directory “Iş Rehberi Berlin” (1996–2002) offers an insight into the diverse fields in which women of Turkish origin open their businesses, as well as the “NRW-Rehber” (2000–2001) and the database “Türkatlas—Türkisches Branchenbuch Deutschland” (www.tuerkatlas.de).

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(e.g. Riesner 1990; Hettlage-Varjas/Hettlage 1995; Palm 2000; Schlehe 2001; Nökel 2002; Richter 2003). Although “gender-blind” approaches dominate research until the present day, the effects of the abovementioned paradigmatic shift can also be recognized in the research on immigrant business. On the one hand many authors conceive entrepreneurial action of Migrants as a reflex on general structural conditions, particularly specific conditions in the destination country and the possibilities of market admission by sliding in niche markets. On the other hand there are concepts that start from the entrepreneurs themselves and their own “specific” culture. Scholars focus on cultural traditions or social networks an conceptualize them as group resources that migrant entrepreneurs seem to share due to their common origin. On the international level however, there have already been several female authors who do acknowledge the entrepreneurial action of women in their theoretical conceptions (e.g. Phizaklea 1988; Dallalfar 1994; Strüder 2002). However, up to now there are only a few studies in the german-speaking scientific community that do justice to the increasing nationwide trend of entrepreneurial activity of women with migration background (esp. Kontos 1997; Hillman 1998). In these studies mostly questions of employment, start-up motivations, social contexts, as well as the context of space, and the importance of the community for the founding of an enterprise are considered. However, attempts to overcome the common “gender blindness” by identifying supposed ‘female courses of action’, ‘female perceptions’ and ‘female ways of thinking’ run risk to reproduce discourses of difference between men and women.

3. Culture, Ethnicity and Entrepreneurship Approaches in immigrant business-research that try to explain entrepreneurial activity of foreigners by considering cultural and above all ethnical features have similar difficulties (cp. about this problem Pütz in this publication). Those approaches are based on the idea that any action is determined by descent and origin. In the context of the “cultural turn” this perception of the world as “a patchwork of differential and territorial cultures” (Boeckler 1999: 181) has been challenged and overcome. Culture is no longer conceptualized as bound to a limited unit

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of space, the focus is rather directed towards the multiple practices of reproducing and representing cultural orders between actors, territories and spaces (Reuter 2004b: 239). In “Transculturality as Practice” Pütz (2004) develops a new concept to examine essential ethnic demarcations. Pütz clarifies that cultural boundaries are constitutive in entrepreneurial action of foreigners indeed, however not as some kind of “ethnic foundation” of the actors (ibid. 2003: 558), but as encoding schemes that facilitate the maintenance and acceptance of systems of order, reduce complexity and constitute identities (ibid. 2004: 11). Therefore, it seems less than promising to compare different groups of immigrants and their specific entrepreneurial behavior with each other, or explain economic success by relying on unreflected cultural categories like ethnicity (ibid. 2004: 20 et seq.). On the contrary, the focus of interest should be the question how demarcations based on migration background are being used in entrepreneurial action. My considerations on female entrepreneurial activities are based on this change of perspectives. As it seems to be the case that even attempts to differentiate between female and male modes of entrepreneurial action are bound to fail, it is not the aim of this article to reveal differences between men and women. On the contrary the category of gender should first and foremost be considered as being constructed socially and discursively. Because just like ethnicity, the category of gender is a crucial part of systems of knowledge and consequently has constitutive impact on in entrepreneurial action that in turn stabilize and negotiate identities. As gender and ethnicity cannot be conceptualized separately, they should consequently be considered equally (Pütz/Schreiber/Welpe i. p.). Nevertheless, it is unavoidable to point out the different possibilities to think gender in order to apprehend the demarcation logics based on gender on the one hand, and to be prepared for the empirical examinations on the other hand.

4. Ways of Thinking of the Category of Gender in Gender Studies Humans exist as men and women in every day life. Women’s and gender studies basically confront this “certainty” with two different approaches (cp. fig. 1). There are, on the one side, essentialist concepts that deal with the question whether men and women are equal in their being

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or not. Regardless of the represented position, the necessity arises to counteract against structural disparity and patriarchal discrimination. On the other hand there are (radical-)constructivist approaches. Here, the starting point of analysis is also based on empirical observations of gender differences. However, these approaches should not automatically be considered as normative, but rather as a result of every day action and discursive constructions. Differential and egalitarian approaches: The center of interest of every feminist study is how differences in gender are fundamentally to be understood. Differential and egalitarian approaches found their argumentations on conceptualizations of an “essence” of human beings. According to these scholars, men and women are principally “different” or “equal”. Especially during the second feminist movement in Germany in the 1970’s, the “difference” between men and women became a key issue in the social and political sciences. “Equality” and “difference” dominated the debate in the following years and blocked alternative constructivist theory drafts (Gildemeister/Wetterer 1992: 203). The idea that people are “different” due to their gender and their origin, that they have specifi c attributes and abilities and therefore perform certain actions has also influenced the perception of women in the research on immigrant business. They were visible, however not as entrepreneurs themselves, but only as helping dependants. The female migrant does not only appear as a victim of patriarchic circumstances but is also seen as a resource for entrepreneurial activities and career of the male migrants (Kontos 1997: 282). The female migrant is never considered as being entrepreneurial active on her own. Approach of ‘Practice Theory’ (doing gender): A paradigmatic shiftin the feminist discourse on differences in gender was already indicated in 1949 in the well known sentence of Simone de Beauvoir “One is not born a woman, but becomes one”. In this approach, the differences and similarities between men and women are not the center of interest, but rather the question how they are socially constructed and reproduced. Garfinkel (1967) and Goffman (1977) took up on this train of thought and consequently focused their analysis on interaction and every day practices, which were now considered to be constitutive for social order. This also leaded to a conceptual differentiation between sex and gender (Kessler/McKenna 1978). Gender has to be understood as socially constructed through every day actions that take place in different

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essentialistic approaches essentialistic approaches differential approach egalitarian approach men and women are principally ‘different’

men and women are principally ‘equal’

Women’s and Gender Studies constructivist approaches approach of ‘Practice Theory’ gender as a result of every day interaction

approach of ‘Discourse Theory’ sex and gender as results of discursive ascribings of meaning Schreiber 2005

Figure 1: Dimensions of Gender and Sex Categories in Women’s and Gender Studies.

contexts and situations and therefore always is changeable. West and Zimmerman (1987) programmatically labeled this process doing gender. Sex is granted indeed, gender however does not derive from this in a direct way.2 In the social construction of gender, all people draw on the binary principle that permanently classifies them and assigns them to one of the two categories of gender for their whole life. Categories like woman/man or feminine/masculine act as codes within social classifications, which create social reality in a meaningful context of 2 The distinction of “sex” and “gender”, at first, seems appropriate to prescind from the “nature of woman” theory. “Sex” is understood as to be biological and is defined by morphology, hormones, anatomy and other aspects of human physiology. On the contrary, gender is to be comprehended as a gained status, that is culturally shaped, which has, and also creates its own, “feminine” and “masculine” forms (Villa 2001: 55). At least two aporia are connected through this separation. A distinction of the two tiers implies the assumption, that there is a difference at least in the field of the biological sex, and thus leads to a displaced biologism (Hagemann-White 1988: 230). A second deficit is shown in the parallelization of the two dimensions. This results in the consequence, that gender analogous to the biological sex can be thought to be binary penned, whereas the assumption that more than two genera could exist, is seen to be impossible from the biological view (Gildemeister/Wetterer 1992: 206 et seq.).

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action. Simultaneously, they establish the presupposition to participate in communication. Hence, biological features can become essential symbols for gender (Kessler/McKenna 1978: 112 et seq.). The idea that gender is socially constructed can also be transferred to the concept of ethnicity (e.g. West/Fenstermaker 1995; Lenz 1996). Demarcations along the categories of gender and ethnicity simultaneously imply homogeneity “inwards” and heterogeneity “outwards”. These distinctions between “self ” and “other”, between women and men, between Turkish and German women “are then brought forward to affirm and reaffirm the ‘essentially different natures’ of different category members and institutional arrangements based on these. The accomplishment of class, race and gender makes social arrangements based on category membership understandable as normal and natural (i.e., as legitimate) modes of social organization. Thus, distinctions that are generated through this process are seen as basic and enduring dispositions of persons. In the end, patriarchy, racism, and class oppression are seen as responses to those dispositions—as if the social order were merely a rational accommodation to ‘natural differences’ among social beings” (Fenstermaker/West 2002: 207). Even knowledge of sex and gender that is based on natural sciences research is not independent of culturally established conceptions of difference. Consequently, the distinction between man/woman always predetermines the scientific research. In selecting my target group according to gender and declaring it to be my starting point of analysis, I paradoxically also had to base my research on previous knowledge which assigns this group to the category of men/women. In this respect even constructivist approaches are insufficient, since they spread the assumption that by conceiving gender differences as constructed, these categories automatically lose their importance (Wetterer 1995: 226 et seq.). Due to this, the concept of doing gender is of vital importance for the comprehension of entrepreneurial action of women with migration background. In this theory of action, the mechanisms of the everyday production of gender differences and ethnicity—as doing culture—come to the fore. Ethnicity and gender constitute two central systems of knowledge which become entangled in every day interaction. As the biographies of female Turkish entrepreneurs will show, they reproduce and renegotiate the boundaries to the “other” as well as their “own” gender

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in their professional every day life. Familiar arrangements of gender differences are muddled up by this and are enhanced by new perspectives on gender identity. Approach of ‘Discourse Theory’: The constructivist approach of doing gender has been further influenced by the “linguistic turn” and radicalized by (post-)structural theories of discourse. Here, even the biological sex also is constructed and regarded as being part of a regulated discursive practice. According to Judith Butler (1990), gender also comprises “the discursive/cultural means by which “sexed nature” or “a natural sex” is produced and established as “prediscursive”, prior to culture, a politically neutral surface on which culture acts.” (ibid.: 7). Language plays a crucial role in claiming the existence of a preceding natural sex. But with language as a sign-system, apparently “natural things” like sex and the body as well as ethnicity are not simply “described”. On the contrary, language is productive and constitutive. One could even claim that language is performative, because it is the very act of denotation that constitutes the body, even the act of denotation also claims to simply describe something that exists pre-discursively (Butler 1995: 52). Thus, performative denotation acts of gender do construct reality. They achieve their significance primarily through the designation of men and women. That is to say a biological difference does not exist as a pre-discursive reality. The concept of sex is a denotation act of its own. Based on the abovementioned considerations and informed by deconstructivist concepts, gender and ethnicity as analytical categories are conceptionalized as follows: In the discussion of entrepreneurial action between women with a Turkish background, first and foremost the heterogeneous life scripts have to be acknowledged. By doing so, I try to avoid to make generalizing conclusions about typical “female courses of action” or “female characteristics”. Instead, a continuous change in perspectives is postulated, which in turn can only take place under consideration of a multitude of contexts. Hereby, essentialist concepts of gender can be rejected effectively and conflicting ways of inscribing the meaning of gender can be embraced. Simultaneously, the production of meaning itself, conceived as the discursive production of differences in gender and ethnicity can be retraced. One can comprehend how boundaries emerge between men and women as well as between German and Turkish women, and become powerful in entrepreneurial contexts.

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The assumption that gender and ethnicity are not unalterable but can principally be thought and lived differently, raises the question whether these two categories can still be seen as principle orders. How and in which contexts can gender and ethnicity be used as distinguishing features in entrepreneurial action? Overall, the question of West and Zimmerman (1987): “. . . can we ever not do gender?” (ibid.: 37) does not seem plausible any more. It can be noticed with Pasero (1994), that we can find claims for individualization from women that are not in line with societal expectations. Gender may be present as a background expectation, in this case, but is not a vital category of order in every single given context (Heintz/Nadai 1998: 82). Authors argue that gender can also take second place in favor of other social criteria or may even be purposefully neutralized in a given situation or context. Hirschauer (1994) accordingly speaks of “undoing gender” and of a “resting” of the routine distinction of gender. The neutralization of gender affiliation is a productive process just like “doing gender” is. People are able to discuss their gender in a matter that results in gender remaining a quite invisible force of in social life. Especially in male dominated occupational fields, to be recognized for their professionalism, women have to permanently keep the balance between “doing gender” and “undoing gender” (Heintz/Nadai 1998: 82). Based on these assumptions, the following insight into the life stories of female Turkish entrepreneurs is instructed by several guiding questions: Which role does gender play in entrepreneurial action? How and in which contexts is gender practiced, actualized, renegotiated, and flexibly employed in the everyday routines of “doing gender” and “undoing gender”? How is gender reproduced discursively in entrepreneurial action by women with a migration background, e.g. how are boundaries set along features of gender in the entrepreneurial biographies? How are gender and ethnicity interlinked in the discursive production of significance in entrepreneurial action?

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6. Perspectives of Gender and Ethnicity in the Biographies of Female Turkish Entrepreneurs In this analysis, narratives of gender and ethnicity are accessed through the biographical self-descriptions of female entrepreneurs. By reflecting their actions and their choices made, the women became representatives and theorists of themselves at the same time. While narrating their own situational behavior and actions, the interviewees developed explanations for their decisions and conceptualized evaluation criteria for their actions. During the narration process, the interviewed women on the one hand reflected on experiences and decisions in the past and on the other hand contrasted these to their current positions and opinions (Rosenthal 1995). The complex conception of biographies allows a contextualized reflection on doing gender and an analysis of the powerful effects institutionalized structures of gender do produce. Due to the fact that a biography is a narrative construct, it can always be considered as a construction of gender affiliation and can be analyzed as such (Dausien 1996). Firstly, I will focus on gender discourses and the establishment of “femininity” in the context of entrepreneurial action. Subsequently, the contextualized and flexible use of gender and ethnicity codes will be in the center of interest. 6.1 Discourses of Gender and the Construction of “Femininity” in Entrepreneurial Action Essentialist feminist theories are based on the assumption that a gendered identity arises from the affiliation to one of the two “naturally given” sexes. The axis of sexual difference is considered as a “natural” boundary where countless social differences are lined up. Such “every day” essentialist theories also re-emerge in the biographies of female entrepreneurs. In their narratives the women refer to categories like “equal and unequal”, “feminine and masculine” or “German and Turkish”. These diametrical categories obviously help in making decisions, provide orientation in every day life, and enable people to establish a social position, identity and membership (Bauer 2002: 63). At the same time the stereotypical ascriptions continue to create boundaries to the “other” gender. Aynur, Melike and Derya (codenames) were born in Turkey and came to Germany in their childhood to rejoin their family. Education

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has a very significant value in their biographies. They all passed their secondary-school exams and attained a university degree, even though all of them had experiences with discrimination in their schooltime. The entrepreneurs present themselves as contrast figures in the gender discourse by accentuating their educational advancement. Aynur is a lawyer and general manager of a law office with several employees. In arranging her life between her job and her family, it becomes clear that a structural splitting of women’s and men’s world does not exist any more. However, she is still confronted with ascriptions of “being-a-woman” in her everyday life. And she reproduces the discourse of gender differences by confronting the “typical lifestyle of a Turkish housewife” with her own life as a successful entrepreneur: It’s no-, not about the money, really. Of course, everybody wants to earn money, but now, in this phase of my life it’s not about money. I’m concerned to maintain what I have built up for myself, to maintain that for which I sacrificed so much. Naturally, housewives can’t understand the responsibility I have to bear. They can’t comprehend what that really means. They just say, “No, why? Just close the door and come outside.” No, I’ve got a deadline to hold. Of course they can’t understand. No, certainly, some things develop a little, certain things just drift apart. Even though I still love them. I love my sister, I, I even like my sister-in-law, very much. And, eh, certainly, you notice that you can’t talk to them about certain fields. Because one has changed, because you’re different. One has certain ide-, I mean, they still have their ideas of, of “being a woman”. They still have their idea of family, and naturally if I told them what I think about that, that wouldn’t work out well, really (laughs).

On the axis of professional qualification, Aynur subdivides “being a woman” in two categories, “housewife” and “entrepreneur”. By doing so, she conceptualizes a meaningful and legitimate context for her own actions. Together with her categories, she identifies a “traditional field of feminine operations” and allocates this in the domestic area. She enhances her entrepreneurial activity by using phrases that have a “masculine” connotation, e.g. “being responsible to feed the family”, “having to earn money” or “to build something up”. Aynur ascribes social relevance to her actions, since she has to make decisions and bears responsibility. However, the domestic area is neglected due to missing professional qualifications and arbitrariness. The domestic area therefore is seen as a symbol of “underdeveloped femininity”, whereas entrepreneurial action stands for change and progress. The establishment of a hierarchy as a discursive effect therefore not only takes place in processes of demarcation towards the opposite

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gender. Boundaries are also drawn within the category “woman”, defined as “housewife” and “entrepreneur”. On the one hand, this leads to a renegotiation of the category “woman”. On the other hand, stereotypes are established within the category “woman” and the development of demarcations is intensified. Aynur reinforces the differentiation between “entrepreneur” and “housewife” by parallelizing the discourses of gender and ethnicity: Yes, yes, a typical Turkish man, ehh, one has, I have, or rather, society thinks of a, eh, man that wants a housewife, who wants a woman to do the chores, to take care of the kids, who gives birth to children, who does the chores and that assists her husband at work. Who always stays in the background and, eh, always pushes her husband in the foreground. And that was different with my husband. He always supported me. I was, I never did the chores. Eh, if I did the cooking or not, that is, that wasn’t important. Ehm (pause), I was pushed in front, or at least I could stay up in front. And he accepted it, that he stays in the background and that his wife does the carrier.

By picking up the social discourse of “feminine” responsibility and projecting it onto her Turkish surrounding, Aynur on the one hand reproduces and stabilizes stereotypes of “being a woman” and the importance of “origin”. Within her family she is confronted with gender specific affiliations that are derived from national and ethnic categories. Aynur is faced with a family-model that is dominated by the “typical Turkish man”. In presenting herself as an antagonist figure she draws a line within the category “woman” (between “housewife” and “entrepreneur”) and within the category “Turkish” (between “typical Turks” and “other Turks”). The construction of boundaries between “Turks” and between “men and women” takes place and increases in the very moment she tries to detach herself from social assignments by putting emphasis on her occupation. On the other hand she presents her own life story as an alternative draft to the homogenizing discourse of gender and ethnicity. Aynur attempts to dissolve the ambivalence between her professional qualifications and her gender-based responsibility. Thus, she designs an alternative family-model, in which she reverses gender specific allocations of activities. First of all a concept like this enables to abolish the differentiation of gender based on spacial boundaries and secondly allows to free “femininity” of expectations of responsibility, e.g. of the household. The rejection of spacial boundaries however, does not imply that gender achieves a versatile meaning in entrepreneurial action. Quite

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the contrary, Melike emphasizes that “masculine” patterns of behavior are necessary to successfully manage her dental practice: As an educated woman [. . .] there m-, you don’t have any difficulties. And it isn’t important, if some people say that you have to be better than men to be successful in business as a woman, that isn’t true. One has to be exactly as hard-working, exactly, ehm, stan-, stand up for it. Men might be a bit more open-minded, wo-, women a little less, men are, eh, more active and women aren’t that active and that is why they have difficulties. But if women behave exactly the same as men, then you don’t have any difficulties at all, I never had any.

Melike associates her entrepreneurial success to specific conceptualizations of gender. She constructs success as a “masculine” attribute. Therefore, personal qualifications lose their importance beyond the standardizations of gender. “Femininity” is discarded as a principle of action in professional life. In Melike’s opinion “female patterns of action” cannot lead to success in professional life. With her idea of “women”, Melike reproduces the discourse of “female inability” to successfully do business management. Gender is not a feature that can be drawn onto, or pushed in the background on demand in the context of the discourse of “entrepreneurial success”. Thus, Melike can not deprive herself of the fact that entrepreneurship is “supercharged” with ascriptions of gender. To be successful, Melike is forced to reject “feminine” principles of action and has to orientate herself on masculine ones. Due to her idea of action practice and her performative denotation of a “feminine work ethic”, Melike stands for an idea of “being a woman” that is conform to differential approaches. 6.2

Flexibility of Gendered Identities in Entrepreneurial Action

Just like ethnicity, gender is present in every interaction, but can also be neutralized purposely—in favor of economic success. Such a flexible application of gendered identities, besides ethnicity, can be considered as another element of “strategic transculturalism” (Pütz 2004). As an ability to express gendered schemes of knowledge, which can in turn be applied to different situations and contexts. After examining the entrepreneurs as users and reproducers of the hierarchic gender discourse, I will now concentrate on the flexible and strategic application of gender codes. Ascriptions of meaning to “femininity” are reproduced especially in professional life, in everyday interaction and denotation

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practice. Every application of the gender system of rules is at the same time interpretation and re-negotiation. This enables the participants to re-organize norms and flexibly apply connotations of gender. Derya, being an architect, has to assert herself in a career field that is primarily dominated by men. Indeed, by now there already are many women who work in this career field, but they still have predominantly to cooperate with male tradesmen on the building sites. Even though her qualification actually privileges her, she is confronted with mechanisms of exclusion. On the axis of gendered differentiation, Derya automatically is allocated to the “female” gender. Inevitably, she is confronted with perceptions of specific “female” patterns of behavior. Her individual qualifications remaining unconsidered: For example, a woman is damn tough on the building site, it’s just a damn tough business. Eh, that’s because you have to work with a whole lot of builders that just don’t have any acceptance of women. [. . .] In addition, if you’re such a small, eh, woman, and, and, and you don’t really look tough, then, the men here just think, you know, she can’t really tell me how I’ve got to build this now. At the most, she can tell which color I have to take, but she can’t tell me how I’ve got to build this now, can she.

According to this description the construction site is a spot where a struggle between the different interpretations of “being a woman” takes place. To be able to assert herself, Derya therefore adopts a leadership style that is connotated to that of men. This seems to be legitimate in this surrounding. Ergo, her representation of her gendered identity depends on the local surroundings and the perceptions of others: As a woman, one really has to say: No more games. O.k. you always have to keep the distance, yeah, and always let them know, guys, you’re working for me, o.k., I’m the guy, who’s in charge. I tell them, how it’s to be done. And, never let yourself be persuaded. [. . .] You know, you can still ask for his opinion, but you’ve got to be careful, be careful with the formulation of the question.

Derya has the ability to flexibly use gendered identities in her entrepreneurial action. She orientates her outer perception on the construction site on a “male” system of rules. This seems to make sense in this context and is accepted by her environment. Patterns of behavior that are assigned with female and male attributes can consequently be seen as elements of a repertoire of options in action. These can be allotted depending on the context. The dentist Melike successfully manages to

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manipulate her gendered identity so far that she is no longer perceived as a “woman” in interaction with Turkish men. Due to her professional displacement she experiences a kind of “gender change”: With, to me they talk just the same as they would with a man. I mean then I am, in their eyes, rather more, ehm, I’ m the doctor, but not a woman. That can be, eh, they differentiate that indeed. I think, they would, for example, I don’t know, if you know that, ehm, cafés, where only Turkish men go to. Turkish cafés. And if I would go there, that wouldn’t even, ehm, bother them. They would also talk with me. But if one of their own wives would go there they wouldn’t let her in. That’s because I’m their doctor, that’s it. But I am, in their eyes I’m not the woman, not, no woman at all. Some of them say “Doctor, sir” to me, that’s more manlike for them (laughs).

Differentiations in gender and the construction of spacial boundaries are interlinked with each other. In entering a space that is defined by male symbolism, the female entrepreneurs refer to a stock of knowledge. In this case it is the binary principle of gender that lets the action appear meaningful in the respective context. The presentation of a gendered identity—in this case the male one—is not bound to the supposed gender affiliation of the acting person. It rather depends on the surroundings in which the female entrepreneur interacts with others. This can also be shown in the case of Aynur, who strategically uses her “femininity” in the courtroom: But being a woman wasn’t really a problem, not even with the men, and not with women. In, I don’t know, I experienced it in a positive way. On, on the contrary, I mean I have more success in the courtroom, at least that’s what I think. O.k., alright, not with female judges. They don’t like me that much, but with the men. (laughs silently)

Aynur displays a flexible handling of ascribed gendered identities in her career. According to the situation, she identifies female or male connotated expectations of action from her counterpart and adjusts her further proceeding. The opposite gender is crucial for her action. She then represents herself as the sexual counterpart. She uses this strategy very strategically to be successful in her career. Derya not only utilizes her gender, but also her origin to be successful in business: The origin, eh, of course, does play a role again for me. For example, I often become orders, eh, especially targeted by customers that would like to, eh, let’s say, they would like their work to be done, you know, not by a German woman. Because, I have often had customers, for example, that

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have said, ‘Hey, we want something exceptionally exotic’. They connect the origin to this. And they think, okay, that’s a name, and look through the yellow pages and they think—now that is a name. That sounds exotic, and eh, lets just call her, ey, let her have the order.

She is able to sell herself as an “exotic” interior designer with the “touch for the extraordinary” because of her outer appearance and her foreign name. Derya caters to expectations of ethnicity she was confronted with in her life. Through her descriptions, one can see that Derya takes profit out of these assignments by professionally selling them in her advance. Thus, gender and ethnicity are two central elements of “strategic transculturalism” in entrepreneurial action of women with migration background.

7. Conclusion The narratives of female entrepreneurs have shown that boundaries along the categories of gender and ethnicity are not inflexible but must be considered as constructed and negotiated depending on the context. Therefore, the search for differences in the entrepreneurial action of men and women is condemned to fail. Career and professional positioning symbolize a crossing point where the confrontation with the “other” gender is positioned in the foreground. In this space the female actors encounter a specific ascription of “femininity” and “masculinity”. This leads to the category of gender gaining relevance. Other categories—like ethnicity—can join in; they become interlinked and enhance the experience of difference. Both categories are being reinterpreted and reproduced at the same time, in the application of the two schemes of knowledge. Thus it is possible for each actor to adapt the codes of gender and ethnicity to the respective context of action. The biographies of the three female Turkish entrepreneurs reveal that traditionally expected ways of “feminine” lifestyle were thwarted and that there were possibilities to develop alternative perceptions of gender. These three women have tried, especially in their jobs, to move “femininity” into a new context and to show new modes of action and living. However, these perspectives are realized only partially up to now. The actors are in a permanent process of compensating accepted differences in gender and adjusting to “masculine” connotated principles of action that still control the “work”

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sector. The flexible handling of gendered identities does not lead to a loss of effectiveness of gender in entrepreneurial action. In fact, a complex management process of multiple designs of gender is initiated.

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Riesner, Silke. 1990. Junge türkische Frauen der zweiten Generation in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Eine Analyse von Sozialisationsbedingungen und Lebensentwürfen anhand lebensgeschichtlich orientierter Interviews. In Interdisziplinäre Studien zum Verhältnis von Migrationen, Ethnizität und gesellschaftlicher Multikulturalität 1. Frankfurt am Main: Verlag für interkulturelle Kommunikation. Rosenthal, Gabriele. 1995. Erlebte und erzählte Lebensgeschichte: Gestalt und Struktur biographischer Selbstbeschreibungen. Frankfurt am Main/New York: Campus. Schlehe, Judith. 2001. Interkulturelle Geschlechterforschung: Identitäten—Imaginationen— Repräsentationen. Edited by J. Schlehe. Frankfurt am Main: Campus. Strüder, Inge R. 2002. Migrant self-employment in a European global city: the importance of gendered power relations and performances of belonging for Turkish women in London. In Research Papers in Environment and Spatial Analysis 74. Villa, Paula-Irene. 22001. Sexy Bodies: Eine soziologische Reise durch den Geschlechtskörper. In Geschlecht und Gesellschaft 23. Opladen: Leske + Budrich. West, C. and D. Zimmerman. 1987. Doing Gender. Gender and Society 1 (2): 125–151. West, C. and S. Fenstermaker. 1995. Doing Difference. Gender and Society 9 (1): 8–37. Westphal, Michaela. 1996. Arbeitsmigrantinnen im Spiegel westdeutscher Frauenbilder. Beiträge zur feministischen Theorie und Praxis 42: 17–28. Wetterer, Angelika. 1995. Die soziale Konstruktion von Geschlecht in Professionalisierungsprozessen. Edited by A. Wetterer. Frankfurt am Main/New York: Campus. Zentrum für Türkeistudien. 2003. Türkei-Jahrbuch 2002/2003. Edited by Zentrum für Türkeistudien. Münster.

PART VII

ISLAMIC ECONOMIES OR BUSINESS AS USUAL?

TRANSCULTURALITY AS PRACTICE: TURKISH ENTREPRENEURS IN GERMANY Robert Pütz

1. Introduction and Overview In 1961, Germany became an important destination for migrants from Turkey. At present approximately 1.95 million Turkish citizens live here. More than a third of these were born in Germany. Approximately 450,000 Germans with a Turkish migration background can be added to this figure. The employment structure of the migrants and their descendants has changed in the course of time. Particularly since the 1990s, increasing numbers of people of Turkish origin have become self-employed and have built entrepreneurial livelihoods. After a review of Turkish immigration to Germany, three issues are examined based on the example of Berlin’s contribution, the city with the most non-German citizen residents. • What dynamics do business start-ups run by migrants from Turkey and/or their descendants have, and what macro analytical statements can be facilitated to explain them? • How can the relationship of ethnicity and entrepreneurship be understood through theoretic concepts? • What role does “ethnicity” play in the entrepreneur’s action, i.e. how are boundaries, such as the nationally designated origin, established through signifying symbols and what function do these demarcations have in respect of, e.g., the accumulation of social capital?

2. Migration from Turkey to Germany In the Federal Republic of Germany in the 1950s, open positions in some industries could not be filled. As a result, commerce and industry, with the federal government’s support, began recruiting employees from foreign countries under the so-called ‘recruiting agreement’ (Anwerberabkommen), and from Turkey beginning in 1961. Through this, the

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pressure on the job market was reduced in the countries of origin and furthermore, there was a stimulus for economic development when the skilled migrant workers returned home. After the building of the Berlin wall and the halt of migration from the then GDR, the employment of foreigners increased rapidly. The goal of the recruitment lay in the elimination of what was regarded as temporary bottlenecks in the job market—which more than clarifies the connotation of the term ‘guest worker’ (Gastarbeiter) which was coined at that time. For persons who were brought to the country to work, it mostly meant badly paid and unpleasant jobs for which no German applicants could be found. The immigrants therefore occupied the lowest positions in the social and occupational structure. Approximately two-thirds of the Turkish immigrants came from rural regions in which the mechanization of the agriculture, enforced by the Menderes government, as well as the simultaneously increasing population favored migration from the countryside. The Berlin senate first promoted recruitment of foreign workers in the mid-1960s. Since immigration from Italy, Spain and Greece was already abating at this time, employees from Turkey and Yugoslavia in particular were recruited for Berlin (Gesemann 2001). The growth of the number of Turkish nationals in Berlin was clearly stronger than in the rest of Germany (see Fig. 1). As a result of the economic downturn primarily caused by the oil price shock, the German government imposed a recruitment moratorium in November 1973. In conjunction with the recession, this led to emigration and a decrease in the Turkish population in Germany. In 1978 the migration balance again turned positive. Many migrants made up their minds to stay for the long term and brought their families. The result was that the demographic structure changed: the proportion of children, parents and women increased the average length of stay increased and the employment proportion clearly decreased. At the beginning of the 1980s, the migration movement changed and the reason for migrating and the social demographic structure of the immigrants were renewed. As a result of the military coup in Turkey, the number of political refugees grew at that time. In 1980 alone, almost 60,000 asylum seekers came from Turkey to Germany, most of whom were from Kurdish origin. Since the mid-1980s, the migration balance has no longer been determined by the procession of children following their parents, but by the influx of newly-wed spouses of those who are resident in Germany. Included are the asylum seekers from the Kurdish

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territories. On the whole, Turkey has taken third place in Germany’s immigration balance since the 1990s (Kapphan 2001). In the course of time it has become increasingly clear that the migration movement is not a matter of ‘guest worker (Gastarbeiter) migrations’, but of immigrations. This is also apparent from the increasing number of children born of migrants in Germany. In the year 2001, 707,000, therefore almost 40%, of the 1.9 million Turkish nationals living in Germany, were born in Germany (www.statistik-bund.de). This fact is not always realized in the public discourse. Apart from the immigration, both the higher birth surplus and the demographic structure contribute to Germany’s steadily increasing population of people of Turkish descent. The declining development since 1997 can be attributed to naturalizations, which are increasing rapidly as a result of citizenship becoming easier to obtain. In particular this applies to the liberal policy on foreigners of the city of Berlin. In 2001, in addition to the approximately 48,000 Germans with a Turkish-German migratory background, 126,000 Turks lived in Berlin. As in other German cities, the immigration to Berlin was accompanied by a strict segregation, although with local-specific intensification: at the end of the 1960s it was planned to demolish great parts of Berlin’s old buildings. In order to exploit the period between the departure of the first tenants and the demolition, the residences were rented to migrants because housing corporations and municipal politicians thought that the ‘guest workers’ (Gastarbeiter) would return to their countries of origin after a short term and the residences would automatically become available again. Consequently, the foreign population was very soon concentrated in areas whose buildings were designated for demolition—although this plan was later abandoned. At present the Turkish population comprises more than 30% of the population in parts of the districts of Kreuzberg, Neukölln and Wedding. Spatial concentration thus corresponds to a concentration of poverty. The expected upswing through the reunification therefore failed to materialize. The disappearance of industry could not be stabilized by new jobs in the service industry sector, leading to an increase in unemployment. Neither did the upgrading through gentrification of districts situated within the inner city occur. On the contrary: the number of welfare recipients and unemployed persons in these districts is increasing and the proportion of foreign population has increased since the reunification of Germany. Consequently, a

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cumulative intensification of the social-spatial marginalization occurs. Accordingly, the place in which the majority of migrants live becomes a source of social discrimination and stigmatization which becomes noticeable in many and diverse ways. This also affects the entrepreneurs of Turkish origin who have established themselves here. In a survey of entrepreneurs, almost 60% of them said that the main reason for their businesses’ financially tense situation “was the bad socio-economic status of the district”.

3. Set-ups, trademarks and structural framework conditions Germany-wide statistical information on the self-employment of people of Turkish origin is almost entirely based on publications of the Centre for Studies on Turkey (CfST). In 2000, therefore, 258,000 foreign self-employed persons were counted in the Federal Republic (Statistisches Bundesamt 2001), for 1999, the number of entrepreneurs of Turkish origin was estimated by the CfT as 55,000 (Zentrum für Türkeistudien 2001). For 2005, a total of more than 60,000 businesses can be assumed. In comparison to these estimates, Berlin has comparatively reliable databases. Here business reports have been broken down according to nationality since 1981, which enables differentiation of the set-up events (Statistisches Landesamt 1981, see Fig. 2): This indicates that the increase in businesses was especially concentrated in the first half of the 1990s. The balance of registrations and cancellations, which in the 1980s came to about 220 businesses annually, increased by more than 500 businesses between 1991 and 1995 and has, since 1997, not exceeded 200 businesses. At present, the business start-up percentage for Turkish nationals is double that of Germans—although twice as many undertakings are also abandoned. At this point it becomes clear that the Turkish entrepreneurs’ businesses are highly unstable. This ambivalent picture is confirmed with a detailed examination of the business structure (see Fig. 3), which is based on an empirical study by the author (Pütz 2004). Altogether there are about 5,200 businesses of self-employed persons of Turkish descent in Berlin in 2002. This sectoral structure moreover resembles the pattern found in other cities: Besides the retail and restaurant trade, industries that require a low capital layout and hardly any specialist or educational prerequisites are primarily chosen. Most undertakings are small businesses. Every

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Figure 1: Entry and Exit of Enterprises in Berlin, According to the Business Register, 1991–2003.

seventh business is a one-man business and the average number of 2.4 employees is low. A good half exclusively or mainly employ family members, two-thirds of the businesses are in household-oriented and retail trade. The high rate of business fluctuation is confirmed in that more than a third of self-employed persons already own other enterprises that do, however, fail. The widely held concepts of a Turkish entrepreneur as a “snack bar owner” or “greengrocer” must be abandoned. A fifth of businesses are multi-business enterprises and accordingly have successful expansion behind them. Some own branches or supply companies in Turkey and thus span a transnational economic space. And almost an eighth of businesses is by now active in sectors that either require a comparatively high capital investment (production) or in those in which high prerequisites are necessary (knowledge-intensive service providers). Especially the latter is typical of a 1990s’ development, in which members of the second or third generation, having attained a university degree in Germany, decided on an entrepreneurial self-employment.

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Source: Pütz 2004

Figure 2: Businesses run by Entrepreneurs of Turkish Origin in Berlin: Sectoral Composition and Business Characteristics.

An unlocking of the enterprise founders according to their migration background explains this trend (see Fig. 4). What explanatory stages on the macro-analytical level are available to plausibly reconstruct the dynamics of business set-ups? In the following paragraphs, three of the macro-analytical explanatory stages are forwarded that dominate the research of the topic “Immigrant Business” (for an overview, see especially the contributions in Waldinger, Aldrich und Ward 1990, Portes 1995 and Rath 2000): The influence of legal framework conditions, the significance of the job market and the existence of “niche markets” (see Pütz 2003a and 2003b). 3.1

Explanatory factor ‘legal framework conditions’

The legal framework has a considerable influence on the self-employment of foreign nationals in Germany. Since legally embodied norms limit the freedom of action of those without a German passport, they thus also restrict an entrepreneur’s possible strategies. Economic freedom thus only applies to Germans and citizens from EU countries. People of

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Figure 3: Entrepreneurs of Turkish Origin in Berlin: Generation and Personal Characteristics.

other nationalities are subject to the regulations of the laws pertaining to foreigners, which means that in the first place the freedom of entrepreneurial activities depends on their residence status. At the end of the 1960s, when the first migrants opened their own businesses, these regulations were decidedly restrictive. Almost all of the Turks living in Germany were subject to the ban on self-employment. The first pioneer entrepreneurs therefore had to establish their businesses illegally with German figureheads. At the end of the 1980s, the legal situation of the majority of people of Turkish descent improved. On the one hand, the access to selfemployment was eased; for example, the 1991 law pertaining to foreigners granted all foreigners with a right to residence the right to earn an independent living (Dienelt 2001). On the other hand, more people acquired an indefinite residence permit. Consequently, the number of those not subject to legal restrictions pertaining to foreigners wanting to start-up businesses increased, too. In 2001 they comprised approximately 56% of the Turks resident in Germany. This improved legal position considerably promoted the positive dynamics of enterprise set-ups in the 1990s. On the other hand, one must assert that a third of the Turks residing in Germany still possess a residence permit according to which

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self-employment is either forbidden or is prohibited by the local departments with authority over foreigners. Only in the past few years has an increasing economic and political interest in small businesses lead to individual applications for the removal of the ban on independent self-employment jobs being more often positively considered. In addition, various career fields are regulated by specific legal regulations. These especially affect older people who did not pass through the German educational system. A master craftsman title is, for instance, a prerequisite for the independent practice of most trades. Educational qualifications acquired in Turkey are mostly not recognized. At the same time, formal educational aspects play a minor role in Turkey in any case. There, work-related skills are learnt informally through collaboration in a corresponding business. Such experiences are, however, not institutionally acknowledged in Germany. Consequently, numerous immigrants’ biographical resources become devalued as a result of their migration. Thus, the sectoral structure of their enterprises was also influenced in the end, because the only option was to start up in an industry for which there were no preconditions, e.g., clothing alteration and shoe repair businesses. 3.2

Explanatory factor ‘job market’

Beside the conditions imposed by the legal framework, the job market is, from a macro-analytical perspective, a decisive structural moment which influences the decision to become self-employed. As Bögenhold and Staber (1990) proved, the unemployment level has a significant influence on the self-employment percentage: The higher the unemployment, the higher the proportion of self-employment. Likewise, the increase and decrease in self-employment in most industrial nations move contra-cyclical to the growth of the economy. Enterprise set-ups thus more frequently follow an “economics of need” than an “economics of self-actualization”. A glance at Germany and Berlin’s labor market data clarifies that this general macro-economical trend is also applicable to the people of Turkish descent in Germany (see. Fig. 5): Foreign, and especially Turkish, nationals are affected to an above average degree by job market upheavals. Since the 1974 oil crisis, their unemployment has always been higher than that of Germans. Since most Turks were employed as unskilled laborers in “crisis industries” such as the coal and steel

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Rate of unemployment 40%

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industry, they were the first ones to be affected by rationalizations. And also the recent crisis on the job market, which was unusually intensely experienced in Berlin with the disappearance of industry as a result of the reunification of Germany, affected Turkish people more than all the others. Apart from dismissals, a main reason for this is that people of Turkish origin have little chance to find (new) jobs. This is primarily due to their low work-related skills and especially their poor language skills. Children of Turkish immigrants who have grown up in Germany frequently only first come into contact with the German language at school and are there—as a result of the high segregation—often taught in classes with a majority of fellow pupils who likewise speak poor German. A lack of language competency is thus often the cause of career discrimination: in Berlin, at the start of the new millennium, 20% of the Turkish youth

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left school without qualifications (Germans: 8, 8%), and of ten Turkish unemployed persons, only one had completed vocational training (Ausländerbeauftragte 2002a and 2002b). The unfavorable work-related prospects are again drastically intensified for those without long-term residence permits. Extension of residence permits can be denied them if they claim government benefits such as social welfare. This combination of discrimination on the foreign-legal segmented job market and the threatened loss of residence permits often leads to many having recourse only to an activity in the informal sector to ensure their livelihood. In fact, there are only two ways to do so: either as an illegal employee, frequently with personal networks to employers of Turkish origin (for the significance of such ‘ethnic labor markets’, (see especially Hillmann 2000 and 2002), or else as ‘self-employed’ using the name of a third person who is mostly a family member in possession of the required residence permit. In view of the migrants and many of their descendants’ position on the German job market and the high unemployment percentage, it is no surprise that “unemployment” and “being discriminated against in professional life” are named by many Turkish entrepreneurs as decisive for their business start-ups. Furthermore, nearly half of the questioned self-employed persons in Berlin were out of work for a very long period of time before establishing a business, to be precise, for an average of 19.4 months. A large part of the enterprise set-ups can thus be characterized as a survival strategy in times of dramatic deterioration of the labor market conditions. Self-employment from pure need is, however, no good premise for success. For the majority it is comparable to a permanent struggle for financial survival (see Fig. 6). A regular income while living at a subsistence level frequently means the loss of all entrepreneurial options regarding a course of action, such as being able to make investments or to start marketing a product. This especially affects industries such as small-scale retail trade and the restaurant trade, in which the competition pressure increased exceptionally in the 1990s due to the numerous new set-ups. The economically poor position of the Turkish people, who form a large part of the customers, further aggravates this negative trend. “Self-exploitation” of the entrepreneur and collaboration without pay by family members are thus frequently the only success factors with which to retain the business. For a major part of the entrepreneurs it must thus be stated that in the end they exchanged their

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“It is enough for the necessary expenditures” (50,6%)

“I have more than enough” (1%)

“It is not enough at all” (29,8%)

Sale development increased slightly increased

22% 16,2%

receded heavily receded

27,7% 34,1% Source: Pütz 2004

Figure 5: Economic Situation of the Entrepreneurs of Turkish Origin in Berlin.

marginalized position on the job market with a marginalized position as entrepreneur (Pütz 2004). 3.3

Explanatory factor regarding “niche market”

The assumption that “niche markets” facilitate migrants’ independent start-ups was already an explanatory factor early on forwarded by research under the term “immigrant business” (e.g. Waldinger, Aldrich and Ward 1990). The crux of the argumentation states that migrants, as a result of their consumption preferences, create a specific demand in the adopted country and self-employed persons of the same origin who possess ‘cultural competency’, are able to fill the resulting market niche. In Germany, niche market argumentations are forwarded to comprehend the causes of the first enterprise set-ups (e.g. Goldberg et al. 1999). These reasons appear plausible in the face of the restricted sectoral gearing of the businesses at the time: travel agencies (negotiation of travels to Turkey), undertakers/funeral parlors (transfers, Islamic burials), translation agencies etc.

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From the current perspective, however, the value of the explanation of the niche market initiatives must be critically regarded. Thus the Berlin example showed that the structure of the businesses has, especially since the 1990s, out-differentiated itself. That, e.g., a fourth of all entrepreneurs of Turkish origin are still in the convenience food sector, is not, as niche models suggest, related to a “cultural predisposition” to perform such jobs particularly well or gladly. Rather, institutional framework conditions are reflected in which persons belonging to certain immigrant groups are enabled and others are not (see above). Furthermore, it indicates the powerful effect of discursive attribution, which hardly anyone can eradicate. In accordance with Häußermann and Oswald (1997), this can be clarified through a simple example: a female immigrant from Vietnam relatively rarely profits from her abilities to prepare good Döner (Turkish meat dish), the reason being that in a discourse that defines the labor fields ethnically, she cannot utilize these abilities economically. She has to be “man” and “Turk”—only then would her ability become a resource. So-called origin-determined “cultural resources”, as niche market models partially formed themselves and consequently prove themselves primarily as effects of an ethnic—discourse. Nevertheless, this has considerable relevance regarding action: From the point of view of those involved, this allows enterprise set-ups to appear in specific industries as an economically more meaningful strategy than in others.

4. Culture, Ethnicity, and Entrepreneurship: theoretical considerations Investigations on the topic “immigrant” and/or “ethnic” entrepreneurship were formulated over many years from an essentialist understanding of culture—and often still are today 1. Admittedly, attributions such as “work harder” or “save more” have in such explicit formulations largely disappeared from the discussion since that time; however, implicitly they still shape the basic concept of numerous lines of argumentation—as “cultural” or “ethnic resources” that foster or limit the entrepreneurship of certain groups. Such questions underlie perceptions of a coexistence and cooperation of cultures as respectively demarcated and homogeneous units. Culture becomes conceptually linked to a definable social collective which is territorially anchored (“Turkish culture”, “regional culture”). This is, however, not maintainable, neither as a theoretic construction nor as

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a concept. Even if homogeneous cultures ever existed, they would, at the very latest, not be identifiable in the era of globalization and movements of migration. Regionally anchored schemes of knowledge and consequently continuous and regionally definable sociocultural worlds do not exist anymore (Werlen 1997: 379). Sociopolitical concerns to such essentialistic conceptions of culture should also be considered. The reason is that research that questions alleged “features”, that “Special something of a culture”, always creates difference. Therefore, in representing a construction of the “Other”, it always runs the risk of encouraging exclusion and discrimination. Contemporary theories of culture generally comprehend culture as schemes of knowledge or interpretative schemes, features humans essentially need to possess to be able to meaningfully adopt objects and actions or “world” (cp. Reckwitz 2000). The world firstly becomes meaningfully comprehensible over “structures of significance”, and therefore, becomes the condition for any social practice (Giddens 1997). Such schemes of knowledge, which allow a raised arm, be seen as a ‘greeting’, or the shaking of the head to be interpreted as a ‘denial’, necessarily need to be collectively shared. It would be a false conclusion to derive from this that culture as a coherence of symbols is self-contained and is bound to a definable and secluded collective. As a result, a contradiction exists between the theoretical position of non-existence of homogeneous cultures and everyday social practice, in which exactly these essentializations are permanently being (re-) produced. That is because what was defined as ‘culture’—schemes of knowledge and meaning structures—is always in itself differentiated through schemes of classification which facilitate the classification of things and their comprehensibility and reduce complexity for the person taking the action. Formation of meaning is inseparably connected to classification for the person carrying out the action. This means that certain symbols such as language, origin and clothing are permanently being marked under aspects of exclusion and affiliation and difference is created. Cultural boundaries, which symbolize that there are interpretative schemes “on the other side” that do not correspond to one’s own, are continuously being drawn. Alleged ‘cultural characteristics’ are thus discursive constructions which develop their whole effectiveness in action itself and in the order of practice. This is true for every action. Even presumably “economic” situations of interaction do not get by without referring to shared symbolic orders and cannot be conceptually thought of without referring

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to schemes of knowledge and interpretative schemes. This means, for example, that a business agreement between two entrepreneurs can only obtain a mutually satisfactory result if both entrepreneurs have the same conceivability concerning the appraisal of how such arrangements are sealed and how binding they are. In this sense every economic action is always at the same time a cultural action. How can the relationship between culture and entrepreneurial action be conceptualized without padding into an ‘essentialist trap’? The concept of transculturalism which Welsch (1992, 1999) developed appears fertile in this context. In referring to debates of globalization, Welsh assumes that territorially anchored, homogeneous cultures cannot be accepted any more. Transculturalism in this case implies the annihilation of congruity of territory and culture. Simultaneously, Welsh relocates the assumed theoretic location of cultural boundaries from an inter-personal tier to an intra-personal tier. This means that the “inner-outer-difference” which is attached to every demarcation is conceptually relocated to the tier of individual subjects. These are also defined by transculturalism and, therefore, dispose of different cultural reference systems. For this reason the perception of culture as a per se given and self-contained coherence of reference, of symbols, becomes obsolete. Simultaneously, “cultural difference” is still conceivable as a construct of affiliation and exclusion through signifying symbols. On the basis of these considerations, culture can be conceptualized for action-oriented empiric research in moving the focus off questions of the specificity of alleged existing homogenous cultures and concentrating on the question of the practice of demarcation which the ‘cultural’ actors are continuously conducting, because demarcations that build up meanings on the basis of the familiar become separated from the corresponding ‘inside’ and the non corresponding ‘outside’. This perspective of “transculturalism as practice” (Pütz 2004)1 is not only to be understood as a concept of analysis. In equal measure, it can be seen as a concrete action of real subjects. Through the relocation of the “inside-outside-differences” to an intra-personal tier, multiple belonging of individuals is conceptually accepted as well as empirically seizable. Hence, one can derive from

1 Boeckler (1999) follows a similar idea in his conceptualization of “Culture as diacritic practice”, as a continuous insertion of contingent differences into principally undivided world.

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this that humans dispose of routines of action with which they can displace themselves into different interpretative schemes in a form of ‘everyday transculturalism’, e.g. to enable business partners to attain the same conceivability of meaning in a situation of economic interaction. ‘Everyday transculturalism’ can transform to ‘strategic transculturalism’, if these schemes of knowledge are reflexively accessible to the actor, and therefore deliberately applicable as an ability to operate and orientate oneself reflexively in different symbolic structures. Cultural interpretative schemes can therefore be understood as a repertoire that keeps several options of action ready, to which the individuals may have a reflexive access. Based on the example of a content-analytical evaluation of biographic interviews which were led within the framework of a DFG-project with entrepreneurs of Turkish origin in Berlin, the practice of cultural demarcations is supposed to be comprehended empirically in the following two examples. In the first example the construction of ‘Turkish’ social resources caused by demarcations will be in the center of interest. Th en the perspective of ‘strategic transculturalism’ will be comprehended on the basis of an excerpt of one of the biographic analyses. 4.1

The Construction of “Turkish” social resources

The assumption that migrants and their descendents had particular characteristics that were immediately associated with their descent or origin is the core statement of numerous essays on the topic of “immigrant business”. Light and Rosenstein (1995a: 171) define these as follows: “Ethnic resources include an ethnic culture, structural and relational embeddedness, social capital, and multiplex social networks that connect the entire group. Ethnic resources characterize a whole group”. The afore-mentioned basic concepts of “embeddedness” (Granovetter 1985) and “social capital” (mostly reverting to Bourdieu 1983 or Coleman 1988) have basically nothing to do with the origin of the entrepreneurs. They were, above all, developed in recent years in the field of economic sociology but have also established themselves in the debate of economic geography (e.g. Glückler 2001, Bathelt und Glückler 2002). The essential thing about this is that economic action is categorically always comprehended as a social action and thus the context of social relationships, as being relevant for any kind of economic action have been moved into the center of interest. The model for further discussion of ‘ethnic’ resources reverses the logic of argumentation. Social

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resources become ‘ethnic’ ones at this point, since ethnics are existent as a priori and are perceived differently from each other. This means that an entrepreneur, as a ‘predisposed being’, is assigned a specific type of embeddedness, social capital etc. due to his origin. To tie up to the inaugurative statement one should conduct a change of perspective in examinating social relationships between entrepreneurs with a similar background of migration. It is less the question towards specific characteristics of a given group that should be in the center of interest, but rather the question of how the inside-outside-difference is produced alongside of symbols as the national labeling of origin and which functions these demarcations have, e.g. for the accumulation of social capital. This can be comprehended in the following narratives of entrepreneurs of Turkish origin to the acquisition of information or to the selection of business partners. Tabip (codename) primarily describes a dyadic relationship with a considerately aligned competitor (relational embeddedness), whom he tells about cheap sources of supply. However, he expects future quid pro quo (reciprocity): A couple of days ago I’m on the phone with a vendor from West Germany, for example green lentils, and he says: ‘I’ve got something for 1,50 for you’. Then I’m so fair and other wholesalers—friends, you know people I know from the fruit market, people I’ve worked with for ages—I’ll call them and say: ‘Look, I’ve found out something. Just call there and there, tell them my name and everything is fine.’ And then they really do that. [. . .] Because, I scratch his back and he’ll scratch mine. And if he notices something in sometime in the future, doesn’t matter what, something that can help me, then he’ll tell me. [. . .] You know, he doesn’t only have to help me in business, it can also be something private or anything else. If I’m looking for something, car, a forklift, I mean something cheap and stuff like that. That’s why, one back scratches the other. [. . .] But not everybody does that, only very, very good people do that.

Ali also describes the constitution of trustworthy relationship in a dyadic relationship. Afterwards, however, he describes a situation, in which ‘entrepreneur x’ loses prestige and reputation due to an enclosed network of other entrepreneurs to which an entrepreneur who was harmed by him belonged (structural embeddedness). Ali, therefore, builds upon the fact that confidential information should only be passed on in a tight circle of ‘good contacts’: If an entrepreneur makes mistakes, eh, and that happens fast, the others hear about it, this entrepreneur has made mistakes. For example, we’re

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three businessmen and we talk to each other, he says to me: ‘Ali, holy shit, for example x, company x gave me a check, and the check bounced.’ Or I say: ‘Yes’, I tell them: ‘Please be careful. That guy has three open accounts by me and doesn’t want to pay.’ Or too difficult, date of payment. Robert: “Do you do this with all business partners, to exchange such information?” Ali: “Yes, with good contacts”.

The narratives of Tabip and Ali confirm the perspective that no economic interaction can be understood outside the context of social relations. Every observer would describe the narratives to be an everyday occurrence. Both the situations of interaction and the social relationships as well as their effect is well known to everybody from everyday life and are not necessarily associated with origins or “being a Turk”. However, this impression reverses itself to the opposite in observing how both entrepreneurs commence their narratives: Tabip: “So, the Turk, he’s everywhere. He knows all his information. They help each other. I don’t know if the Germans do that among each other, I don’ think so. But that’s what the Turks do. [. . .]” Ali: “Hm, yes. That’s the way it is. First of all trust to the Turks. [. . .]”

The social affiliation to an imaginary ‘Turkish community’ advances to become a vital requirement to be able to participate in specific networks and to take advantage of mutual help and trust. The construction of a nationally—designated culture is an economically probate application according to which inclusion or exclusion from social relations is decided and the choice of business partners is simplified. On the one hand, there is often reference to a large discourse on “Turkish” entrepreneurship. Therein, a myth of Turkish entrepreneurs is created which is set up on the central categories of honor/trust and mutual salvage/solidarity. By referring to this discourse, entrepreneurs make these categories economically useful as social capital. Simultaneously, by using them, they stabilise the meaning structures. Discourses of affiliation deploy a large relevance of practice and prove to be important for entrepreneurial success as a mechanism of in- or exclusion in social relationships. According to Giddens, such schemes of knowledge are reconstituted and stabilized in their application. Simultaneously, however, they are continually undergoing a process of transition by being permanently renegotiated. This aspect can be pointed out by another example: Ulvi, the owner of an advertising agency, reports of cultural demarcations from the point of view of an excluded person. He sees himself being confronted with a situation in his early steps as an

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entrepreneur in which language is used to symbolically mark differences between the communities of “Turks” and “fake Turks”. Ulvi’s language does not permit a definite classification. Therefore, he is encountered with distrust, which endangers his carrier. He is threatened with the loss of his business contacts due to this demarcation: Ehm, my old partner, eh, he had something against me. I didn’t really notice this from him, because he was always very nice and polite. But from the internal side, I know, that he told his father, with whom I had a business connection, eh,: ‘Oh Gee, he’s an idiot, that’s one of those German-orientated Turks’ and ‘Let us try out somebody else’ and so on. (laughs) Exactly that situation really did exist. And that’s the way, eh, the rest of the family, eh, of my partner, eh, they always had this strange eye on me, because I, because my Turkish was just such a weird Turkish. It wasn’t the normal Turks, that the Turks talked, that was caused by me, having more to do with Germans, my Turkish was more like a bad translation. Only partly translated from German. My sentences were constructed in a strange way, principally they were German sentences, with, eh, Turkish words.

A national or linguistic labeling of cultural identity produces a “we” and an “other” and is a method of simplifying the selection of business partners. People like Ulvi do not fit into such a dichotomic discourse of affiliation. They alienate and irritate by questioning the logic of cultural attributes by their very existence. Ibrahim, a board member of a Turkish company alliance, impressively expresses how access to established bi-national constructions of identity give him a secure feeling in his everyday social (as well as entrepreneurial) dealings, and what effect people like Ulvi that do not correspond to these constructions have on him: The main problem if you look back: first, second, third generation. [. . .] Sometimes you’re just scared, what kind of people they are, because they’re, eh, much, eh, they’ve become alien to their own culture. And those who have lost their own personality. And therefore, they have a bad image, and that’s what actually annoys the natives and, eh, the own side. You can’t really assign them to a category. [. . .] And I’m terribly scared how such Turks will appear to others. I’m my own culture, my own belief, my own values in the country, I can understand the Germans better, and the Germans can comprehend me better as a Turk.

People like Ulvi cannot “definitely be assigned”. They do not fit into the scheme and, therefore, endanger the co-existence with the Germans that is based on difference. For Germans cannot comprehend the Turks as “being a Turk” because they are then no longer assigned to the scheme

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of knowledge of “being Turkish”. Thus, they are a threat to many people. They endanger the maintenance of nationally-labeled cultures. Not only do they question the fundamental opposition, but, beyond this, the principal of opposition itself, which suggests and demands the plausibility of dichotomy (German—Turkish), and the possibility of separation (Bauman 1995: 80). Both examples point out that the assumption of alleged cultural demarcations is not maintainable and that “culture” has to be conceptualized comparably as both a condition as well as a process (Schiffauer 1997). So the German-Turkish discourse goes along with constructions of honor and mutual help. Therefore, it can be activated in an appropriate context of practice and become an important source of accumulation of social capital. Entrepreneurs stabilize this discourse in referring to it in economic interaction. Contrariwise, cultural symbols are always being newly constructed by a continuous process of interpretation and application. Alleged stable schemes of classification lose their power through entrepreneurs like Ulvi due to the fact that they are people who implicitly carry processive changes in themselves and therefore destabilize cultural constructions. 4.2

Strategic Transculturalism

If cultural demarcations are not naturally existent, but are rather produced discursively and therefore changeable, then they are in principle also available to the individual. The initially disposed “transculturalism as practice” would then not only be seen as a concept of analysis, but rather as a concrete practice of precise actors. This should be reconstructed in the following by Kevsan’s example. Kevsan (her codename), was born in 1968 in a mountain village in the province of Sivas. She came to Germany at the age of three with her parents. After completing the “Hauptschule” (nine years of school) and becoming a trained nurse, she worked in homes of the elderly from 1989. At the same time, she received her Abitur (university-entrance diploma). In 1993, she successfully applied for a place at university and studied educational science. At this point she married and gave birth to two children. In an occupation that followed in a welfare center, she had the idea to open up her own business in the welfare segment. She did this in 1999. In 2001 she already had more than 40 employees and an annual turnover of more than € 1M. Kevsan’s great grandmother is a survivor of the massacres on Alevis in the 1930’s and other relatives

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were persecuted and killed due to their religious affiliation and proKurdish political activities. Therefore, the maintenance of a collective identity and the simultaneous concealment thereof is a very important and continuous topic of the family in everyday life. The requirement to reflexively deal with belonging to imaginary communities is already applied to the family configuration of Kevsan. This pursues her in her present entrepreneurial activities. There are three dominant lines of conflict: the linguistically-marked ethnicity of Kurdish-Turkish, the ascription of Alevistic-Sunnistic in reference to religious orientation and the ascription to the role of men/women referring to gender. All three fields of discourse evolve a large dynamic in her biography, between appropriation and rejection to her corresponding ascription of identity. Kevsan firstly got to know from her fellow students that the linguistic (Kurdish) and religious (Alevistic) establishments in her family are targets of persecution in Turkey after having migrated to Germany with her family. It turns out that the strong hegemonic discourse in Turkey is also very powerful in Germany. Kevsan is taught German and Turkish in Berlin. Nevertheless, because of her Kurdish accent, she is identified as “Kurdish”. Due to this, she is exposed to a double ethnicization, firstly as a “foreigner in Germany” and, secondly, as a “Kurd amongst Turks”. Kevsan has been looking these factors in the face by using two strategies to the present day: first, in attaining knowledge and being respected for this, and secondly, in changing her pronunciation of Turkish so that a linguistic encoding is not possible. Also the attributions as an Alevi family member of a “bad, impure” group were latently taught to Kevsan at an early age by the virtue of the taboo of this topic in public. An offensive “commitment to Alevism” in her puberty was like a liberation from the dominant practices of ascription, and was at first “successful” for the creation of her own individualism. But this led to the exclusion from her fellow Sunni students, which continued in her private life. The religious background of her family is the cause for many relationships having ended. She counteracts this by attaining more knowledge, in intellectually dealing with the topic of “The perception of women by the Alevites and Sunnites” in her diploma thesis. Through this, she brings herself into a position which enables her a reflexive access to different confessions and to the connected social practices and discourses. This can be understood as the vital requirement in the development of the ability to “strategic

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transculturalism”, which she later was able to turn into value in her entrepreneurial practice. By choosing a formal business look and perfect make-up, Kevsan does not allow social affiliation to an ethnic group or religious denomination to be discerned through her outer appearance in business contacts. She lets herself be perceived more as a business woman by these features of distinction, and, therefore, gains respect and distance. She is also not determinable by her language. Simultaneously—and this is vital—she has developed the ability to deal flexibly with cultural codes and to apply them situationally. This is due to her practical and reflexive examination of powerful social affiliations as well as the dynamics between appropriation and rejection of positions of identity that had been brought closer to her. This ability, described as “strategic transculturalism” (Pütz 2004), can be appreciated as a resource that contributes substantially to Kevsan’s economic success. This is exemplary revealed in an interactive situation in which the acquisition of a customer is at stake: I go there and introduce myself. [The customer] is younger than I am, looks at me, says: ‘Hello, take a seat.’ I take a seat and say: ‘What are we waiting for?’ Then he says: ‘For your boss.’ Then I say: ‘Excuse me, I don’t have a boss.’ He replies: ‘But your company does have a boss.’ I answer: ‘The company does have a boss, and that’s me.’ He looks at me, kind of like this: ‘You!’ And he’s just so big, and I stand there, and he points his finger at me: ‘You’re the boss? Naa, we don’t want to have you then.’ Th en I ask him: ‘Why don’t you want to have me?’, ‘Naa, the company is run by a woman [. . .]’. I stand there and his wife comes in and greets me with a nod of her head, she is veiled.

In a conversation—which is “pure business” dealing with the negotiation of a job and a client acquisition—Kevsan finds herself back in a situation that is primarily not determined by economic parameters such as costs and quality, but rather by a ‘cultural’ ascribing of meaning. She sees herself being confronted by traditional gender role perceptions. Neither her excellent professional references which are normally a probate agent to use in the acquisition of contracts nor the attributes of her outer appearance as a business woman are accepted as symbols for her professional and job-related qualifications. She has to redefine cultural interpretative schemes in the matter of negotiation and adjusts to this by using two kinds of symbols. On the one hand, she picks up the condescending utterances of the family man and his referral to a corresponding traditional discourse of the role of women, and on the

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other hand the characteristics of his wife’s veiling. Thereupon she uses other interpretative schemes and coding rules: Then he says: ‘Yes, if a company is run by a woman. Furthermore, your company is really new. I don’t know if you’re going to be bankrupt, and anyway a woman can’t run a company.’ Then I say to him: ‘You know what? If your problem is that I’ll be bankrupt someday, I can tell you that I’ve got really good coverage. My brother has also got his own company. I will never go bankrupt, ‘cause he would help me over the hard times.’ [. . .]Then he becomes a bit softer, and then he says: ‘Who is your, who is your brother who helps you?’ And then I think about staying or whether I should leave. Then I say: ‘Company x and y belong to my brother.’ And he says: ‘Ah, him, he’s the guy on Mehringdamm, of course. I know him. Then there is no problem,

Economic dealings are always also “cultural” dealings; therefore, the schemes of knowledge have to be transformed in the sense of entrepreneurial relevant situations of interaction of “customer acquisition” Kevsan realizes that the symbolism of “educated, qualified expert” does not have any effect. She identifies that the situation is defined by another discourse and adapts to the applied code rules. It becomes clear that questions of power, understood as an ability to assert one’s own interpretative schemes, play a central role in the examination of cultural aspects of entrepreneurial action. Kevsan draws on codes that correspond to interpretive schemes that have been powerfully enforced in interaction for her own representation. Therewith, she finally stabilizes the corresponding discourse. She devaluates her professional qualifications and abilities and uses codes in which she obtains all her qualifications through her older brother’s position in society. In this way, she fulfils what is expected of her by her counterpart. Thus, she gets the contract in the end. In a kind of global evaluation, she declares such situationally dependent relocations to other interpretative schemes in the sense of ‘strategic transculturalism’ to her major principle in entrepreneurship: One doesn’t see that I’m Kurdish, nor that I’m Alevi. I’m very untypical for a Kurdish woman, I mean from the looks. And my customers, if I, I always say: [. . .]’If they want me to be a Kurd, then I’m a Kurd. And if they say I should be a Sunnite, then I’ a Sunnite.’

The extract from Kevsan’s biography analysis and the quotations of the entrepreneur affirm one of the initial considerations to “transculturalism as practice”. Cultural boundaries are not “natural”, but rather

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constructions that are discursively constructed and (re-)produced by practice. Therefore, social affiliation is not a priori a given dimension which results from “being”, but is established by social practice and thus, in principle changeable. This aspect is often ignored in examinations to “cultural embeddedness” that refer to alleged “norms and values”. Thus, demarcations that separate the Inside from the Outside, and therefore produce communities, are always an act of constructing identities because difference is produced by symbolic marks, and this I correlate/ is placed in relation to the Other. Such processes of (self-) positioning have to be regarded as a vital element when cultural aspects of entrepreneurial action are to be examined. Entrepreneurs move—like all other participants—in a field in which positions of identity are permanently being negotiated. As the example of Kevsan shows, the idea of an “essential identity” as well as the idea of a substantial “essential belonging” to a community has to be abandoned. In fact, the term “positioning” seems to be more adequate than the term of “identity”, for the aspects of action (to position oneself), the effect of ascribing (to be positioned) and the situational character (positioning as an always contextualized phenomenon) are combined in it, which are constitutive for the construction of identity. The aspect of positioning is vital to understanding the actions of the participants in so-called pure “economic” situations of interaction. These can actually relocate themselves into several imaginary communities, in terms of transculturalism as a concrete practice, and therewith principally have the ability to contextually refer to different interpretative schemes and to apply these to their actions. The ability of transculturalism can further be defined on the tier of the individual participant. Everyday transculturalism describes the routine consultation of interpretative schemes to establish an equality of meaning in situations of interaction with the actors. According to Giddens (1997: 57), such routines are anchored in the “practical conscience” and are generally not accessible to the person involved in a reflexive examination. Strategic transculturalism describes a purposeful reflexive positioning. Interpretative Schemes that are negotiated in recurring situations of interaction can be at the disposal of the person involved in a “discursive consciousness”. This enables him to flexibly handle identity codes to adjust himself intentionally and situationally to different reference systems. The example of Kevsan demonstrates that strategic transculturalism is a useful resource in business situations

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which can enhance the scope for manoeuvrings in market dealings and and therefore enables entrepreneurs to participate in different social relations at will.

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Kessler, S. and W. McKenna. 1978. Gender: an ethnomethodological approach. New York. Knapp, G.-A. 1990. Zur widersprüchlichen Vergesellschaftung von Frauen. Die doppelte Sozialisation Erwachsener. Zum Verhältnis von beruflichem und privatem Lebensdrang. Edited by E.-H. Hoff. Augsburg: 17–52. Kontos, M. 1997. Von der Gastarbeiterin zur Unternehmerin. Biographieanalytische Überlegungen zu einem sozialen Transformationsprozeß. In: Deutsch Lernen 4: 275—290. Mecheril, P. 1997. Zugehörigkeitserfahrungen von Anderen Deutschen. Eine empirische Modellierung. In Soziale Welt (Sonderband 12): 293–314. Phizacklea, A. 1988. Entrepreneurship, ethnicity and gender. In Enterprising Women. Ethnicity, Economy and Gender relations. Edited by S. Westwood und P. Bhachu. London, New York: 21–33. Portes, A. 1995. Economic Sociology and the Sociology of Immigration: A Conceptual Overview. In The Economic Sociology of Immigration. Essays on Networks, Ethnicity, and Entrepreneurship. Edited by A. Portes. New York: 1–41. ——. and J. Sensenbrenner. 1993. Embeddedness and Immigration. Notes on the Social Determinants of Economic Action. In The American Journal of Sociology 98 (6): 1320–1350. Pütz, R. 2003a. Kultur und unternehmerisches Handeln—Perspektiven der “Transkulturalität als Praxis”. In Petermanns Geographische Mitteilungen 147 (2): 76–83. ——. 2003b. Culture and Entrepreneurship—Remarks on Transculturality as Practice. Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie 94 (2003) 3: 554–563. ——. 2004. Transkulturalität als Praxis. Unternehmer türkischer Herkunft in Berlin. Bielefeld. Rath, J. 2000. Immigrant Businesses. The Economic, Political and Social Environment. Houndmills. Schiffauer, W. 1997. Fremde in der Stadt. Frankfurt am Main. Schreiber, V. 2003. Geschlecht im Transit. Perspektiven von Geschlechtlichkeit in Lebensgeschichten türkischstämmiger Unternehmerinnen. Mainz (unveröffentlichte Magisterarbeit). Statistisches Bundesamt. 2001. Ausländer nach Familienstand, Staatsangehörigkeit und Beteiligung im Erwerbsleben. Bonn. Statistisches Landesamt Berlin. 1981. Gewerbeanzeigen Berlin. Berlin. Strüder, I. 2002. Migrant self-employment in a European global city—the importance of gendered power relations and performances of belonging for Turkish women in London. Research Papers in Environmental and Spatial Analysis 74. London. Waldinger, R., H. Aldrich and R. Ward. 1990. Ethnic Entrepreneurs: Immigrant Business in Industrial Societies. Newbury Park. Welsch, W. 1992. “Transkulturalität. Lebensformen nach der Auflösung der Kulturen.” Information Philosophie(2): 5–20. ——. 1999. Transculturality: The puzzling form of cultures today. In Spaces of Culture. Edited by M. Featherstone & S. Lash.194–213. London. Welte, H.-P. 2000. Ausländerrecht. Baden-Baden. Werlen, B. 1997. Sozialgeographie alltäglicher Regionalisierungen. Band 2. Globalisierung, Region und Regionalisierung. Stuttgart. West, C. and D. Zimmerman. 1987. Doing Gender. Gender and Society 1 (2): 125– 151. Zentrum Für Türkeistudien. 2001. Die ökonomische Dimension der türkischen Selbständigen in Deutschland und in der Europäischen Union. Essen.

THE CONSTRUCTION OF ‘TURKS IN GERMANY’ AS A TARGET GROUP OF MARKETING Matthias Kulinna

1. Introduction Some companies in Germany are trying to attract immigrants and their descendants with a special marketing strategy which refers to their ethnicity. In the USA, this kind of ‘target group marketing’ is called ‘ethnic marketing’, and is known as Ethnomarketing in Germany. Ethnomarketing in Germany is applied to people who are ‘constructed’ as ‘Turks’ or ‘German-Turks’. Yet the recent phenomenon Ethnomarketing in Germany has not been subjected to scientific research. The number of scientific publications in this field, economic or sociological, are limited. My research study about Ethnomarketing in Germany is the first attempt to provide detailed information on the subject on a scientific base. Supported by the Center of Intercultural Studies (ZIS) in Mainz and supervised by Professor Robert Pütz from the University of Frankfurt, the study was published in 2007 (Kulinna, 2007). The following article is intended to give an insight into the subject and its methodology: First, constructivist theory as a basis for researching ethnic construction, e.g. within Ethnomarketing, will be shown. Second, the socioeconomic and scientific context of ethnic marketing in Germany and the USA will be examined and interpreted. Based on this context I will present my research methodology. The last part—as the empirical part—focuses on the questions: How do the marketing departments of companies and their agents, which apply ethnic marketing, create their target groups as ‘Turkish’ in order to serve economic and personal interests? How do they construct and utilize ethnicity? Some results will be presented.

2. Research of ethnicity from a constructivist point of view The constructivist perspective and the objectivist (positivist, essentialist, primordial) perspective are diametrically opposed to each other. From a constructivist perspective it is impossible to research or represent

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reality. Constructivists do not attempt to explore reality: Instead, they try to deconstruct, describe or interpret ‘constructed reality’ as presented and argued by protagonists. A constructivist interpretation is principally equal to all other interpretations without claiming to represent the absolute truth or reality. No observer—not even an academic observer—can take an objective point of view and explore reality. The construction of reality is the only valid way of explaining it. One has to bear in mind that academic studies are also considered constructions or rather reconstructions of reality by constructivists. There is no deconstruction without reconstruction. Scientific statements are always linked to a certain context in which they appear to be ‘accurate’ or ‘right’. In another context, a different statement may seem valid as well. Therefore, I do not consider ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ as appropriate concepts for science. Instead, I believe that in many cases the following points are suitable and sufficient for good science: (1) an open-minded approach (2) carefully examined personal beliefs and descriptions (3) combined with a claim to utility and (4) an explanation of the context of research. There are two theoretical approaches within constructivism: an approach which focuses on discourse and an approach which focuses on actions. A sharp line between them cannot be drawn, for discourse is based on actors and their actions in social reality formed by discourse. In practice, broad overlapping fields exist between both theoretical approaches. My approach focuses mainly on actors and actions. The evaluation of ethnic-cultural phenomenon—similar to those which occur in Ethnomarketing—is one of the major tasks of constructivist science. The illustration of the construction of ethnicity in a society helps to understand how groups and individuals produce and position themselves within their own group and within society overall. Through ethnic and cultural attributions, people indicate what they perceive and also construct—in what kind of reality they believe they are living in and how they define themselves and the ‘others’. The constructivist theory opens access to ethnic attribution, to the production of cultural realities and thus is linked to distributed power in society. Therefore scientific ethnicity research should always be based on constructivist theory as opposed to an essentialist understanding in the tradition of Herder. Ethnicity is produced by communication and interaction;—and in contrast to what Herder points out—it is not naturally existent. A structuralistic approach which is concerned with the study of the essence of ethnicity cannot give an accurate insight into the matter. Rather, essentialist research produces or reproduces ethnical attributes

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or stereotypes. Interactionistic constructivist approaches deliver useful contributions for science. While Herder abstracts from the individual to a “collective spirit of an ethnic group” which seemingly derives from heredity and digestion of culture, constructivist ethnicity research does not search for the phantom of cultural and ethnic substance. Culture and ethnicity have no essence within contructivist ethnicity research. Only the individual and social construction of ethnicity and culture are of interest, for they give the ethnic classifications their meaning. The focus of a study is not the ethnic core, but the ethnic relation or rather interaction. The ethnic identity is not of interest, rather the construction of ethnic boundaries. First in 1969 with his concept of “ethnic boundaries”, Barth presents a position which differs from the unfortunate question of an “ethnic spirit” of e.g. Turks, Germans or any other ethnic group. As Cohen recognizes later on, ethnic boundaries are flowing and they can shift. In more than one direction depending on situations and perspectives: “The important point is that ethnic boundaries are not, as Barth implies, stable and continuing (. . .) They are multiple and include overlapping sets of ascriptive loyalties that make for multiple identities” (Cohen, 1978: 387). In current approaches, this scientific perspective has further shifted away. In a complete break with Herder, whose image of ethnicity does not require individuals, ethnic cultural boundaries in a globalized world are not only considered to be constructed by individuals. It is believed that ethnic boundaries shift within individuals. Therefore, the perspective has been shifted from the external to the internal. That means ethnic-cultural boundaries are no longer seen between nations or ethnics, but within individuals. The individuals are characterized by transculturality. Pütz also points out strategic transculturality when individuals are able “to orientate and operate reflexively in different symbol-systems” (Pütz, 2003: 65). Although ethnicity and culture have no essence and the perspective has shifted from the external to the internal, ethnic cultural phenomena are still of great interest for scientific research: The public discourse about phenomena fundamentally forms social realities and the balances of power. The consequence of this perception is a cultural turn in (constructivist) science: It has been realized that the processes of globalization in post-modern societies lead to an upvaluation of culture in the common understanding. ‘Natural’ ethnic boundaries between nations are no longer in the center of scientific interest, but the processes of

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ethnic constructions which are linked with interests and the exercise of power.1 Therefore, local studies on the level of small groups/individuals or the analysis of discourse are of scientific interest rather than broad conceptions of cultures on the level of e.g. nations. ‘Cultural studies’ are concerned about cultural processes in their contextual involvement in practice of power (Winter, 2003: 206). In this context, my research is aimed at the illustration of ethnic attributions for Turks in Germany within Ethnomarketing and the demonstration of economic and social interests which are linked to it. In my opinion, these kind of “cultural studies” are of great importance and use. In a subtle way, social reality is influenced by ethnic attributions. When ethnic constructions dominate public discourse, thinking and communication beyond these ethnic conceptions is hardly possible. For instance, ‘Turks in Germany’ are constructed as an ethnic group by themselves and by others. As a result of that, somebody who is perceived as a Turk in Germany in his environment has little chance of being noticed beyond the ethnic category ‘Turk in Germany’ and outside the attributions which are connected with it. The individual who seems to be corresponding with the ethnic markings which are the ‘boundaries’ of an ethnic group has little opportunity to escape the stigmatization. With the fixing of ethnic boundaries within communication, simultaneously access to resources and opportunities is linked. That means ethnic attributions are also linked to interests. In the case of Ethnomarketing in Germany, there are mainly economic interests which are linked to Ethnomarketing and which should be analyzed.

3. The context of Ethnomarketing Ethnomarketing in Germany is a new kind of cross-cultural communication between companies and their ethnically marked customers. It emerged first in the car industry and was later also applied to the telecommunication business, in the sectors of energy supply, postal service, insurance, real estate, consumer goods as well as in other branches. The companies consider “ethnicity” as naturally given and essential. Yet, social sciences today agree on the fact that ethnicity is a

1 But natural boundaries can be the starting point to deconstruct the constructions, of which they are made of, as PAASI 2001 demonstrates.

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construct which is constantly reproduced by varying concepts of “being Turkish” or “being German”. Therefore, empirical research should focus on how ethnic groups are differentiated from one another. This is even more so the case when these differences are established in order to serve economic interests—as in the case of Ethnomarketing. Obviously, Ethnomarketing does not only try to address a certain ethnic group with certain ‘ethnic’ strategies, but actually constructs ethnicity in the first place. Combining a certain language, e.g. Turkish, with allegedly specific cultural contexts and symbols, ‘ethnic’ commercials ferment a certain image of their ethnic target group. Like any other commercial, these commercials use intentional communication to promote an idea, an image—an ‘ethnic’ image in this case. Hence my study does not focus on the ‘ethnic’ target groups but the companies which apply ethnic marketing and create their target groups as ‘ethnic’. Within the framework of the activities pursued by varying companies, “being Turkish” is constructed differently. For example, one company may consider orthodox Islam and ‘being Turkish’ to be one and the same, while for another company the target group may be open-minded and only differing in their taste of music and some subordinate details from the mainstream. It is assumed that companies build on existing social constructions about ‘being Turkish’ in the society. In particular it is the media which feeds the public discourse with ‘ethnic images’ and therefore (re)produces Turkish ethnicity. Scientific papers on Ethnomarketing in Germany have not yet been published, but there are a large number of newspaper articles dedicated to the topic.2 In all those newspaper articles, the essentialist perspective is a given. The journalists follow a simple pattern: They argue that German companies have a wrong and discriminating image of Turks. Then they set up the “right” and positive image of that ethnic group in Germany. The target group is presented attractively. The journalists prophesize market success for any company which uses Ethnomarketing. German companies which refuse to apply Ethnomarketing are accused of racism or at least ignorance. Therefore, these journalists differentiate between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ companies: ‘Good’ companies apply Ethnomarketing and are rewarded by

2 I have analyzed 34 newspaper articles which were published in the years 1998– 2004.

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their market success. ‘Bad’ companies ignore the Turks in Germany and are punished by the market. Obviously, journalists neglect the fact that “common” commercials in Germany can also be appealing to Turks, as they do not include the remark “only for Germans”. The language does not exclude people of Turkish origin either. Even supporters of Ethnomarketing have no doubt that messages of commercials in German are understood by Turks (e.g. Becker, 1996: 42). Only from an essentialist point of view, which concentrates on the polarization between German and Turks, have Turks seemed to be neglected by German companies. But the opposite is the case: It is not the German companies’ approach which is ignorant or racist, but that of journalists. The press treats ‘German Turks’ as a homogeneous group, which, due to their ethnicity, are different from Germans. Yet from an essentialist point of view, this seems hardly plausible. Even according to ‘objectivistic’ studies which are commissioned by the industry and take the differences between Germans and ‘German-Turks’ as a starting premise, the statistically measurable differences between the mentioned groups are limited.3 The Ethnomarketing agencies are the most important sources for the ‘knowledge’ of journalists. The latter uncritically reproduce clichés and pursue free advertisement for the agencies. The portraits of the agencies often appear as ostentatious stories of success of the Ethnomarketing agencies.4 In contrast to Germany, ethnic marketing in the USA has been well known for a long time. Halter views the year 1917 as the beginning of ethnic marketing in the USA (Halter, 2000: 31). While in Germany Turkish immigrants and their descendants are the most important target group for ethnic marketing, ‘Asians’, ‘Hispanics’ and ‘Africans’ in the USA are the ethnically constructed groups. The market for these mentioned is estimated at $300 billion (Seitz, 1998: 23). Unlike in Germany, the phenomenon of ethnic marketing is not only a topic for journalists in the USA, but also for scientists. As in journalistic articles about Ethnomarketing in Germany, the ‘primordial perspective’ predominates in scientific articles about ethnic marketing in the USA.5 This means scientists have 3 The “measured” differences between “German-Turkish” and “German” consumers, which are pointed out in the study of IPAPLUS & TURKMEDIA 1994, are limited. Primarily these differences can be explained through social aspects such as age and education etc. 4 E.g. Dilk, 2000. 5 Partly in the UK and other countries.

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tried to measure the ostensibly natural ethnic characteristics—or more severely: ostensibly inherent biological differences—of ostensibly given ethnic groups. For example, Kim & Pan & Park 1998 confirm Hall’s concept of high- versus low-context cultures (see: Hall, 1976): Hall’s description of the characteristics of high-context and low-context cultures can indeed be empirically confirmed. With the use of a survey consisting of 16 items, subjects from three different countries—China, Korea, and the U.S.—representing both high- and low-context cultures, are studied. Overall, the results show that the three cultures differ in a way that is consistent with Hall’s conceptualization (Kim & Pan & Park, 1998: 507).

As a result of their study Kim & Pan & Park produce stereotypes which seem to be proven by empirical methodology. One of their conclusions is: Compared to the American subjects, the Korean and Chinese subjects seem to have more difficulty thinking in new and unfamiliar situations, feel that things are changing too fast, are not excited about learning new ways of thinking, and would try to avoid situations where in-depth thinking is required. (Kim & Pan & Park, 1998: 520).

Ethnic marketing establishes itself on research studies similar to those of Kim & Pan & Park.6 Ethnic differences are made out in advance. On that basis, the “differences” are measured. The authors do not seem to realize that the ethnic differentiation which is measured is also the unquestioned starting premise of the study. That means, in their studies they do not discover—as they would call it—ethnic differences but construct them in advance. Their own ethnic categorization is the premise of their research study. Instead of examining the social reasons of different consumer behavior, the scientists ‘ethnicizise’ or ‘culturalize’ differences which amounts to another sort of racism. Building on that “fundamental mistake”, the practice of Ethnomarketing faces a problem: A commercial strategy which is designed for an ethnically constructed group can hardly be successful, for ethnic groups are only seemingly homogeneous. Laroche & Kim & Tomiuk 1998 come to the conclusion:

6 There are a number of similar studies. Other examples are given in: Korgaonkar & Karson & Lund, 2000 and Leach & Liu, 1998.

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matthias kulinna Marketers cannot ignore this variance—above all it demonstrates that ethnic groups are not homogeneous. We need to understand the differences within a community and, if appropriate, segment accordingly. (Laroche & Kim & Tomiuk, 1998: 151)

A similar approach is made in Kaufmann-Scarborough while analyzing the marketing for the ethnically constructed target group ‘Asian-Americans’: The first thing to say about Asian-Americans [. . .] is that they are not a single homogeneous group. [. . .] Other demographic factors—age, sex, education, income—are at least as important in determining an individual’s consumption behavior as ethnicity. We should not assume that a third generation Japanese-American has more in common with a newly arrived Vietnamese refugee than with a white American. Yet this is what treating the Asian market as one group implies. It is true that ethnicity and culture are important factors in some aspects of behavior but when we let this dominate our marketing, we end up with stereotyped portrayals of Asian values and Asian families. (Kaufmann-Scarborough, 2000: 261)

Neither Laroche & Kim & Tomiuk nor Kaufmann-Scarborough break on through to a non-ethnic fixed look at the problem. They just realize that the ethnically constructed groups are not homogeneous, but not that they are constructed. They still persist in primordial distinctions and try to overcome resulting problems in considering ‘demographic factors’. There are few scientists with a non-primordial perspective of ethnic marketing. A remarkable individual in this small group seems to be Gandy. His point is: Do not doubt the existence of some similarities within an ethnic segmented group, even if he acknowledges that the group is not homogeneous and allegedly “ethnic” boundaries are porous. Racial and ethnic segmentation is based on the assumption that similarity in the preferences for programme content is greater within than between groups defined in these terms. Television ratings demonstrate clearly that the top twenty television programmes among African-Americans bears little in common with the top twenty programmes of White Americans (Schement, 1998). [. . .] At the same time, there is also evidence that the boundaries defined by taste are quite porous. White male adolescents are counted among the fans of rap and hip-hop music (Gandy, 2000: 4).

Although Gandy himself acknowledges similarities within ethnically segmented groups, he offers “reasonable racism” as a result of the primordial approach, characterizing ethnic segmentation means.

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The reasonable racist is an essentialist. He or she assumes that membership within a racial or ethnic group automatically assigns any individual a value which is the average for that particular group (Gandy, 2000: 5).

Gandy does not insist that marketers necessarily intend to be racists, but that they effectively are: When the audience is constructed as a commodity and is ‘produced’ for sale to advertisers through a combination of marketing and editorial techniques, we may assume that those who are the most successful in producing audiences defined by race and ethnicity have the most sophisticated understanding of the tastes and preferences that govern the choices these audiences make. However, audience production process may contribute to a kind of cultural pollution in the same ways that the production of steel may pollute the air and streams in nearby communities. A critical by-product of efforts to produce racially and ethnically homogenous audiences may, as an unintended by-product of its use of formulaic content, reinforce stereotypes of the groups it seeks to attract (Astroff, 1988–89; Gandy, 1998) (Gandy, 2000: 3).

In contrast to Gandy, Halter does not believe that ethnic marketing is an isolated economic phenomenon only based on constructions and segmentations of companies. According to her, ethnic marketing is a result of both the special strategy of marketers in a special market situation and the symbolic appropriation of ethnicity through the customers. The economic reason Halter provides for the question of “why marketers segment according to cultural and ethnic criteria” revolves around the overall conformity of products in recent times. As a result of this approach, marketers have not been able to win the market with an “ingenious product”. Instead, they conclude that they must consider the elementary emotions of their customers. This, in turn, cannot be achieved with ‘mass-marketing’: because products are becoming more and more similar to each other (Halter, 2000: 6), it is necessary to segment markets and reach the minds and hearts of the target groups, e.g. with linking up to their culture or ethnicity. The other point Halter considers as important for ethnic marketing has no primary economic reason: According to Halter, ethnicity is not an essence but an appropriation through the audience, a social development within a postmodern society. This “postmodern ethnic revival” (Halter, 2000: 83) is not hardly shaped on allegedly ethnic boundaries. Individuals can decide for themselves not only the degree to which they identify with their cultural group but whether they want to identify at all.

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matthias kulinna [. . .] This type of ethnicity is so flexible and sporadic that it is possible to switch from one cultural form to another and then back again with ease. Not only does this mean ethnicity by choice but it also means that people’s ethnic identities are often only part of a configuration of several identity choices available to them (Halter, 2000: 194f.).

That means, ethnicity is not an imperative but an option (Halter, 2000: 194) and the “reinvention of ethnicity” (Halter, 2000: 15) in the USA is a process which affects the whole society, not only the economy. Ethnicization has itself become normative, a part of the Americanization process. Immigrants no longer simply become Americans; they become ethnic Americans so that there is little contradiction between assimilation and ethnic particularity. This is ethnicity-lite, a harmless form of identification that demands little and carries few costs. [. . .] Symbolic, or voluntary, ethnicity is, above all, comfortable and usually manifest as a form of leisure activity expressed in entertaining festivals and fairs; cultural spectacles of music, art, film, theater, and dance (Halter, 2000: 79).

Halter describes Ethnicity as a mode, which is also made and can be used by economy. In her view, ethnic marketing is a result of an economic and social process in postmodern societies, which shows the shift from “being” to “becoming” ethnic in modern societies. The construction of ethnicity is part of the business of the companies. Ethnicity or culture offers them the opportunity to sell products in various ways. As an example for that, Halter states that ‘St. Patrick’s Day’ or ‘Chanukah’ are becoming increasingly commercialized in the United States. These events “become far more important in the American context than in their native lands, largely because of corporate sponsorship” (Halter, 2000: 15). To take part in these “ethnic events”, it is not necessary to be Irish or Jewish, but to feel so, may it be only for a single day. The results of the analysis of ‘new ethnicity’ and ethnic marketing in the USA can only partly be applied to Ethnomarketing in Germany. The emergence of the USA was caused by immigration. Therefore US citizens consider themselves to be immigrants or descendants thereof. A background marked by immigration is regarded as “natural” in the USA, whereas in Germany the majority of society still relates German identity to “German bloodlines”.7 Hence, immigration is not the “normal 7 Despite migration and immigration over the centuries, “being German” in the minds of many Germans has its origins in the image of the “pure Germanic race”. In my opinion, the majority defines “being German” according to the ethnic origin rather than to a concept of a citizenship for different ethnic groups in one country.

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case” in Germany. On the contrary, second or third generation citizens of Turkish origin are not considered to be “German” by the majority of Germans, even if they have gained German citizenship. A playful way of dealing with ethnicity, as described by Halter, does not exist in Germany. A commercialization of ethnicity is in its infancy8 and Ethnomarketing is just another step in that direction. The journalistic discourse about Ethnomarketing in Germany appears to be a reflex to condemn assumed discrimination against GermanTurks. Ironically, this position leads them to be ethnically marked as non-Germans. The evaluation of written material sources about ethnic marketing in the USA confirms that ‘objectivistic’ science mainly contributes to the non-reflected construction of ethnicity by the ‘measuring of ethnicity’. Nevertheless, the measuring of ethnically constructed groups through science in Germany has not yet reached the dimension of that in the USA. In particular, the amount of scientific research on the topic “Turks in Germany as consumers” is very limited. There are, however, numerous studies about “Turks in Germany”. Particularly the Zentrum für Türkeistudien (Center for Studies on Turkey) in the city of Essen has published many “essentialists studies” focusing on a large number of aspects. In any case, the necessary scientific consolidation of Ethnomarketing from a constructivist perspective, as for instance practiced by Gandy and Halter in the USA, is still insufficient in Germany.

4. Research design Seen from a constructivist perspective, it is not possible to prove reality or truth. Instead of obtaining truth, my own research design has a certain relation to ‘cultural studies’ as I put construction, culture/ethnicity, context and power into the center of my work. As a result, I do not claim to achieve absolute “truth” in my approach as objectivists would do, but rather focus on the usefulness to the matter. As with Glaserfeld, ‘viability’ has to be high, i.e. instead of the search for truth, a certain way has to be figured out to pass all obstacles and reach the goal (Glaserfeld, 1992: 30). Of course, I have not altered my own impressions, 8 Occasionally, “foreign ethnicity” is offered in advertisements for a temporary adoption as described by Halter. For example, a cappuccino commercial tries to appeal to consumers with the slogan: „Für die italienischen Momente des Lebens“ (For the Italian moments in life) (Hars, 2002: 156).

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thoughts, results and so on, but describe them as they appear to me. There is no denying the fact that all results are personal constructions in the end. Instead of trying to verify ‘reality’, there is a strong need to show my personal way constructing reality. My task is to study the actions of all people involved in the business of Ethnomarketing. The most important basics in the context of this work are the transcriptions of interviews. Therefore my attention is drawn to specific points of ethnic constructions and certain interests that go along with them. In my work, the context of people’s actions is most important. There are two dimensions of context to refer to: (1) the context of my scientific view and (2) the context by which the actors construct their reality. For this reason, my perspective in interviews is expatiated on the scientific context of Ethnomarketing, as far as this reduction is practical. On the one hand, the scientific context—as described earlier—explains my construction of the empirical results, due to my scientific knowledge being the starting point of my constructions. Any constructions of others utilizing other scientific knowledge would be different from mine. On the other hand, explanations of the scientific context are provided, contributing to the constructions of the actors in the study. Moreover, I try to give open explanations of my own constructions by “subjective narrations of the interviews and the circumstances surrounding them”. In this way I refer my constructions to specific (considered to a unique interview) contexts. Despite all these efforts (doing a scientific and a case-considered explanation of contexts), the explanation of context itself remains the ideal: The context, no matter what construction it derives from, is never completely aware and expatiable. Every view of a context has its own context and its analysis in turn is bound into another context and so on . . . To achieve a deeper understanding of the persons who are in charge of ethnic marketing, it is necessary to see and recognize how they see their environment and how they act in reaction to their cognition of the environment. A narrow perspective in theory is not practical for that. I prefer an open approach per Knorr-Cetina. She uses constructivism as a strategy in order to obtain and understand the ‘everyday’. At its core, this means: to eliminate the difference between subject and object,9 to

9 The researcher, though, is not a subject who is investigating the object (e.g. actors in ethnomarketing) but is inevitably involved in the actions and constructions he is trying

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get as close as possible to the research environment10 and to focus on how the actors construct. Corresponding to this theory, my method of guiding an interview is generally open. To me it is more important to react flexibly to the actors and to build a fruitful atmosphere than to follow a narrow protocol of methods. The interviewed person should not feel like an object of a study. A lot of interesting points often develop within an interview. Interviewing means direct interaction, not the direction from only one side of the dialogue. Hidden knowledge and unconscious messages will be exchanged through mimic and gesture etc. This often determines the success and quality of an interview (cf. Willems, 2000: 42ff.). The ability to interview depends more on social competence than on scientific methods. As Bude (2003) vividly demonstrates, in the end all actions linked to the interview such as the interviewing itself, transliteration, analysis, interpretation and demonstration should be understood as artistry. The actors within the Ethnomarketing market in Germany only make up a small group. In my estimation, only twenty companies undertake eighty percent of all activities in this sector. The most important of these twenty companies were consulted in this study. Thirteen interviews were held with companies that conduct Ethnomarketing themselves or that place orders to others in Ethnomarketing (Deutsche Post, Deutsche Telekom), as well as with companies specializing in marketing, market research or media related to Ethnomarketing. Moreover, scientific and journalistic manuscripts as well advertisements in printed media, radio or TV in the segment of Ethnomarketing were analyzed. One can assume a high informational value from my research on the phenomenon of Ethnomarketing in Germany since there are no other scientific studies on this topic. The analysis of the interview transcripts, including all memos, was done in two ways: First, an open coding was applied to the transliterations of the interviews.11 Then they were categorized according

to explore. Whichever position you take as a scientist, once involved in an interview you can never re-enter the safe position of not being there. 10 In a simple sense, this means not to place yourself at a theoretic distance from the actors, but to be open for everything that happens and for all stimuli that come up. Knorr-Cetina takes this as “the sensitive method” (Knorr-Cetina, 1997: 34). 11 For transliteration of interviews, a compromise of good readability, options for comparisons, and true repetition was chosen (Pütz, 2004: 45). The coding was done according to the “Grounded Theory” (cf. Böhm, 2003), but was strongly modified to

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to topics corresponding to the codes. Second, I recalled and remembered the interviews in narrations from my subjective point of view. In the narrations, I used the transliterated interview texts as important memory aids. Therefore, both the dissection along the lines of topic and codings as well as a focus on each story as a whole was applied systematically. Of course it has to be mentioned that the narration of an interview does not equal the interview. All narrations have a beginning, a dramaturgy, and an ending all conducted by the narrator rather than by the person interviewed. From narration a closed and subjective view develops. The “story” is told by me and correspondingly becomes a constructed case: There is no case without my narration. The narration or construction of a case by the editor should not be mixed up with the narrations of interviewed persons during the interviews that may have impacted the case. The scientific background of this is the “sociological narration” (cf. Bude, 1993) and not the “sociological narrativism” on which only narrative interviews are based. At the end of my study, I put together both perspectives (dissected and closed) in an overall synthesis. In this text, however, only the results of the dissected perspective could be included due to limited volume in pages for each manuscript.

5. Some results The coding of the transcribed interviews resulted in 64 different codes. Since the frame of my work is limited, I have selected 40 codes to take into closer consideration as listed in Table 1. With the use of several codes, it is possible to compare and contrast the statements of the actors within them, i.e. within several themes. Through coding, the strategies of acting by the actors becomes partially perceptible.

match the understanding of Charmaz: “A constructivist grounded theory recognizes that the viewer creates the data and ensuing analysis through interaction with the viewed. Data do not provide a window on reality” (Charmaz 2000, p. 523). A differentiation into different categories of coding as suggested by the “grounded theory” was not applied. This also holds for inductive and deductive categories. Representation of reality is not linked to the coding. Codes are constructions of the researcher which develop based on the knowledge and context of the researcher and also based on his analysis of the text (transliterations of interviews). There is no “right” coding of a text and each text can be coded differently. The function of coding is only to subsume parts of a text to enable an analysis by topics.

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Table 1 Chapters

Codings

General statements

• • • • •

Traditions and celebrations

• Common traditions • Festivals

Symbols and homeland

• • • •

Taboos

• Taboos

Personal identification

• Turkish appearance • Figures of identification

Dreams, utilized by ethnomarketing

• Dream of the Turkish homeland • Dream of success in Germany

Music

• Music

Family

• • • •

Mentality/Tonality

• Sense of identity and belonging • Tenderness and emotionality

Nonprofessional Ethnomarketing as a trend Potential of ethnomarketing Ethnomarketing as a “door opener” Forces and chances of the market

Turkish symbols for Germans Symbols of the homeland Homelessness Problematical aspects of symbolism

The central role of family The family in a German environment The central meaning of family for ethnomarketing Commercial families

Specific products and services • Hard factors • Soft factors • Developing own brands for the targetgroup Reactions of recipients

• • • • • • •

Emotionally receptive Simple minded and lazy Other kind of social behavior and other preferences Brand awareness Media identification Accessibility Use of media

Knowledge of language

• Knowledge of language

Language as a base for the construction of reality

• Language as a base for the constructing of reality

Language as a symbol

• Language as a code for the sense of belonging • Language as a sign for the ethnical acceptance • Language as a component for the construction of “German Turks”

The use of language in the practice of ethnomarketing

• The chosen language for commercials

Social aspects

• Social aspects

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As an example of my work, the subject area “dreams, utilized by Ethnomarketing”—built up through the codes “dream of the Turkish homeland” and “dream of success in Germany”—is presented in the following. At the end a summary and short interpretation of all codings is given. 5.1

Dreams, utilized by Ethnomarketing

Advertising attempts to utilize subtle yearnings for love, sex, safety, success etc. in order to arouse attention and attraction, and overall to intertwine these yearnings with the selling product, making the one inseparable from the other. The yearnings of potential customers are hidden in their “dreams”. Therefore advertising is also concerned with finding out exactly what these dreams are and making them visible. Marketers in the field of Ethnomarketing are forced to identify the dreams of their potential customers in an ethnic sense. Even though the needs of all human beings are quite similar and not ethnically specified—e.g. Turkish people want to be loved just as do Germans— marketers have to find out or create “ethnic dreams”. In the case of “Ethnomarketing in Germany” they need to find an answer to the question: What do “Turkish people in Germany” dream of? Even if there is no one specific dream of the target group, which is constructed a priori as “Turkish people in Germany” or “German-Turks”, Ethnomarketing are forced to find one. In their answers concerning ethnic dreams or rather in their advertising, ethnic elements should be visible. This results from their a priori chosen ethnic-distinctive perspective as well as from the expectation of society about how they should act in their role as ‘ethnic experts’. Considering ethnomarketers will only receive assignments if they are perceived to be ethnic experts, they are forced to fulfill this role. Furthermore, after a company has decided to use Ethnomarketing as a strategy, the Ethnomarketing “experts” have to create marketing campaigns with ethnic elements in order to demonstrate that they take this marketing strategy seriously. The major problem of ethnic marketing is that ethnic target groups are not a natural ‘given’—as some marketers believe—but socially constructed. There are no sharp ethnic boundaries, no essence of nation or race. As a result of this, there cannot be an ethnic advertising strategy which fits the image of ethnic constructed target groups. Neither Asian-Americans in the U.S.A. nor German-Turks in Germany are homogeneous.

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In the case of Ethnomarketing in Germany, this makes it difficult for marketers to create a “Turkish dream” which is not in some way controversial. In fact, marketers are always in danger of producing stereotypes that induce anger in parts of the recipient group. Hence, their search for a ‘Turkish dream’ which is good for advertising is also a search for the smallest common denominator. Without entertaining the smallest doubt concerning what country would be the origin of the ‘Turks in Germany’, marketers chose Turkey as the starting point of a common dream of the ‘Turks in Germany’. The Turkish origin seemed to be obvious and without complication. Some “Turks in Germany”, however, have never been to Turkey. In the beginning, this ‘dream-based’ marketing strategy was interpreted and presented in its advertising as the dream of ‘Turks in Germany’, with Turkey as their homeland. But such a defined dream weakened (and weakens) the significance of Germany as a homeland for the target group, thus alienating segments of that target group. As a reaction to the originally defined dream, a “counter-dream” rose up in advertising: the dream of success for Turks, or ‘German-Turks’ in and with Germany as their place of residence. 5.2

Code: Dream of the Turkish Homeland

The original dream that of the Turkish homeland, was introduced in advertising by Kara in a project for Daimler-Chrysler. They presented the classic version of that dream: the return of the Turkish Gastarbeiter (foreign worker) to his Turkish homeland with a Mercedes Benz as a sign of success. In the interview, Kara explains his opinion about the simple psychological pattern of how the Turkish recipient functions. He instrumentalizes this pattern for a TV commercial. For example, in Mercedes commercials, we had them drive to Turkey, among others, for the E-class spot. The Turks are always dreaming, they like to show off (. .) I have become a big man, you know? Because especially in Turkey they are looked down upon by Turkey Turks, yes (. .) ‘You, German-Turk, you come from a rural region, you are uneducated (. .)’ This is why they are eager to prove that they made something out of their lives (. .) They can do so only with status symbols. That means Mercedes. There are cars and there is Mercedes. And we have ah with the E-class (. .) A family drives to Turkey. Every member of the family dreams. The father, a coffee house expert, dreams that he arrives at the coffee house in his car, (. .) everybody comes out and is astonished. The mother dreams of a

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matthias kulinna ladies’ day with her friends (. .) and the son, he has graduated, whatever, he will marry in Turkey, he takes his fiancée for a ride around the city. (. .) Always links to Turkey. (.) That’s necessary.12

The dream of return to Turkey in a Mercedes-Benz as a sign of success is not a personal creation of Kara. This dream is based on social constructions which are deeply embodied in society overall. In Turkey, the ‘German-Turks’ that return are characterized as ‘Almanci’, or uncultured people with a new-rich attitude. In Germany, ‘Turks in Germany’ were first called Fremdarbeiter (foreign workers), the same as the Nazis had called prisoners of war. Later they were referred to more friendly as Gastarbeiter (guest workers), which demonstrates that they were seen as guests rather than a part of society. In both societies the return of the “travelers” is expected and yet in both societies they are not popular. The lack of acceptance is very clear. The common stereotype of the nouveau riche, but unpopular, uncultured and unwise returner from Germany, who had sold his Turkish soul, has delivered rich material for films before Kara presented his commercial spot. The movie “Mercedes Mon Amour” (Okan, 1993) is known in Turkey as well as in Germany: Bayram, the tragic-comical leading character of the movie, returns in his beloved golden Mercedes-Benz to his home village. He is represented as a pitiable man who sacrifices everything for his Mercedes. At the end he is socially isolated and without hope. Kara, as well as Daimler-Chrysler, were remarkably insensitive in their strategy. They reduce the target group, which they actually trying to win over, to backward, Turkey-orientated Gastarbeiter, who want to

12 Zum Beispiel, beim Mercedes-Spot, wurde zwei, drei Mal, in drei Spots haben wir so gemacht, das die in die Türkei gefahren sind, zum Beispiel beim E-Klasse-Spot äh, der Türke träumt immer, der ist, gibt an (.) ich bin ja jemand geworden jetzt, wissen Sie, besonders in der Türkei, weil (.) die Deutschland-Türken werden ausgelacht von den Türkei-Türken, ja. (.) Du Deutsch-Türke, na, so ungefähr. Du kommst aus Dorf und bist nicht so (.) gebildet. (.) Und deshalb wollen sich die Deutschland-Türken sich in der Türkei beweisen, das sie je jemand sind, das sie was geworden sind, ne. (.) Und das können sie nur eben, äh, materiell, richtig zum Ausdruck bringen. Das heißt, Mercedes. Es gibt Autos, es gibt aber Mercedes. (.) Und, wir haben zum Beispiel ähem, mit der EKlasse, äh, eine Familie ist in die Türkei gefahren, Jeder hat geträumt. Ja, zum Beispiel der Vater beim Fahren, äh, Kaffeehaus-Experte, so Cafés (.) Wiener-Cafés in der Türkei, das er vorfährt und das die, sein F-, seine Bekannten rauskommen und gucken (.) und sehen, der hat das geschafft, so ungefähr. Und die Mutter, immer noch alleine, so einen Frauentag, davon träumt sie. Der Junge, (. .) der hat hier seine Ausbildung gemacht oder studiert, was weiß ich, der soll heiraten in der Türkei, seine Verlobte, er fährt sie eben durch die Stadt. Immer so Verbindungen zu der Türkei. (.) Das muss man schon (421ff.).

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demonstrate to the people in their homeland that they “have made it”. Unlike Okan, who makes fun of the Gastarbeiter, they take the cliché serious and reconstruct it in that way. In fact, a Mercedes commercial was publicly criticized.13 A critical newspaper article concerning the Mercedes advertisement was published along with the cover of the movie “Mercedes mon amour” (Yücebiyik, 2003). The movie as well as the cliché of the “Gastarbeiter” are well known. The criticized spot shows a man who attends a wedding in his village after placing a Dönerspieß (a spit of ground meat) in the trunk of his Mercedes. The critic takes aim at propagating an image of Turks as owners of “döner kebab fast-food shops” and as Gastarbeiter. This example makes clear that not the dreams of the target group are decisive for the production and transmission of a commercial spot, but the (stereotyped) opinions of (its) advertisers. The advertisement by Mercedes proceeds on the assumption that their recipients have an urgent need of recognition by the former social environment in Turkey. This need of recognition is the central point in their advertisement. In the commercial representation, the lack of recognition is successfully compensated with the possession of a Mercedes. The dream in the commercial presents Turkey as an “escape place”, where the journey (in a Mercedes) of the traveler ends. Turkey becomes the place where the denied recognition in Germany can be compensated and the denied recognition in Turkey “in real life” comes to an end. That means Daimler-Chrysler, as well as Kara, subtly propagate an image of a simple and pitiable Turk in Germany as an “underdog” who desperately needs to prove himself for his relatives and former neighbors in Turkey. That clearly seems to be their image of the target group, precisely what the public critique is directed at. 5.3

Code: Dream of success in Germany

The dream of success in Germany requires the rejection of the original dream; that is, the dream of the Turkish homeland. Only as a pendent of the original dream does the new dream receive its specific sense. In the end, it is normal to dream of achieving success where one lives—for

13 Daimler-Chrysler refused to give an interview about ethnomarketing. I have observed that Daimler-Chrysler has weakened their efforts in this field and is arguing with KARA on this topic.

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Germans as well as Turks. That is why it is not necessary to give a reason to emphasize this. Only within the context of the predominating public opinion that Turkey is the “natural” place of ethnicity, the dream of success in Germany gets its specific meaning as a negative of the original dream. At the same time, the cliché of the Gastarbeiter (guest worker) is rejected. In this context Arslan explains his critical thoughts about the original dream in commercials: They also use desires much too much . . . As if Turks have nothing else to do but to daydream about their homeland (. .) But mainly, almost always, they get married in their villages or they just are in Turkey, yes. (.) I have nothing to do with that.14

Demir also believes that pictures from Turkey are unsuited for the target group. As an example, he describes a Gastarbeiter advertisement he finds offensive in which a villager from Turkey is illustrated as a central figure: ‘We are cheap’ was written in Turkish on the flyer. A Turk in a hat is depicted, possibly from Kayseri, in his waistcoat and gray jacket. That’s my image of a Turk, that’s how he was portrayed.15

Demir makes fun of the originator of the advertisement, a competitor of his. Demir believes that the impression is unintentionally given, that not the product, but the villager from Turkey is cheap and that accordingly, the recipients will also feel “cheap and nasty”. Demir utilizes the interview to disparage the competitors and to stress the fact that he himself is the better alternative. After a deliberate break, Demir continues his speech: There is no doubt about the fact that Turks are that way, but they want to change, they want a Rolls-Royce. It has to do with compensating for the inferiority complex. (.) We may be the kings of sales at the race to the rummage tables, but what people feel and how they want to be seen and how they identify themselves is something different.16

14

Arslan: „Und man arbeitet auch viel zu viel mit Sehnsüchten . . . Als ob die Türken nichts anderes machen als den ganzen Tag sehnsüchtig in die Türkei gucken. [. . .]Aber meist, also immer, man heiratet im Dorf oder man sitzt in Türkei, ja. (.) Und damit hab ich nichts zu tun, also“ (84). 15 „‚Wir sind billig‘ stand ganz groß auf Türkisch auf dem Flyer drauf. Dann Türke, achteckiges Hütchen, aus Kayseri wahrscheinlich, mit Weste und so nem grauen Jacket. (. .) So stelle ich mir den Türken vor, so war er abgebildet“ (52). 16 „Zweifelsohne sind Türken so, aber Türken wollen nicht so bleiben, sondern die lassen sich auf Deutschland ein und wollen mit Rolls-Royce Das hat was mit Kompen-

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Demir cleverly gives the impression of more truth and significance in his speech, when he says, “we are the kings” and not they are the kings. With this he refers to his own ethnicity as a Turk, or German-Turk, which gives his comments some authenticity, even if he is personally not “a king at the race to the rummage tables”. After all, this seemingly common ethnicity allows him to speak of the inferiority complexes of the Turks in Germany and to name them “kings at the race to the rummage tables”. In this context, it sounds like a kind of self-description. In fact, he utilizes ethnicity to his own advantage. If he had spoken as a member of the host society (German), one would have been inclined to accuse him of racism. As a Turk speaking about Turks, he cannot be condemned. His idea of the target group is in principle similar to the one of Kara’s: He believes that the Turks in Germany are the underdogs. One could speculate that he states this opinion to outsiders in order to correspond with a common stereotype and get more business. Compared to the perspective of the advertisers of the original ‘Turkish homeland’ dream; Demir’s perspective differs in two points: (1) The place of compensation for inferiority complexes is relocated from Turkey to Germany. (2) Demir has realized that positive advertisement does not necessarily portray the recipients the way they are (as he said, they were without a doubt like a Turkish villager from Kayseri), but how they want to be (Demir: “they want to own a Rolls-Royce”). Proceeding on this assumption, the recipients feelings, wishes, dreams and yearnings should be spoken to and represented. My impression, acquired in meetings and interviews with marketers, is that a lot of this quite obvious knowledge is missing. And neither Demir nor any one of the other interviewed persons are aware of the risk of stigmatization that the image of Turks as underdogs implies. However, most of the persons interviewed have exchanged “the dream of the Turkish homeland” with “the dream of success in Germany”, and with that have overcome the Gastarbeiter (guest worker) cliché. Kaptan is an example for that group. “Dreams have to be attainable.” “Professionally successful and a lot of money.” “We presented successful human beings, successful young German-Turks,

sation von Minderwertigkeitskomplexen zu tun. (.) Vielleicht sind wir die Könige beim Rennen an den Wühltischen, aber was die Menschen fühlen und sehen wollen, womit sie sich identifizieren wollen, ist was anderes.“ (55).

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matthias kulinna who like living in Germany and get on well. Ones like that were placed in the foreground.”17

The shift becomes clear with the Onays, a married couple that goes through this change of attitude during the interview itself. The first idea of Mr. Onay on the topic of “the dream of Turks in advertisement” is “lack of a place to call home”. Mr. Onay: “Lack of a homeland. When one cannot determine which homeland they belong to. Actually these are merely dreams, and there should be an end to them . . .”18

Then a series of commercials with a homeland theme come to mind: Mr. Onay: “The Deutsche Post (German Post) did that, too. Simply a representation of the sea and sun. It works. Or feelings for homeland. That one can drive to Turkey in a Mercedes. Those are the dreams.”19

After some reflection, Mr. and Mrs. Onay criticize this kind of advertisement. Mr. Onay: “One thinks that through these dreams the product can be sold, but I don’t know if this is true.” Mrs. Onay: “It can actually be depressing” Mr. Onay: . . . because the dream cannot be realized”.20

At the end of the reflection about the dream of the Turks in advertisement, Mr. Onay has turned away from the dream of the Turkish homeland and turns towards the theme of success in Germany: That is the difference between dream and reality. The truth is that Turks are successful here. This has to be demonstrated. That one no longer dwells on these dreams but shows the reality of what one has reached in society . . . these humans. This is more effective (.) we believe.21

17 „Träume müssen erreichbar sein.“ (53). „Beruflich erfolgreich und viel Geld.“ (54). „Wir haben erfolgreiche Menschen gezeigt, erfolgreiche junge Deutsch-Türken, die gerne in Deutschland leben und gut zurecht kommen. Diese wurden in den Vordergrund gestellt.“ (66). 18 Herr Onay: „Heimatlosigkeit. Dass man nicht unterscheiden kann, zu welcher Heimat sie gehören. Das sind eigentlich mehr Träume, die . . . zu Ende führen sollen“. (241). 19 Herr Onay: “Das hat auch die Deutsche Post gemacht. Dass sie einfach am Meer mit Sonne# Die bauen das. Oder Heimatgefühl. Das man mit Mercedes in die Türkei fährt. Das sind die Träume“ (243). 20 Herr Onay: „Man denkt, dass durch diese Träume sich das Produkt verkauft, aber ich weiß nicht, ob das zutrifft“. Frau Onay: „Das kann auch deprimieren“. Herr Onay: „ . . . weil der Traum nicht verwirklicht werden kann“. (245ff.). 21 „Das ist der Unterschied zwischen Traum und Wirklichkeit. Die Wirklichkeit ist,

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Example: Ethnomarketing Deutsche Post

By deciding for Ethnomarketing, the Deutsche Post is observing the market out of an ethnically divided vantage point. As a result of taking this perspective, they ‘discover’ a ‘German-Turkish’ target group. If they chose a perspective dividing ‘old’ and ‘young’ or ‘rich’ and ‘poor’, they would ‘discover’ other target groups, i.e., they would construct them in those ways. With the same principle presiding within the scope of their Ethnomarketing, the Deutsche Post is constructing an image of the ‘German-Turks’ that corresponds with their own idea of ‘them’. In doing so, they adopt social constructions in society, results of market research, opinions of ethnic experts and so on. Usually, the Deutsche Post uses themes originating from a supposedly Turkish and German homeland for their ethnic marketing. In this way, they (re)construct a specific social construction in society: the image of the German-Turks as people who are vacillating between two worlds; who are constantly engaged in topics such as home, lack of a homeland, dreams of a homeland and so on. In comparison, the topic “home” has far less meaning in their ‘normal’, or not-ethnic orientated advertisement. The Deutsche Post promises in their advertising to overcome distances. The melancholic and nostalgic style of their advertisement suggests not only ‘outer distances’, but also ‘inner strife’, which they assume to be associated with the target group they are aiming at. One of their advertisements pictured on a postcard illustrates the kizkulesi (girltower) (see illustration). Kizkulesi is a very well known tower in the Bosporus22 in downtown Istanbul. A legend tells of a lonely princess who was held captive in this tower. Surrounded by the water of the Bosporus and in sight of the houses, palaces and people of her hometown Istanbul, she was so close yet at the same time so unattainably far away from her Turkish home. Applied to an entire group of people, this picture and legend of kizkulesi could be interpreted by the Deutsche Post as a symbol for the situation of the German-Turks. The Deutsche Post entitled the advertisement in Turkish as well as in German

dass die Türken hier erfolgreich sind. Das muss man zeigen“. (267) „Dass man nicht mehr mit diesen Träumen spielt, sondern die Wirklichkeit zeigt, was man hier erreicht hat in dieser Gesellschaft, diese Menschen. Und das kommt besser rüber. Denken wir.“ (276). 22 The bosporus is a sound which separates Istanbul in two.

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with “worldwide letters overcome distances and connect people . . .”. On the other side of the postcard (not shown in picture) the Brandenburg Gate is shown as a symbol for the German meaning of home. Also, in other Deutsche Post advertisements, the kizkulesi and the Kölner Dom (Cologne Cathedral) are shown together. In this case, the Kölner Dom is given the function of a symbol for the German sense of home. 5.5

Summary of Points

Within codings (see Table 1), the statements of the interviewees are compared and contrasted. As a result of this, the transcript interviews are dissected along topic lines. The codes neither represent the reality of the interviews nor of the interviewees, but are specifi c themes I collected from the various statements of the interviewees, meaning it was unavoidable on my part to set up constructions. The codings are vanishing points of theme oriented views. The names of the codings are derived from the descriptions the interviewees themselves used to describe and discuss the subjects during the interviews (e.g. ‘dreams’), or they are named more theoretically as specific topics I discovered in the statements (e.g. ‘language as a base

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for constructing reality’). In the following, the evaluation results of the codings are concentrated in a short interpretation. In addition to the evaluation of the context of Ethnomarketing in Germany as explained above, the evaluation of the interviews also points to the fact that Ethnomarketing in Germany is a phenomenon set off by “forces and chances of the market” (coding). Deutsche Post as well as Deutsche Telekom—both important players in Ethnomarketing—declare their Ethnomarketing to be the result of external economic forces. According to Deutsche Post, they began Ethnomarketing because of the following economic conditions: (1) general trend in the market to target-group marketing, (2) the step-by-step abolition of the postal service monopoly, (3) growing competition from electronic media. As a result of success in Ethnomarketing (response rate 25 %), Deutsche Post has enhanced its campaigns for the “Turkish market” in Germany. Deutsche Telekom implemented Ethnomarketing in its advertising due to continuous shrinking of its market share of the ‘Turkish market’ to a new competitor. Correspondingly, the decision for Ethnomarketing was not generated by the Deutsche Telekom itself, but by market forces. Other players in the market—ethnically specialized agencies as well as ethnically specialized media—profit from this situation: They attempt to present themselves as indispensable support for this special market, and inevitably construct Turkish or German-Turkish ethnicity. Of course, they differ in their ability to reflect their own actions, especially their processes of constructing ethnicity. As a result, they differ in their degree of personal freedom to act: Some of them are victims of their own rigid constructions of ethnicity. They believe their constructions are absolutely accurate and correspondingly can only construct what they believe. In doing so, they are confronted with contradictions, yet do not realize that these result from the contingent character of constructions in general and, in particular, the non-homogeneity of the target group. All interviewees constructed ethnicity in conformance with their own self-conception. This illustrates that unreflected players in the market utilize ethnicity as well, at least in a psychological way. Beyond that, some players are able to construct ethnicity more flexibly. Whether conscious about it or not, it was clear to see that interviewees constructions of ethnicity vary with their lines of argumentation and specific economic interests. Nevertheless, all interviewees characterized the conditions of ethnomarketing and its agents as ‘nonprofessional’ (Coding). Linked with this is usually the disparagement of the Ethnomarketing providers and the

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description of the ‘Turks in Germany’ as an untapped potential which they as professional consultants would be able to tap. Th e ‘Turks in Germany’ are described as a helpless but grateful target group which could easily be reached by the interviewees themselves if put in the role of a professional company. The impression is given that “easy money” could be earned. They often describe their own role as “peace corps volunteer for Turks”. Not economic motives, rather moral motives, are named for their commitment to the ‘Turkish market’ in Germany. Their argumentation is similar to that used in journalistic articles about Ethnomarketing in Germany (compare chapter 3). This is not surprising considering the fact that journalists usually take over information as well as argumentation from “ethnic experts” and present them as their own. As a result, Ethnomarketing in Germany is introduced as a kind of movement against racial discrimination of Turks by parts of the German economy. A simple strategy is apparent behind all this: The “ethnic experts” attempt to stand out from their competitors and make their audience believe that the ethnic market is lucrative and ‘politically correct’. Beyond that, some interviewees state very openly that they utilize Ethnomarketing as a “door opener” (coding) to get access to high-profile customers and big contracts. According to Yildirim: And honestly, as a small German agency, we would have no chance to reach these customers.23

This means the “ethnic experts” consciously use ascribed Turkish ethnicity for their own economic interests. Within the scope of Ethnomarketing, they play the ‘Turkish role’ to get more contracts. On the other hand, their signature Turkish ethnic marking also makes it more difficult for them to leave their ethnic role and get contracts from other market segments. As a result of their clear ethnic positioning and the logic of the ethnic market, their capacities to act are restricted: In the scope of Ethnomarketing, the a priori distinction between ‘Germans’ and ‘Turks’, or ‘German-Turks’, makes it impossible for them not to make ethnic differentiation. Even if they view other forms of marketing as potentially more successful than Ethnomarketing, their role as ethnic experts forces them to construct a special target group as ‘Turks in Germany’, or ‘German-Turks’. This means they must find ethnic characteristics

23 „Und ganz ehrlich, als kleine, deutsche Agentur hätten wir keine Chance an die Kunden ranzukommen.“ (105).

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and translate them into a part of their marketing. In some cases they highlight ethnic characteristics without believing in them, particularly if they see no other alternative due to their philosophy of ethnic separation in order to win over their customers. The main problem for all agents in the field of Ethnomarketing centers around the ethnically constructed target group, ‘Turks in Germany’, having no common reception and consumer behavior. Yet this is precisely the hypothesis which is suggested or forms the philosophy for Ethnomarketing. Ethnic target groups have to be constructed, whether such constructions are useful or not. In actuality, it is difficult for players to find common contents of advertisement for the constructed target groups. Heterogeneity and similarity to ethnically non-specified consumers become a problem. Arslan laconically states: “They are quite normal humans.”24 In everyday business the agencies cannot follow through with their own insight on Ethnomarketing, as positioned by Arslan. To their customers they have to present a marketing scheme that is convincing as ethnic marketing—not as just any marketing. They deepen the ethnic gap by reconstructing the borderline between “Germans” and ‘GermanTurks’ within their marketing. In other words, they weaken the public awareness for the contingency of this ethnic distinction. In this general sense, corresponding with the understanding of GANDY explained previously, Ethnomarketing is a kind of racism: A thinking outside the box of ethnic constructions in the field of marketing which often was the case up till now becomes suspect. Turks are constructed to be different consumers from Germans. How marketers construct Turkish, or German-Turkish, ethnicity in the scope of Ethnomarketing is determined by their own interests and personal impressions and prejudices. For example, the head of marketing at Radyo Metropol FM points out that “music” (coding) is important: What you have to admit about the Turks . . . They eat with music, they drink with music, they dance with music, they die with music, they get married with music, they celebrate with music, they cry with music . . . Music is present everywhere in all phases of their lives. With their own music.25

24

„Das sind ganz normale Menschen.“ (137). „Was man den Türken geben muss . . . Die essen mit Musik, die trinken mit Musik, die tanzen mit Musik, die sterben mit Musik, die heiraten mit Musik, die feiern mit Musik, die weinen mit Musik . . . . Die Musik ist in allen ihren Lebensphasen überall präsent. Mit ihrer eigenen Musik.“ (129). 25

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In contrast, the creators of commercials emphasize the allegedly special ‘tonality of the Turks’. All ‘supporters’ in the ethnic market agree on one point: They believe they personally have the right idea for delivering good Ethnomarketing. In doing so, social constructions about ‘the south’ and ‘the Orient’, which have been communicated for centuries in societies, become parts of their ethnic constructions. Due to fairy tales in “A Thousand and One Nights”, the ‘south’ is often linked with ‘high emotionality’ and the ‘Orient’ with ‘tenderness’ (Codings: “tenderness and emotionality” and “emotionally receptive”). As a result of the nonhomogeneity of the ethnically constructed target group, marketers have less possibility to illustrate “being Turkish” or “being German-Turkish” without falling prey to clichés. Sometimes this becomes very clear. Even seemingly ‘solid factors’ of Ethnomarketing are not without problems for marketers. For example, not every wooed audience will know and love ‘Turkish’ “traditions and holidays” (codings) as it is sometimes assumed. Aside from that, a lot of distinctions and variations in this regard are even recognizable in Turkey. Further, “common symbols” (codings) for ‘German-Turks”, unproblematic for marketing purposes, are not to be found. Therefore they are used marginally and more or less for the customers than for the target group itself, as e.g., in the case of the symbol, “blue eyed”.26 In instances when interviewees spoke of “taboos” (coding) within ethnic marketing, they tended to weaken or give up their stance when questioned further. Meyer, however, insists on the validity of these taboos, e.g. that in the view of Turks, dogs and cats are “inferior creatures” and would never be seen in the kitchens of Turkish homes. With his position, he links generalized attributions which sound racial in nature: Best case scenario, they get kicked and drowned it in the next river. Get thrown to death. That’s how they got to know things on the countryside at home, the Turks. Right!?27

Occasionally some interviewees characterized the ethnically constructed target group in common with Meyer. For example, some stated the target group would be “simple minded and lazy” (coding). In this way, they produce stereotypes of the ‘Turks in Germany’ or of ‘being Turkish’,

26

Specific symbol against “the evil eye” used in middle east and other regions. „Die kriegen allenfalls nen Tritt und kratzen dann im nächsten Fluss ab. Werden tot geschmissen. Das ist so, wie die das zu Hause auf dem Land kennen gelernt haben die Türken. Nä!?“ (Anmerkung: Zur besseren Verständlichkeit vom genauen, stotternd vorgetragenen, Wortlaut abweichend). 27

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especially when their constructions become part of their marketing. The wooed target group does not have as much influence on this process as one may think. In general, marketing is a ‘closed job’ between agencies and their customers, meaning it is difficult to measure the success of marketing with regard to the recipients. Therefore, it is more important for marketing agencies to convince their customers on there strategies than the potential consumers. The public only partially or on exception exercises a corrective effect, as exemplified in the case of the Mercedes’ commercial (see above). For lack of better alternatives, marketers use mainly Turkish language (codings), protagonists with an allegedly Turkish appearance (coding), allegedly Turkish music (coding) and the presentation of “Turkish commercial families” (coding) as the most important means within their marketing. I suppose they are able to reach a lot of recipients with that kind of created ethnic marketing for those who already feel Turkish, though they cannot always avoid ‘collateral damages’. After all, the debate must remain around the question, what is ‘Turkish’ (appearance, behavior, music and so on), because ethnic borders are neither sharp nor natural, rather individually constructed. For instance, a recipient who feels ‘German-Turkish’, but is unable to understand the Turkish language, may not be attracted to this kind of marketing, and is perhaps even annoyed. But this is not the main problem marketers face. Their main problem is the boredom they are in danger of producing with this kind of minimized ethnic marketing. On the other hand, if they bring in more “ethnic” contents, they are in danger of producing stereotypes, mismatching or irritating a part of the wooed target group. The boredom ethnic marketing can produce becomes clear in regard to the many presentations of “Turkish commercial families”. Kilic states: Well, it is not just Telekom. Currently I believe there are five or six different companies. Each company has its own typical Turkish family.28

Further addressing the presentation of Turkish families in advertising, Deniz adds: That may be important, but always the same?29

28 „Also es ist nicht nur die Telekom, also es sind ja zur Zeit, glaube ich, fünf oder sechs verschiedene Unternehmen. Jedes Unternehmen hat für sich äh die Mustertürkenfamilie.“ (26). 29 „Das kann ja wichtig sein, aber immer wieder das Selbe?“ (78).

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The agents of Ethnomarketing are at a dead end. The many different ethnic attributions for ‘German-Turks’ circulating in society bring about the ultimate ill fate for ethnic marketers. Considering the substantial emptiness of the construction of “being German-Turkish”, it must be difficult for them to create an attractive yet uncontroversial form of ethnic marketing. Despite this, Ethnomarketing in Germany seems in general to be successful. This may be due to the “feeling of not being accepted in Germany” stemming from a lot of people in Germany who are marked as Turks or who see themselves as Turks or German-Turks. Ethnomarketing can help to compensate for this feeling, because in most cases it values these people. This is the reason of its success. Understanding this reasoning—and not believing in natural ethnic distinctions—it is not so difficult to practice a successful form of Ethnomarketing in Germany without applying any stupid or racial ethnic constructions.

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IPA-plus & TurkMedia (1994): Markt-Media-Studie. TiD—Türken in Deutschland 1994. Frankfurt am Main. Kaufman-Scarborough, Carol (2000): Asian-American consumers as a unique market segment: fact or fallacy? In: Journal of Consumer Marketing 17 (3): 249–262. Kim, D., Y. Pan, and Park H. S. (1998): High- versus Low-Context culture: A comparison of Chinese, Korean, and American cultures. In: Psychology & Marketing 15 (6): 507–521. Knorr-Cetina, Karin (1997): Konstruktivismus als „Strategie der Weltentfaltung“. In: Zirkuläre Positionen: Konstruktivismus als praktische Theorie. Edited by: T. M. Bardmann. Opladen. Westdeutscher Verlag. Korgaonkar, P. K., Karson, E. J. and Lund, D. (2000): Hispanics and Direct Marketing Advertising. In: Journal of Consumer Marketing 17 (2): 137–157. Kulinna, Matthias (2007): Ethnomarketing in Deutschland. Die Konstruktion von Ethnizität durch Marketingakteure. Frankfurt am Main (= Forum Humangeographie 3). Internet: http://www.geo.uni-frankfurt.de/ifh/Forschung/Publikationen/Forum/ downloads/FH-3.pdf Laroche, M., Kim, C. and Tomiuk, M. A. (1998): Italian ethnic identity and its relative impact on the consumption of convenience and traditional foods. In: Journal of Consumer Marketing 15 (2): 125–151. Leach, M. P. and Liu, A. H. (1998): The Use of Culturally Relevant Stimuli in International Advertising. In: Psychology & Marketing 15 (6): 523–546. Okan, Bay (producer) (1993): Mercedes Mon Amour. Paasi, Anssi (2001): Oulu. „A Borderless world“—Is it only rhetoric or will boundaries disappear in the globalizing world? In: Politische Geographie. Edited by: Reuber, P. and Wolkersdorfer, G. Heidelberg: Selbstverlag des Geographischen Instituts der Universität Heidelberg. Pütz, Robert (2004): Transkulturalität als Praxis. Unternehmer türkischer Herkunft in Berlin. Bielefeld. Transcript. —— (2003): Kultur, Ethnizität und unternehmerisches Handeln. In: Berichte zur deutschen Landeskunde 77 (1): 53–70. Seitz, Victoria (1998): Acculturation and direct purchasing behavior among ethnic groups in the US: implications for business practitioners. In: Journal-of-ConsumerMarketing 15 (1): 23–31. Willems, Herbert (2000): Erving Goffmanns Forschungsstil. In: Qualitative Forschung. Edited by: U. Flick, E. von Kardorff and I. Steinke. 2nd Edition. Reinbek bei Hamburg. Rowohlt. Winter, Rainer (2000): Cultural Studies. In: Qualitative Forschung. Edited by: U. Flick, E. von Kardorff and I. Steinke. 2nd Edition. Reinbek bei Hamburg. Rowohlt. Yücebiyik, Sule (2003): Yeni Türkler, bagajdan döner çikinca Mercedes’e küstü. In: Milliyet, 14 September. Rubric: „Business“.

ISLAMIC FINANCING TRANSACTIONS IN EUROPEAN COURTS Kilian Bälz1

Abstract Islamic financing transactions are often implemented in a non-Islamic legal environment. This raises the question whether a court in such a jurisdiction will be prepared to enforce transactions based on and guided by Islamic legal principles. This paper investigates the different approaches of English and German courts in regard to Islamic financing transactions with a particular focus on murabaha agreements. While murabaha agreements are, as a matter of principle, enforceable under both English and German law, the approach English and German courts take with respect to Sharia questions differs substantially. Whereas English Courts tend to follow a literal interpretation of the respective agreements, German courts will more readily look into the underlying Islamic structures and investigate Sharia concepts. From a drafting perspective, in any event, it is highly recommendable to define in the agreement precisely what is meant by a specific reference to the Islamic Sharia and who has ultimately the right to define the substance of any Islamic legal rules referred to.

1. Introduction This paper explores the enforcement of Islamic financing transactions in European courts, an issue which, for two reasons, is of particular relevance to any practitioner involved in the structuring and drafting of Islamic financing transactions. First, the use of Islamic financing techniques is no longer confined to the original Islamic banking strongholds in the Middle East and South Asia. Many Islamic financing transactions today (maybe even the majority) are implemented in Europe, where

1 The paper was originally presented at Harvard Law School at the Sixth Harvard University Forum on Islamic Finance, held on May 8–9, 2004.

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particularly London and Geneve have earned a reputation as Islamic banking hubs. Second, the globalisation of Islamic financing transactions also seems to encourage respective litigation. Lenders default and Islamic banks sue and enforce, once Islamic finance is dis-embedded from the cultural context of Islamic societies and freed from the shackles of communal ties. The starting points of my investigation are two more recent English cases, which I will discuss in the first part of my paper. In the second part, I will address the issues discussed in these cases from the perspective of German law, thus complementing the Common Law perspective by that of the civil law tradition. In a third part, I will then proceed to discuss how to draft Sharia compliant agreements, which can also be enforced in a European court. My discussion will focus on murabaha agreements, as transactions of that type have most frequently been litigated so far. Some of the more general questions discussed in the paper, however, will also be relevant to other Islamic financing structures, in particular sukuk and ijara transactions.

2. The Common Law Approach: Recent decisions of English Courts 2.1

Islamic Financing Transactions in English Courts

English law is somewhat the standard for international fi nancing transactions, at least to the extent transactions in Europe, Africa and Asia are concerned. English law provides professionals with a wide discretion in establishing law through practice (Goode 1995: 162), which suits the needs of the international business community. Furthermore, the London High Court is a popular venue for commercial disputes of all sorts, in many cases geographically unrelated to the United Kingdom. Consequently, it does not come as a surprise that so far most Islamic banking cases in Europe are of English origin. As a general rule, the English law approach to commercial agreements, in particular the obsession with a literal interpretation, construing clauses close to their wording, is sympathetic towards Islamic financing agreements—provided the respective agreements are properly drafted. However, English courts tend to be at odds with issues of Islamic law, if they arise, and are reluctant to enter into discussions related to Sharia matters.

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Symphony Gems

The first time an English court reportedly was concerned with an Islamic banking transaction2 was in Islamic Investment Company of the Gulf (Bahamas) v. Symphony Gems N.V. and Ors. The case illustrates the global reach of Islamic banking transactions and the challenges resulting therefrom for the Islamic finance industry. It was based on the following facts (simplified): The claimant, an Islamic Bank incorporated in the Bahamas, entered into a contract described as “Murabaha Finance Agreement” with the defendant. Upon instruction of the defendant, the claimant purchased two portions of precious stones from a diamond broker in Hong Kong. The precious stones allegedly never reached the defendant. When the claimant brought a claim for the balance due, the defendant argued, inter alia, that the transaction was a contract of sale, where the defendant’s obligation to pay depended on delivery of the goods. Further, the defendant alleged that the contract was void altogether, as it contravened the principles of the Islamic Sharia. The loss of the goods in transit is among the typical legal risks attached to a murabaha transaction (Vogel/Hayes 1998: 141). In this event, the question arises whether the murabaha is to be treated as a sale of goods, which an analysis of traditional fiqh-rules may suggest, or as a financing transaction, which would conform to its contemporary use in trading practice. Islamic banks tend to mitigate this risk through detailed contractual provisions, making the payment of the balance independent from any delivery of the supplies. In the present case, the agreement provided: 4.2 When the Seller shall have purchased Supplies, the Purchaser shall be absolutely, unconditionally and irrevocably obliged to purchase such Supplies from the Seller and to pay (a) all sums as mentioned in the Acceptance relating to such Supplies and (b) all other sums expressed or agreed to be payable hereunder in respect of such Supplies, in all cases notwithstanding any defect, deficiency or any loss or any other breach of any Supply contract relating thereto by the Supplier or any other matter or thing whatsoever.

This principle is reiterated at a later stage in the agreement in the following words: 2 This at least is what the market says. For a more comprehensive analysis of the case see Bälz (2004a).

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kilian bälz 4.4 The relevant instalments of the Sale Price in respect of each Purchase Agreement shall be payable by the Purchaser to the Seller on the due dates therefor, whether or not: (a) any property in the Supplies has passed to the Purchaser under the relevant Purchase Agreement and/or to the Seller under the relevant Supply contract . . . and such payment shall not be conditional upon the happening of any event, in recognition by the parties of the facts that the source of the supply of the Supplies is selected by the Purchaser . . .

In interpreting these clauses, the High Court first highlighted the choice of law clause contained in the agreement, pursuant to which the “Agreement and each Purchase Agreement shall be governed by, and construed in accordance with, English law.” Based hereupon, the court declined to enter into any discussions as regards the nature of the murabaha under Islamic law. Instead, the court restricted its deliberations to an interpretation of the respective contractual clauses under the application of English legal principles, arriving at the conclusion: What clauses 4.4, 5.1, 5.2 and 5.6 demonstrate is that all of the arrangements concerning the acquisition of the goods by the seller from the supplier fall to be made by the purchaser, for the very good reason that this is a financing agreement facilitating or apparently facilitating the purchase of the goods of the supplier. If therefore there has been no delivery of the goods from the supplier to the seller and thus from the seller to the purchaser, that can only be because the purchaser has not made the necessary arrangements. . . . Clause 4.4 provides that the instalments are payable whether or not the seller is in breach of any of its obligations under the relevant purchase agreement, which must include failure to deliver.

On this basis the High Court concluded that “delivery of goods is not a prerequisite to recovery by the seller of the relevant instalments of the sale price from the purchaser” because the agreement is “no orthodox contract of sale”. The murabaha at hand, as the court argued, was a financing transaction and so, also in the event of a failure of delivery, it was held that the defendant remains under the obligation to pay the purchase price. In addition, the Court did not see any basis for the defence that the contract was altogether void, because it contravened Islamic law as was put forth by the defendant. Although one may debate whether the allocation of risk under the transaction at hand conforms to a more orthodox interpretation of traditional Sharia law and expert evidence to that extent had been submitted in the proceedings, the court declined to look into this issue. In view of the express choice of law and

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the lack of any relationship with an Islamic legal order, the Court held that these questions were irrelevant in the case at hand. As a result, the contract was construed as an English law agreement and the defences were altogether dismissed. The Symphony Gems case was received with much relief in the international (Islamic) banking community. In essence, it can be held that a murabaha agreement, if properly drafted, can be enforced in an English court, if and to the extent the agreement is governed by English law. This also applies to a contractual structure whose permissibility may, from a more orthodox Sharia standpoint, be at least questionable. 2.3

Beximco

This issue was then taken up in Shamil Bank of Bahrain v. Beximco Pharmaceuticals Ltd. and Others. The Beximco Case was based on a similar set of facts, at least to the extent that it also concerned a defaulting debtor under a murabaha agreement who raised, inter alia, the defence that the agreement did not comply with Islamic legal principles. The claimant had entered into a murabaha agreement with the defendant. The defendant defaulted under the agreement. The parties entered into negotiations in order to reschedule the defendant’s debt, in the end, however, without result. The claimant raised an action in order to enforce the balance in the London High Court, which the parties had determined as venue. The defendant argued that the transaction was altogether void, as it was only dressed up as a murabaha agreement, but in fact was an interest bearing loan. It thus violated the Islamic prohibition of riba and was, therefore, not enforceable. Regarding the facts of the case it may, in view of the Symphony Gems case, surprise that the case actually made it to the Court of Appeals. The reason is that the agreement in the Beximco case contained a choice of law clause which, unlike the one in the Symphony Gems agreement, also made explicit reference to Islamic law. The respective clause reads: Subject to the Principles of the Glorious Sharia, this Agreement shall be governed by and construed in accordance with the law of England.

This choice of law is rather ambiguous, to say the least. It raises a whole set of questions.3 One of these questions is whether and to what extent 3

For a more comprehensive discussion see Bälz (2004b).

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the parties can validly agree on Islamic law as the governing law of a financial transaction. This is a question which has not been fully resolved so far (cf. Bälz 2001). In view of the interpretative pluralism in Islamic law, both past and present, and the extensive controversies regarding financial innovations among Islamic scholars, it seems a difficult if not impossible task for any court to come up with an interpretation of Islamic law that will satisfy all circles concerned. Moreover, as far as English private international law is concerned, it is questionable whether the parties can validly opt for a choice of law other than that of a particular national jurisdiction; according to the prevailing opinion, it is only permissible to opt for the law of a particular country to govern the contract (Dicey and Morris II 2000: 1223). In the end, both the London High Court and the Court of Appeals, therefore, declined to attribute any legal effect to the reference to Islamic law contained in the agreement: First, it was argued that pursuant to applicable conflict rules the choice of any non-national legal order— such as the Sharia—was irrelevant. Art. 3 (1) of the Rome Convention provides: A contract shall be governed by the law chosen by the parties. The choice must be expressed or demonstrated with reasonable certainty by the terms of the contract or the circumstances of the case. By their choice the parties can select the law applicable to the whole or a part only of the contract

The court held that this provision only permits to determine a certain national law as the governing law of the contract. Any reference to transnational legal principles such as the lex mercatoria or the Islamic Sharia, understood as the historic (but living) legal order of Islam, is no valid choice of law. Second, and maybe more importantly, the courts also decided against an incorporation of Islamic legal principles into the contract (being in principle governed by English law). The doctrine of incorporation is acknowledged in English law, and it is thus possible to make selected foreign legal principles part of an English law agreement. The courts held, however, that such incorporation requires that reference is made to a specific “black letter” rule (be it of a foreign legal order or of a set of international principles). In the words of the Court of Appeals: The doctrine of incorporation can only sensibly operate where the parties have by the terms of their contract sufficiently identified specific “black letter” provisions of a foreign law or an international code of set of rules apt to be incorporated as terms of the relevant contract such as a particular

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article or articles of the French civil Code or the Hague Rules. By that method, English law is applied as the governing law to a contract into which the foreign rules have been incorporated. In such a case, in construing and applying those rules, where there is ambiguity or doubt as to their ambit or effect, it may be appropriate for the court to have regards to evidence from those experts in foreign law as to the way in which the provisions identified have been interpreted and applied in their “home” jurisdiction. . . .

The reference to the “Glorious Sharia” in the present case, so the Court of Appeals held, was too vague to have any legal meaning: The general reference to principles of Sharia in this case affords no reference to, or identification of, those aspects of Sharia law which are intended to be incorporated into the contract, let alone the term in which they are framed. It is plainly insufficient for the defendants to contend that the basic rules of the Sharia applicable in this case are not controversial. Such “basic principles” are neither referred nor identified. Thus the reference to the “principles of . . . Sharia” stand unqualified as a reference to the body of Sharia law generally. As such, they are inevitably repugnant to the choice of English law as the law of the contract and render the clause self-contradictory and therefore meaningless. . . . The words are intended to simply reflect the Islamic religious principles according to which the bank holds itself out as doing business rather than a system of law to be applied in ascertaining the liability of the parties under the terms of the agreement.

In view of the interpretative pluralism in Islamic law it would be furthermore an impossible task for the court to determine the applicable principles, as there are “indeed areas of considerable controversy and difficulty” in ascertaining the applicable Sharia rules. Furthermore, the courts argued that it is doubtful whether the parties intended to confer the authority to decide such questions on an English court. The court supported this interpretation by arguing that the parties, being fully aware of the economic realities of the transaction, could impossibly have intended to wilfully subject the agreement to legal rules invalidating the transaction. As a result, the court declined to get involved with the interpretation of Sharia principles which, upon a strict application, may well have resulted in sincere doubts as to the validity of the transaction at hand, which resembles a so-called “synthetic murabaha”, carrying an allocation of risk comparable to a financing transaction (cf. Vogel/Hayes 1998: 141). Instead, the court interpreted the agreement upon an application of English legal principles only, confirming the validity of the agreement

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from the perspective of English law, but not opining on it from the viewpoint of the Islamic Sharia. The latter task is thus left to the Islamic financial community. 2.4

Islamic Financing Transactions under English law

From the case law analysed, it seems fair to draw the following conclusions: An English court will enforce a murabaha agreement on the basis of a literal interpretation of its wording. Provided that the mechanics of the transaction are intelligible and the agreement is properly drafted, an English court will thus normally enforce such an agreement. In doing so, however, the court cannot be expected to enter into any discussions relating to Sharia law. Put differently, in the (however limited) case law that exists today the courts have shied away from entering into any such discussions. An English court will thus be prepared to assist an Islamic bank in collecting the balance outstanding under a murabaha agreement when due. However, it cannot be expected to also guarantee Sharia compliance.

3. The Civil Law Approach: How German courts would decide 3.1

Civil Law—an altogether different approach?

Much has been written about whether the Civil Law approach is all that different from that of Common Law. In fact, in many areas of law the convergency thesis seems compelling and any juxtaposition of a civil law legal culture and a common law legal culture is, in the light hereof, rather artificial. This, however, does not hold true for all areas of law. I argue that, at least as far as the approach to non-national norms and the doctrine of incorporation is concerned, there is indeed a substantial difference between the English approach on the one hand and the German approach on the other. Unlike in England there is, to the best of my knowledge, no relevant German case law relating to murabaha transactions. As a consequence, the following is something of a Continental European exercise in legal realism, engaging in a prophecy what the German courts may say, if they were concerned with the choice of law clause of the kind included in the agreement of the Beximco case.

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Choice of Law

As regards the question of whether the parties may determine the principles of Islamic law as the proper law of the contract, the situation under German private international law is somewhat similar to the English approach. Section 27 (1) of the German Introductory Law of the Civil Code (Einführungsgesetz zum Bürgerlichen Gesetzbuch—“EGBGB”) containing the applicable conflict rules is based on the Rome Convention and reads: The contract is governed by the law chosen by the parties. The choice of law must be explicit or must be derived with sufficient certainty from the terms of the contract or the circumstances of the case. The parties may agree on a choice of law to comprise the entire contract of a part thereof.

This provision thus allows the parties to determine the law applicable to an international contract (and hereby reflects the international standard in that field). Moreover, according to the prevailing opinion in German legal literature, it is understood that only the choice of a national legal order is allowed (von Bar/Mankowski I 2003:87–88 with further references). However, this opinion is not entirely undisputed and, by comparison to English legal writing, German lawyers seem to be more sympathetic towards non-governmental rules, such as the lex mercatoria, the UNIDROIT principles, or the Principles of European Contract Law. In the light of the increasing importance of private standardisation in international commerce on the one hand and the decreasing significance of the national state as legislator on the other, it has been argued that it is erroneous to limit the choice of law to national law, but that this should also comprise the possibility to select a certain set of nonnational rules (Wichard 1996; Berger/Dubberstein et alii, 2002). According to this approach, it should be possible to also determine Islamic legal principles as the proper law of the contract. Even in accordance with the prevailing approach, such a choice of Islamic legal principles must be permitted if the dispute is submitted to arbitration. As regards the substantive law applicable in arbitration proceedings, the German Code of Civil Procedure (Zivilprozessordnung—“ZPO”) provides in Section 1051 (1) that the tribunal shall decide pursuant to the “legal rules” determined as applicable by the parties. This wording is understood by the prevailing opinion to also allow the choice of non-national rules (Wagner, in: Weigand 2002: 791 with further references). As a consequence, it should be possible to

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determine Islamic law as proper law of the contract if and to the extent the respective agreement contains an arbitration clause. It follows from this that, if the parties insist on defining the Islamic Sharia as the proper law of the contract, they should be advised, if German conflict rules apply,4 to also include an arbitration clause in the contract. An arbitration tribunal is thus likely to respect such a choice of law. However, it is highly recommendable to also safeguard in the contract that the arbitrators will have the required knowledge of Islamic law and, which is even more important, of Islamic banking practice. It follows from this that at least some of the arbitrators should be required to have the respective qualifications, i.e. must be versed in Sharia matters and experienced in the current Islamic banking practice. The choice of law will practically depend on the arbitration clause. 3.3 Incorporation of Islamic legal principles into a German law agreement German law does acknowledge the doctrine of incorporation and the parties may, by reference to a certain set of rules or standards, make them part of their agreement, even if the rules as such, being of a non-national nature, would not qualify as law in the positivist sense (von Bar/Mankowski I 2003:87–88). This approach thus allows to make reference to Islamic legal principles although the contract is for the rest governed by German law. The situation, as regards the underlying principle, is not all that different from the position of English law, perhaps with the exception that German courts are likely to exercise somewhat more leniency as regards the formal requirements of such an incorporation. As a general rule, German courts would be less obsessed with the wording of a particular contractual clause, but would rather investigate what the parties actually intended to say there (or, what the court believes the parties should have said there, as may also be the case; cf. Zweigert/Kötz 1987: 433–434). In practice, this can make a significant difference, and a German court may well have interpreted the choice of law clause in the agreement of the Beximco case to the effect that the parties indeed intended to subject the exercise of their rights to the Islamic Sharia. According to this interpretation, the exercise of any rights is limited by

4 Which is, practically speaking, the case if the venue or place of arbitration, as the case may be, is located in Germany.

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this being permissible in the light of Sharia principles, and the claimant in the Shamil case may have faced difficulties in collecting the monies due, if and to the extent the defendant was in the position to ascertain that the agreement in fact contravened the Islamic Sharia.5 Further, and perhaps more importantly, German courts have in the past interpreted certain agreements in the light of Islamic legal principles even without any explicit choice of or reference to Sharia law. This approach has, in particular, been followed in interpreting Islamic marriage contracts, governed formally by German law pursuant to applicable conflict rules, but based on and inspired by traditional Islamic structures. In this instance the German Federal Court has explicitly made reference to the function of a mahr under Islamic law when concerned with an Islamic marriage contract entered into between two German residents, dressed up as a prenuptial agreement governed by German law and notarised by a Bavarian notary public (Bundesgerichtshof, October 14, 1998). A German court is likely to take a similar approach with regard to a murabaha agreement governed by German law. In this event the court may investigate in some more detail whether the murabaha actually is a sale of goods or a financing transaction; it may also look into the details of whether the purchaser is under the obligation to repay the “loan” if and to the extent the goods were lost in transit; the court may also raise the question of whether parties intending to transact “the Islamic way” may be barred from exercising certain rights formally granted to them pursuant to the wording of the agreement, if this contravenes fundamental Sharia principles. 3.4

Islamic Financing Transactions under German law

By comparison to the approach of the English courts, I consider it likely that a German court would pay more attention to Islamic legal rules.

5 One can only speculate about the outcome. The agreement at hand, being reminiscent of a “synthetic murabaha”, may well be contrary to a more orthodox interpretation of Sharia principles. The consequences, however, are not all that clear. One approach would be to hold that the agreement is void only as far as the “interest” is concerned. Based on such an understanding, the bank would be able to collect the principal, without, however, being entitled to the mark-up. If and to the extent one holds that the agreement is void altogether, the question arises whether the bank may nevertheless collect the principal pursuant to the rules of unjustified enrichment (which would be the position under German law; see Bundesgerichtshof, July 29, 1989, 1083; and June 15, 1993, 2108).

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It will be rather unlikely that a German court would outright dismiss reference to the Islamic Sharia or a modelling according to a traditional Islamic contractual structure by arguing that the respective agreement is governed by German law. In contrast, it is likely that a German court would also in this event try to give the agreement a specific Islamic interpretation (or, more precisely, whatever the court would assume that such an Islamic interpretation is). It should be highlighted that this may, from the perspective of the Islamic financing Industry, at times be a rather problematic approach. The legitimacy of some widely spread contractual structures, such as the synthetic murabaha, remains to be disputed among Islamic scholars. A German court concerned with such agreements may well take defences derived from Islamic law more seriously than the English courts have done in the past. This may ultimately hinder enforcement of at least some of the rights under such an agreement.

4. Lessons for the Structuring and Drafting of Islamic Financing Agreements 4.1

Generating Islamic legitimacy in a secular legal environment

Safeguarding Sharia compliance in a secular legal environment is not an easy task, and Islamic financial institutions employ various techniques to assure vis-à-vis their customers that their dealings are Islamic (and hereby generate the Islamic legitimacy on which their business model is based on). On the institutional level, most Islamic financial institutions entertain a Sharia Board entrusted with advising the institution’s management in connection with Islamic questions and ascertaining that the business transacted complies with Sharia principles (Saeed 1999: 108–118). In addition, and from a legal perspective more debatable, some Islamic financial institutions also include a reference to Islamic legal principles in the agreements themselves (as, for example, in the Beximco case). In the latter case, the Islamic orientation of the transaction is not merely expressed by a general policy statement in the institution’s articles of association and a use of Islamic contractual structures. The claim to abide by Islamic legal principles is also expressed through a choice of law clause determining Islamic law as the proper law of the contract. Such an approach most clearly reflects the business policy

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of Islamic financial institutions being guided by the Islamic Sharia. In view hereof, it is only consistent to include a provision in the agreement providing for a choice of Islamic law. In particular the case law of the English courts discussed in this paper demonstrates the difficulties of such an approach. I would like to make two specifi c suggestions as to how these difficulties might be overcome, both on the substantive and on the procedural level. 4.2

Defining applicable Sharia rules

Among the key difficulties for any court concerned with the application of Sharia law to an agreement is to determine the substance of the relevant rules. Although the approach of the English courts with regard to the alleged vagueness of Sharia law, arguing that this is rather a moral code as opposed to a legal system, is unfair (to say the least) and demonstrates the persistence of an Orientalist bias, it must be conceded that, in view of the diversity of opinion among Islamic scholars, it is not always easy to resolve a specific issue on the basis of Islamic law, in particular if financial innovations are concerned. As a starting point, any reference to Islamic legal norms, be it as a choice of law proper or by way of incorporation into the agreement, must be specific, thus allowing a third party interpreting the agreement to ascertain their content. This requires to further define and to describe the sources of such rules. One approach may be to refer to a specific madhab or, even more precisely, a specific treatise of law, which is hereby defined as the authoritative source of Islamic law for the purpose of the respective agreement. Both techniques are familiar from the area of family law reform; they could, however, be used in the realm of financial transactions as well. However, the downside of this approachwill be that if a certain madhab is selected, this will not exclude, but in the best case narrow down, ambiguities and differences in opinion. As regards the selection of certain authoritative fiqh books, it must be noted that even contemporary expositions of Islamic contract law do not focus on modern financial transactions and thus leave many intriguing questions open. It follows from this that even if a certain madhab or treatise of law is defined, this will provide only limited certainty as regards the outcome of a potential dispute. From my experience, the most recommendable reference is one to the AAOIFI Sharia Standards. AAOIFI is a non-governmental organisation

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based in Bahrain, active in the definition of the best practice applicable to Islamic financial institutions. AAOIFI also has promulgated a set of Sharia standards which, in the second edition, provide guidance as regards most Islamic financing transactions (and are furthermore deemed to represent a, albeit at times rather conservative, middle ground position regarding many disputed questions). The standards are so to speak a restatement of Sharia principles relevant to Islamic banking transactions, formulated in a language and manner intelligible also to lawyers without formal training in Sharia law. Therefore, if it is intended to incorporate Sharia principles into the contract, a reference to the AAOIFI standards is a workable solution, as these principles are widely accepted among Sharia sholars, focus on the areas of law that are relevant to financial transactions and are formulated in a precise and intelligible manner. From a practical standpoint, however, it cannot be recommended to make reference to Islamic legal principles without precisely defining what this shall imply, in the event a dispute occurs. 4.3

Dispute resolution: Division of labour between courts and experts

Even if the relevant Sharia norms are precisely defined, their application to a specific transaction will easily end up in ambiguities (which, to be fair, is not due to the nature of Sharia law but is more or less immanent in any legal interpretation). Consequently, the appointment of the authority on which this task is conferred may, in practice, be even more important than the selection and definition of the rules as such. If such Islamic legal rules are properly incorporated into an agreement, they also bind a court, which then must apply these rules as part of the agreement. There is, however, a possibility that the court will treat these rules—albeit being integrated into the agreement by incorporation and not by way of a choice of law—as a choice of foreign law. In this event, determination of the substance of such rules will ultimately depend on the respective expert opinions, although the English and the German approach to that question will differ in detail. Whereas in Germany the expert will be appointed by the court and investigate the issues of foreign law ex officio and impartially, in an English court a question of foreign law would be treated as a factual question, thus left to the parties to ascertain. In any event, the involvement of foreign law experts can substantially slow down the proceedings, in particular if

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these experts are appointed ex officio, as would be the case in a German court. From a practical perspective, therefore, it can be recommendable to avoid, to the extent possible, the involvement of court appointed experts. This will hold true in particular when advising an Islamic bank, being in the end dependent on whether the rights under the agreement can be enforced. One possibility to further remedy this situation is to determine already in the agreement itself who, in the event of a dispute, shall have the authority to interpret the relevant Sharia rules. This can be done by providing that the institution’s Sharia board shall also have the last word on such questions. This is the easiest to accomplish. In that case, once a (typical) transaction has been sanctioned by the Sharia board, there will be effectively no further dispute as regards their Sharia compliance. In such case, however, the reference to Islamic legal principles will be more of a tautology, not adding anything to the substance of the agreement. Another possibility, representing some middle ground position, would be to determine in the agreement some extraneous institution or third party to exercise the function of the expert. This technique is fairly widespread in complex commercial agreements, where specific questions relating to technical and accounting matters, for instance, are referred to an institution other than the normal dispute resolution body, deciding a particular question of the dispute based on special expertise (cf. Lew/Mistelis/Kröll 2003: 10–11). Such a structure can also be utilised if questions of Islamic law may arise, which would then be referred to an expert appointed under the agreement.

5. Conclusions Based on the limited case law available, it is fair to conclude that murabaha agreements are enforceable both under English and German law, provided they are drafted in a professional manner, thus making the underlying structure intelligible to a non-muslim court. Any reference to Sharia norms should be precisely defined, and such reference should also determine an authority (other than the court) entrusted with the interpretation of Islamic principles. A European court can be expected to enforce a commercial agreement according to its terms and conditions. It cannot, however, be expected to express any opinions on Sharia law.

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kilian bälz References

1. Cases a) England Islamic Investment Company of the Gulf (Bahamas) v. Symphony Gems N.V. and Ors., The High Court of Justice. August 1st 2003. 2002 Folio No. 1172 (not reported). Shamil Bank of Bahrain v. Beximco Pharmaceuticals Ltd. and Others. Court of Appeals. 28 January 2004. [2004] All ER (D) 280 (Jan). b) Germany Bundesgerichtshof. July 29, 1989. Wertpapiermitteilungen 1989: 1083–1086. ——. June 15, 1993. Neue Juristische Wochenschrift 1993: 2108–2109. ——. October 14, 1998. Neue Juristische Wochenschrift 1999: 547–575. 2. Legal Writings Accounting and Auditing Organisation for Islamic Financial Institutions—AAOIFI. 2003. Shari’a Standards. AAOIFI: Manama/Bahrain. Bälz, Kilian. 2001. Islamic Law as Governing Law under the Rome Convention: Inversalist Lex Mercatoria vs. the Regional Unification of Laws. In Yearbook of Islamic and Middle Eastern Laws 8: 73–85. ——. 2004a. A murâbaha Transaction in an English Court. The London High Court of 13th February 2002. Islamic Investment Company of the Gulf (Bahamas) Ltd. v. Symphony Gems N.V. & Ors. In Islamic Law and Society 11: 117–134. ——. 2004b. Das islamische Recht als Vertragsstatut? Shamil Bank of Bahrain vs. Beximco Pharmaceuticals Ltd. and Others, London High Court vom 1. August 2003. In Praxis des Internationalen Privat- und Verfahrensrechts (in print). Berger, Klaus-Peter; Holger Dubberstein, et alii. 2000. Anwendung Transnationalen Rechts in der internationalen Vertrags- und Schiedspraxis—Hintergrund, Methode und ausgewählte Ergebnisse einer Umfrage des Center for Transnational Law (CENTRAL). In Zeitschrift für vergleichende Rechtswissenschaft 101: 12–37. Dicey and Morris on the Conflict of Laws vol. 2. 2000. 13th ed. by Lawrence Collins. London: Sweet&Maxwell. Goode, Roy. 1995. Commercial Law, 2nd ed. London: Penguin Books. Lew, Julian D. M.; Loukas A. Mistelis and Stefan M. Kröll. 2003. Comparative International Commercial Arbitration. The Hague/London/New York: Kluwer Law International. von Bar, Christian and Peter Mankowski. 2003. Internationales Privatrecht. Vol. 1: Allgemeine Lehren. Munich: C. H. Beck. Saeed, Abdullah. 1999. Islamic Banking and Interest. A Study on the Prohibition of Riba and its Contemporary Interpretation. Leiden/Boston/Cologne: Brill. Vogel, Frank and Samuel L. Hayes. 1998. Islamic Law and Finance. Religion, Risk and Return. The Hague/London/Boston: Kluwer Law International. Weigang, Frank-Bernd. 2002. Practitioner’s Handbook on International Arbitration. Munich: C. H. Beck. Wichard, Johannes Christian. 1996. Die Anwendung der UNIDROIT-Prinzipien für internationale Handelsverträge durch Schiedsgerichte und staatliche Gerichte. In Rabels Zeitschrift für ausländisches und internationales Privatrecht 60: 262–302. Zweigert, Konrad and Hein Kötz. 1987. An Introduction to Comparative Law, 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

GENERAL INDEX

9/11 8, 10, 12, 21, 51, 133, 425, 429, 432 Abitur 87, 529 Abu al-Fadl, Mamun 189 Afghanistan 5, 49, 113, 183, 189, 204, 300, 307, 320 Acculturation 76 ahl al-kitab (Jews, Christians) 169 Ahmadiyya 17, 139,169, 200, 288, 310, 311, 312, 313, 314, 315, 316, 317, 325, 327 Akin, Fatih 18, 339, 340, 341. 345, 348 Alafenisch, Salim 19, 353, 355, 356, 362, 367 Alaiyan, Halima 19, 353, 355, 359, 367 alevilerin sesi 292, 451, 456, 457 Alevis 16, 49, 60, 58, 96, 545 Alevism 16, 38, 457, 530, 546 Alexandre, Miguel 321 Ali, Salim 303 Alienation 12, 164, 383, 384 Aligarh Muslim University 304 Al-Jazeera 20, 400, 412, 413, 414, 415, 418 al-Qaida 320 Alterity 90 Amir, Abd al-Magid 201 Ansar al-Islam 320 Anti-liberal 23, 485 Anti-Semitism 201, 202, 205, 209, 410, 433, 457 Arab culture 19, 353, 354, 356, 364, 365, 368 ARD (Das Erste Deutsche Fernsehen) 409, 413 Arjoun, Jakob 18, 340 Arslan, Shakib 13, 198, 199 Arslan, Thomas 18, 339, 340, 342, 344 Arslan, Yilmaz 338 Assimilation 5, 19, 21, 75, 76, 202, 259, 260, 263, 291, 292, 353, 444, 476, 546, 562 Association for Islamic Charitable Projects 141 Association of Islamic Cultural Centers (see VIKZ and Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren) 3, 38, 126, 138, 152

Asylum 43, 44, 46, 49, 50, 312, 321, 346, 445, 512 Azhar, Al- 11, 55, 152, 151, 153, 154, 155, 156, 158, 246, 278 Balkan 190 Barakatullah, Muhammad 200 Behavior 115, 134, 147, 149, 150, 219, 231, 319, 337, 385, 396, 401, 403, 404, 406, 475, 489, 490, 493, 499, 502, 503, 543, 544, 551, 563, 565 Benali, Abdulkadir 355 Bhutto, Benazir 434 Bild (Die Bild Zeitung) 453 Bose, Subhas Chandra 200, 306, 309 Bouazza, Hafid 355 Buket Alakus 338 Caliph of Cologne (see Kaplan, Cemaleddin) 5 Caliphate State 5, 38, 458 Central Council of Muslims in Germany (see ZMD and Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland) 10, 11, 13, 74, 614, 168, 169, 170, 171, 179, 215, 216, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 229 Christian Centre (Party of Christian Centre) 54 Christian Church 129 Christian-Islamic Societies 11, 163 Christianity 35, 53, 120, 130, 170, 171, 174, 188, 235, 236, 239, 243, 251, 259, 262, 263 Christian-Muslim dialogue 146, 161, 174, 180 Christian-Muslim encounter 9, 162, 163, 165, 166, 167, 169, 171, 173, 175, 177, 179 Cinematic referentiality 334 Civic ethic 15, 263 Clash of Civilization 33, 47, 176 Constitutional Court 55, 56 Conversion 1, 4, 473, 475 Convert 11, 136, 145, 152, 312, 431 Coordination Council of Muslims in Germany (see KRM) 2, 10 Cotta, Bey Aziz 201

586

general index

Cultural hegemony 18, 332 Cultural hybridity 332 Cultural identity 18, 20, 91, 236, 3312, 357, 395, 396, 418, 446, 528 Cultural Islam 470 Cumhuriyet Hafta 449, 450, 455 Da’wa 311, 474–478 dār al-‘ahd’ 78 dār al-harb 78 dār al-Islām 77, 78 Das, Taraknath 200 Deutsche Islamische Konferenz (DIK) 2 Deutsch-Moslemische Gesellschaft 2 Diaspora 4, 6, 12, 18, 22, 23, 77, 78, 124, 125, 126, 134, 143, 158, 159, 165, 167, 198, 209, 210, 255, 278, 283, 284, 310, 317, 332, 408, 441, 442, 449, 451, 453, 454, 458, 459, 465, 467, 469, 471, 472, 473, 474, 475, 476, 477, 479, 481, 483, 485 Discrimination 24, 109, 114, 170, 225, 237, 269, 271, 273, 285, 288, 290, 319, 436, 438, 499, 500, 514, 519, 520, 523, 547, 562 Dispositif 9, 10, 120, 121, 127, 131 DİTİB (see Diyanet İşleri Türk İslam Birligi) 138, 452 Diyanet 3, 124, 125, 138, 148, 151, 152, 269, 276 Diyanet İşleri Türk İslam Birligi (see DİTİB) 138, 452 Diyanet office 148, 151, 152 Doğan Media Group 448, 449, 458 Drachenfutter (Dragon’s feed) 321 Dünya Hafta 449, 450, 454, 455 Dutta, Bhupendranath 200 Efendi, Ali Aziz 2 Effendijev, Said 189 Egypt 55, 62, 148, 152, 153, 183, 184, 185, 189, 194, 195, 201, 205, 206, 207, 210, 246, 355, 356, 360, 385, 426, 427, 431 Emancipation 357, 428, 429, 477, 491 Employment 58, 62, 63, 64, 217, 233, 428, 492, 511, 512, 514, 515, 516, 517, 518, 520 Enlightenment 5, 15, 187, 196, 202, 209, 210, 225, 242, 262, 437 Entrepreneurship 491, 492, 502, 511, 522, 527, 532 Enver Pasha 187, 192, 193, 194

Erbakan, Necmettin 3 Erdoğan, Tayyıp 292 Ethnic networks 24 Ethnicity 23, 24, 270, 347, 489, 490, 491, 492, 493, 496, 497, 498, 499, 501, 502, 505, 511, 522, 530, 537, 538, 539, 540, 541, 542, 544, 545, 546, 547, 556, 557, 561, 562, 563 Ethnomarketing 24, 25, 537, 538, 540, 541, 542, 543, 547, 548, 549, 551, 552, 553, 554, 561, 562, 563, 564, 566 Ethnospace 333 Euro-Arab literature 19, 355, 369 Eurocentrism 338 Euro-Islam 5, 7, 13, 33, 34, 35, 37, 39, 41, 43, 45, 47, 183, 184, 185, 187, 189, 190, 191, 193, 195, 197, 199, 201, 203, 205, 207, 209, 211 European Confederation of Alevi Communities 237 European Counsil for Fatwa and Research (ECFR) 151 European court 25, 570, 583 Evangelical Church in Germany (EKD) 11, 12, 161, 166, 169, 172, 173, 173, 174, 176, 177, 179, 180 Evrensel 450, 451 Fallujah 435 Fatwa 55, 151, 186, 193, 475 Femininity 24, 402, 468, 499, 500, 501, 502, 504, 505 Fertile Crescent 183 First World War (see World War) 2, 12, 17 Fundamentalism 5, 7, 8, 17, 35, 41, 45, 65, 127, 137, 143, 278, 285, 290, 320, 351 Gastarbeiter (Guest Workers) 3, 43, 44, 46, 49, 162, 217, 335, 354, 406, 491, 507, 512, 513, 553, 554, 555, 556, 557 Gender 6, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 42, 43, 46, 251, 253, 319, 334, 335, 341, 347, 397, 399, 401, 402, 407, 408, 418, 463, 468, 479, 483, 485, 486, 489, 490, 491, 492, 493, 494, 495, 496, 497, 498, 499, 500, 501, 502, 503, 504, 505, 506, 530, 531 Gender inequality 18, 334, 335 German citizenship 49, 50, 138, 169, 325, 336, 406, 444, 547 German Civil Code 56, 67 German converts 138, 257, 312, 315, 320, 471, 473

general index German Diaspora 6, 22, 23, 284, 285, 465, 467, 469, 471, 473, 475, 477, 479, 481, 483, 485, 487 German Islam 128, 186, 207, 471, 473 German Islam Conference (DIK) 2 German media 17, 20, 21, 22, 321, 322, 376, 403, 410, 412, 414, 416, 417, 418, 423, 425, 427, 429, 431, 433, 435, 437, 458 German Muslims 2, 149, 473 German Pakistan Forum 321 German politics 6, 443, 452 German public schools 232, 241, 243, 285 German Reich 13, 184, 192, 197 German Society of Islam Research 198 German Supreme Court 71 German-Indian Society 321 German-Muslim relationship 12 Ghettoization 444, 452 Glocality 18, 31, 350 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang 299 Graetsch, Ferdinand 200 Grobba, Fritz 192, 202, 204, 207 Grüße aus Kaschmir (Greetings from Kashmir) 321 Guantanamo Bay 320 Gündem 450, 451 Gupta, Heramba Lal 200 Habitus 462, 484 Hadith (Ahadith) 35, 153, 250, 410, 469, 480 Halal 54, 56, 220, 483 Halbmondlager 301 Har Dayal 200 Haram 483 Harb, Talaat 201 Headscarf 1, 4, 8, 18, 21, 23, 42, 43, 63, 64, 83, 137, 233, 234, 276, 285, 335, 407, 408, 414, 416, 417, 427, 428, 429, 435, 468, 486 Heimat 20, 361, 406, 411, 412, 416, 418 Hitler, Adolf 17, 203, 210, 304, 305, 305, 309 Hizb al-Tahrir 79 Hübsch, Hadayatullah 315, 316 Human Rights 12, 51, 66, 75, 76, 79, 166, 168, 169, 174, 225, 251, 285 Hürriyet 21, 447, 448, 449, 450, 452, 453, 454, 455, 457, 458 Husain, Zakir 304 Husaini, Amin al- 13, 199, 203, 204, 205

587

Ijara 512, 570 Ijtihad 151 Imam 9, 10, 36, 74, 120, 121, 123, 124, 127, 128, 129, 133, 134, 135, 136, 139, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 200, 268, 282, 302, 312, 325 Inclusion 14, 16, 22, 90, 92, 215, 216, 221, 222, 223, 230, 231, 232, 236, 237, 238, 293, 294, 295, 459, 527 India Independence Committee 300 Indo-German relations 16, 299 Institutionalisation 9, 10, 14, 119, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130 Integration 5, 8, 9, 10, 12, 15, 19, 20, 21, 34, 35, 37, , 47, 50, 75, 76, 83, 119, 121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 131, 133, 134, 162, 164, 168, 169, 180, 220, 223, 229, 232, 245, 247, 256, 259, 263, 273, 283, 284, 285, 289, 291, 294, 322, 353, 366, 371, 376, 380, 395, 396, 419, 429, 437, 444, 445, 451, 452, 453 Interreligious dialogue 11, 12, 161, 166, 175, 180 Iqbal, Muhammad 17, 200, 299 Iran 5, 49, 183 Iraq 113, 198, 203, 204, 205, 208, 410, 414 Iraq-Kuwait Conflict 11, 163 Iraq war 147 Islamic books 469 Islamic Centre Munich (IZM) 12, 170 Islamic Charta 11, 12, 13, 14, 74, 161, 164, 165, 170, 172, 179, 215, 216, 223, 227, 229, 237 Islamic community 3, 13, 23, 36, 37, 126, 138, 139, 200, 224, 310, 451, 456, 468, 470, 476, 477, 486 Islamic Community in Berlin (see Milli Görüş and Islamische Gemeinde Berlin) 2, 13, 37, 138, 142, 152, 200 Islamic extremism 4 Islamic Federation of Berlin (IFB) 133, 138, 141, 142, 143, 145, 149 Islamic financing transactions 569, 570, 576, 579 Islamic identity 14, 229, 238, 408 Islamic knowledge 22, 465, 466, 469, 470, 471, 476, 477, 478, 486 Islamic legal rules 26, 65, 569, 579, 582 Islamic World Congress 245, 247, 256, 257

588

general index

Islamische Gemeinde Berlin (see Islamische Gemeinde Berlin and Milli Görüş) 2, 13, 37, 138, 142, 152, 200 Islamische Zeitung 165, 457 Islamization 92, 218, 229, 465, 467, 468, 475, 476, 481, 485, 486 Islamophobia 51, 356, 424 Islamrat für die Bundesrepublik Deutschland 10, 37 Israel 20, 21, 305, 311, 418, 419, 430 Israel-Palestine conflict 33 Jamia Millia Islamia 304 Jihad 6, 9, 12, 13, 17, 133, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 199, 201, 203, 205, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 252, 300, 301, 394, 316, 322, 410, 475 Judaism 53, 170, 236, 426 Jugend Journal 313 Kailani, Rashid Ali al- 208, 210 Kampffmeyer, Georg 198 Kaplan, Cemaleddin (see Caliph of Cologne) 5 Kaplan, Metin 133 Kazakov, Muhammad 189 Kechat, Larbi 74 Khairi, Abd al-Jabbar 13, 200 Khairi, Abd as-Sattar 200 Khaksar 17, 304, 305 Khalifa 251, 315 Khatm-e Nubuwwat Movement 17, 317 Khilavet Devleti 79 Koordinierungsrat der Muslime in Deutschland (see KRM) 2, 10 Koran (see Quran, Qur’an) 35, 37, 139,141, 147, 149, 153, 205, 224, 225, 227, 244, 246, 248, 249, 253, 255, 257, 262, 281, 283, 312, 409, 410, 467, 469, 472, 476, 480 Koran school (see Qur’an school) 246, 472 Kredit für Taslima (Credit for Taslima) 322, 323 Kreuzberg 138, 342, 513 KRM (see Coordination Council of Muslims in Germany and Koordinierungsrat der Muslime in Deutschland) 2, 10 Kurd 274, 346, 530, 532 Kurnaz, Murat 320

Labor market 452, 453, 518, 520 Labor migration 16, 270 Latif, Mojib 325 Lauzi, Sayyid al- 201 Law 1, 8, 15, 25, 42, 43, 51, 53–79, 128, 137, 144, 150, 153, 166, 168, 173, 215, 219, 224, 226–233, 235, 237, 241, 244, 245, 250, 262, 268, 269, 270, 277, 287, 336, 340, 396, 414, 443, 444, 482, 500, 517, 569, 570, 572–583 Law (English law) 25, 570, 572–576, 578 Law (German law) 25, 53, 56, 59, 66, 244, 287, 569, 579, 578–580, 583 Law (Islamic law) 25, 65, 66, 67, 68, 71, 73, 74, 77, 150, 226, 229, 570, 572–575, 577, 578, 580, 581, 583 Law, (Civil law) 25, 65, 66, 68, 69, 144, 570, 576 Law, (Employment law) 62, 63, 64 Law, (Penal law) 62 Leader 129, 133, 143, 152, 203, 207, 304, 315, 317 Lebenswelten 6, 31 Leitkultur 223, 235, 331, 346 Liberal 5, 7, 15, 23, 42, 66, 79, 172, 225, 227, 244, 263, 277, 291, 360, 448, 450, 469, 485, 513 Lifestyle (life-style) 36, 150, 319, 358, 367, 457, 468, 500, 505 Liminality 331, 344 Livelihood 520 Madhab 581 Madrasa 123, 310, 320 Mahjoub, Jamal 355 Mansoor, Amir 322 Marginalization 35, 258, 269, 514 Masculinity 24, 339, 341, 350, 505 Mashriqi, Inayatullah Khan (Inayatullah Mashriqi) 17, 304 Mazyek, Aiman 179 Media 6, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 113, 128, 133, 140, 143, 145, 154, 164, 165, 201, 228, 274, 294, 313, 321, 322, 324, 332, 357, 359, 371, 374, 375, 376, 384, 387, 388, 393, 395, 396, 397, 398, 399, 400, 401, 403, 405, 406, 407, 408, 409, 410, 411, 412, 413, 414, 415, 416, 417, 418, 419, 423, 424, 425, 427, 429, 430, 431, 432, 433, 434, 435, 436, 437, 438, 441, 442, 443, 444, 445, 446, 447, 448, 449, 456, 472, 473, 474, 485, 541, 549, 551, 561 Mevlana Mosque 133

general index Migration history 7, 473 Millî Görüş (see Islamic Community Berlin and Islamische Gemeinde Berlin) 2, 13, 37, 138, 142, 152, 200 Milliyet 21, 447, 448, 450 Morality 16, 243, 251, 252, 253, 254, 259, 261, 263 Morocco 162, 194, 205, 206, 208, 217, 355, 406, 409 Mujahidin 13 Murabaha 25, 66, 511, 512, 513, 514, 515, 517, 518, 521, 522, 525, 569, 570, 571, 572, 573, 575, 576, 579, 580, 583 Murabitun 79 Muslim Brotherhood 13, 141, 210, 475 Muslim Diaspora 198, 209 Muslim organizations 36, 57, 83, 134, 139, 140, 148, 151, 241, 242, 244–247, 249, 256, 257, 262, 263, 286 Muslim students 93, 198, 201 Muslim women 4, 5, 22, 23, 64, 68, 71, 72, 74, 190, 226, 312, 313, 337, 403, 408, 427, 429, 465, 466, 467, 469, 471, 473, 475, 476, 477, 479, 481, 482, 483, 485 Muslim youth 8 Muslimness 90, 92 Muslims, South-Asian (see South-Asian Muslims) 16, 17, 299 Mysticism 1, 121 Naqshbandiyya 4 Nasrin, Taslima 434 Nazi 17, 00, 203, 208, 209, 304, 306 Neukölln 138, 513 Niqab 58 Nurculuk 38, 138, 245 Öğütcü, Hasan 292 olim chadashim 202 Oriental Club (Orient Club) 13, 198 Orient-Nachrichtenbüro 13 Otherness 19, 222, 223, 226, 228, 229, 236, 332 Ottoman 2, 13, 16, 183, 184, 186, 187, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 198, 199, 209, 269, 283, 284, 300, 301, 302, 336, 337, 371, 372, 445 Pakistan 17, 49, 183, 288, 299, 305, 310, 311, 312, 314, 317, 319, 320, 321, 434 Palestine 20, 21, 184, 199, 202, 204, 208, 355, 356, 359, 360, 367, 407, 413, 414, 417, 418, 419, 430

589

Panjatan, Irshad 325, 326, 327 Parallelgesellschaft 20, 92, 130 Pastoral care 9, 119, 121 Pastoral power 9, 10, 11, 14, 120, 121, 128, 129 Perşembe 450, 454–456 Pious 5, 22, 127, 315, 465, 467, 469, 470, 474, 475, 476, 478, 479, 481, 482, 483, 486 PKK 449, 458 Polygamy 253, 324, 336 Popular music 19, 341, 371, 373, 374, 375, 377, 379, 380, 381, 383, 384, 385, 386, 387, 388, 389, 391 Postmodern Society 545 Preachers of hate 10 Private sphere 52, 91 Prophet 17, 35, 77, 147, 149, 150, 250, 257, 268, 281, 282, 311, 317, 318, 469 Prophet Mohammad 268, 281 Public Religious Instruction 15, 241, 242 Public sphere 10, 11, 15, 21, 22, 23, 52, 83, 218, 219, 223, 224, 271, 442, 443, 444, 446, 451, 458, 469, 471, 474, 485 Qadiyani, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad 17, 310 Qantara 21, 179, 433 Qanun 153 Qur’an (see Koran) 224, 225, 227, 281, 283, 312, 476, 480 Qur’an-School 9 Qutb, Sayyid 13, 210 Racism 13, 17, 109, 170, 202, 203, 209, 210, 272, 350, 436, 496, 541, 543, 544, 557, 563 Radicalism 5, 8, 83, 210 Radicalism, political 8, 83 Schami (Shami), Rafik 19, 369 Ramadan 77, 87, 102, 108, 112, 147, 152, 267, 268, 276, 318, 325, 363 Ramadan, Tariq 21, 435, Recognition 14, 16, 23, 56, 90, 125, 175, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 221, 223, 227, 228, 229, 231, 232, 236, 237, 238, 239, 251, 262, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 286, 287, 292, 293, 294, 303, 339, 466, 479, 485, 486, 555, 572 Recruiting Agreement (Anwerbeabkommen) 511 Refah Partisi 3 Religious education 8, 37, 59, 60, 124, 133, 134, 141, 153, 154, 155, 165, 219, 242, 243, 260, 262, 319, 466, 467, 472

590

general index

Religious practice 8, 14, 87, 106, 107, 108, 115, 121, 125, 139, 174, 179, 218, 222, 224, 230, 234, 238, 255, 276 Religiousness 7, 8, 9, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88–94, 97–103, 105–111, 114, 115, 124, 125, 225 Reunification 43, 46 Riba 25, 66, 67, 573 Ritual 2, 8, 58, 85, 87, 89, 91, 93, 102, 123, 140, 141, 147, 228, 232, 250, 252, 255, 259, 267, 268, 269, 270, 282, 318 Roy, Tarachand 200 Russia 13, 188, 193, 205, 306, 355, 387 Saadawi, Nawal el- 427 Safarov, Shamil 189 Salat 102 Sanusi, Idris as- 206 Sarkar, Dhirendra 200 Saudi-Arabia, 198, 203, 204, 355, 356, 359, 360, 361 Schäuble, Wolfgang 2 Schimmel, Annemarie 300 Schöneberg 342 Schütte, Jan 321 Second World War 13, 17, 243 Segregation 8, 12, 21, 51, 66, 68, 71, 73, 74, 75, 76, 180, 285, 319, 444, 452, 513, 519 Sexuality 250, 252, 277, 401, 402 Shalabi, Nashi 201 Sharî’a (see Sharia) 25, 72, 139, 153, 166, 168, 226, 227, 268, 276, 277, 291, 472, 569–576, 578, 579–583 Shawish, Abd al-Aziz 189 Shiite 36, 94, 129, 139, 149, 326 Singh, Jod 200 Singh, Sardar Umrao 200 Sira 469 Slaughtering 8, 54, 55, 56, 83 Snouck Hurgronje, Christiaan 186, 196 Social welfare 452, 520 Social worker 133, 476 Soueif, Ahdaf 355 South-Asian Muslims (see Muslims, South-Asian) 16, 17, 299 Stereotype 340, 438, 554, 557 Sufism 268 Sukuk 67, 570 Süleymanci (see VIKZ) 3, 38, 245, 247, 256 Sultan Abd al-Hamid 199 Sunnite 121, 149, 532 Syria 19, 49, 194, 201, 203, 204, 208, 406, 413, 419

Tablighi Jamaat 17, 317, 318, 319 Tadhkira 304, 305 Tafsir 153, 476, 477, 478, 479, 482 Tajwid 467 Taqlid 150 Tercüman 21, 447 Theocracy 166, 291 Theology 23, 151, 154, 169, 173, 174, 180, 250 Tiger Legion 17, 307, 309 Transculturalism 23, 502, 505, 524, 525, 529, 531, 532, 533 Transculturality 24, 493, 511, 539 Tunisi, Sheikh Salih al-Sharif al- 189, 193 Tunisia 162, 189, 217 Turkey 2, 3, 7, 16, 18, 22, 35–41, 43–46, 49, 50, 60, 67, 88, 113, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 148, 151, 152, 153, 162, 183, 184, 186, 190, 191, 198, 199, 201, 203, 217, 226, 229, 246, 258, 264, 268, 269, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 276, 278, 283, 284, 286, 287, 291–294, 336, 337, 338, 339, 342, 343, 346, 347, 349, 350, 371, 373, 374, 375, 380, 386, 387, 389, 396, 426, 427, 444, 447, 448, 449, 451, 454, 455, 458, 472, 489, 499, 511–515, 518, 521, 530, 547, 553–558, 564 Turkish Diaspora 22, 449, 458, 459 Turkish entrepreneurs 23, 24, 489, 491, 496, 505 Turkish Muslim organizations 36, 247, 256, 257 Turkish press in Germany 21, 441, 442, 443, 445, 447, 449, 451, 453, 455, 457, 458, 459 Turkish woman 18, 335, 338 Turkish-German filmmaking 331 Turkish-Islamic culture 7, 42 Umma (Ummah) 128, 131, 200, 256, 261, 407, 408, 477, 478 Unemployment 24, 500, 254, 319, 459, 513, 518, 519, 520 Union of European-Turkish Journalists 455 United Evangelical Lutheran Church of Germany (Vereinigte EvangelischLutherische Kirche Deutschlands, VELKD) 172 Vaaz 11, 148 Values 5, 25, 33, 35, 39, 41, 50, 64, 79, 83, 89, 91, 102, 107, 119, 131, 196, 218, 223, 233, 236, 251, 263, 277, 291, 292, 357, 365, 401, 406, 475, 485, 528, 533, 544, 566

general index Values, Migrants’ 107 van Gogh, Theo 128, 353 Veil 4, 63, 67, 336, 337, 427, 468, 481 Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren (see VIKZ and Association of Islamic Cultural Centers) 3, 38, 126, 138, 152 VIKZ (see Association of Islamic Cultural Centers and Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren) 3, 38, 126, 138, 152 Virtual Islam 407 Virtual Umma 407, 408 von Glasenapp, Helmuth 200, 302 von Moltke, Hellmuth 187 von Oppenheim, Max 13, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196, 199, 203, 209, 210 Wedding 138, 150, 335, 368, 379, 466, 513, 555 World War 2, 12, 13, 17, 186, 196, 199, 201, 203, 206, 207, 210, 243, 299, 300, 301, 305, 306, 310, 312, 318, 336, 354, 445 Worship 53, 54, 261, 276, 467, 482

591

Xenophobia 7, 8, 75, 170, 225 Yeh Zindagi (This Life) 322 Young Muslims 8, 83, 85, 89, 91, 93, 97, 107, 109, 111, 114, 115, 142, 221, 229, 313, 410 Yugoslavia 2, 217, 348, 512 Zaimoglu, Feridoun (Feridun Zaimoglu) 18, 340 Zaman 449, 450 ZDF (Das Zweite Deutsche Fernsehen) 409, 413 Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland 10, 11, 13, 74, 614, 168, 169, 170, 171, 179, 215, 216, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 229 ZMD (see Central Council of Muslims in Germany and Zentralrat der Muslime in Deutschland) 10, 11, 13, 74, 614, 168, 169, 170, 171, 179, 215, 216, 220, 223, 224, 225, 226, 229

MUSLIM MINORITIES ISSN 1570-7571

1. Allievi, S. & Nielsen, J. Muslim Networks and Transnational Communities in and Across Europe. 2003. ISBN 90 04 12858 1 2. Maréchal, B., Allievi, S., Dassetto, F. & Nielsen, J. Muslims in the Enlarged Europe: Religion and Society. 2003. ISBN 90 04 13201 5 3. Daun, H. & G. Walford. Educational Strategies Among Muslims in the Context of Globalization. Some National Case Studies. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13575 4 4. Roald, A.S. New Muslims in the European Context. The Experience of Scandinavian Converts. 2004. ISBN 90 04 13679 7

5. Cressey, G. Diaspora Youth and Ancestral Homeland. British Pakistani/Kashmiri Youth Visiting Kin in Pakistan and Kashmir. 2006. ISBN-10: 90 04 15346 2, ISBN-13: 978 90 04 15346 2 6. Sakaranaho, T. Religious Freedom, Multiculturalism, Islam. Cross-reading Finland and Ireland. 2006. ISBN-10: 90 04 15317 9, ISBN-13: 978 90 04 15317 2 7. Al-Hamarneh, A. & Thielmann, J. (Eds.). Islam and Muslims in Germany. 2008. ISBN 978 90 04 15866 5