Sunday, March 30, 2008

Tak Emas Bungkal Diasah, Tak Kayu Tangga Dibelah

assalamualaikum.

Entri di bawah saya tulis ke sebuah mailing list, respon kepada artikel ini Grace Under Fire yang dikongsi seorang kawan di situ.



1)

Feminisme.
Cool. Applause to Dr Wan Azizah. Padan benar waktu terbaca artikel ini, sebaik sahaja usai Simposium IMAM Dublin 2008 (yang Project Managernya adalah perempuan yang bukan sahaja lengkap ciri-ciri Muslimah idaman tetapi juga berkaliber dan berwawasan - orangnya VP IMAM Eire SC, hehe, ops, saya VP IMAM UK SC, jangan silap perhitungan); dan baru sahaja dapat melihat sendiri nama puan doktor terpampang di atas papan 'wall of fame' RCSI sebagai atara pemenang Gold Medal untuk tahun 1977.

Mereka bukan malaikat, sahabiah atau para bonda kaum Mukminin. Namun melihat Dr Wan Azizah dan Nurul Izzah mencapai kedudukan terbilang dalam lapangan politik negara, tidak dapat tidak mercup rasa bangga. Terutamanya dalam kejayaan Izzah, alah limau oleh benalu.

Dalam keadaan Muslimah asyik ketawa mengekek-ngekek sambil bergosip, meleleh liur melihat artis kacak dan fesyen mendakap pinggul dalam majalah-majalah hiburan dan fesyen, atau dalam ruang lain larut dalam dunia fikrah yang simplistik sambil meneguk sepenuhnya apa-apa yang diajar orang tanpa merasakan perlu untuk mengambil tahu soal praktikaliti dan realiti semasa, becok bercekcok tentang isu-isu remeh dan temeh, meminggir daripada intelektualiti dan aktivisme 'biarlah Muslimin saja yang ke depan, kita berukhwah di belakang sudahlah...', nah tampil dua Muslimah berkerudung sempurna berakhlak santun (malah saya yakin ada 'tarbiyah') yang mampu cemerlang dalam pengajian, gemilang dalam kepimpinan dan terbilang dalam perikemanusiaan. Ah, ketepikan pendirian politik apatah lagi kepartian, saya bukan mahu menggulati soal itu sekarang - jangan ada siapa-siapa yang paranoid menegur melarang berpolitik sebagai respon kepada kenyataan saya ini!

Saya selalu menyuarakan gusar, apabila melihat media - baik yang
mainstream mahupun yang alternatif - masih seperti terkesip-kesip memuatkan tulisan intelek lagi berkarisma daripada golongan Muslimah, dalam apa sahaja isu. Saya tidak rasa para penyunting mengamalkan diskriminasi gender - walaupun itu mungkin. Lebih besar kebarangkalian, golongan Muslimah yang terkesip-kesip untuk menulis atau bersuara. Bukan tidak ada, ada, tapi, balik-balik yang itu-itu juga. Boleh dihitung dengan jari Muslimah (jenis emas padu, bukan plastik atau emas saduran) yang bersuara atau menulis tentang isu-isu umat, isu-isu besar, memimpin cambahan idea, menggerakkan aktivisme, terutamanya untuk hal berkaitan masalah kemanusiaan berkaitan wanita (dan anak-anak serta belia) yang sepatutnya dipandang dan ditangani daripada perspektif Islami - hak asasi, pendidikan dari kecil sampailah masuk universiti, keadilan sosial, kekeluargaan, pembangunan terancang, politik, polisi kerajaan, dan sebagainya. Yang banyak bunyi adalah wanita yang belum bersyahadah atau Muslimah jenis plastik atau emas saduran.

Tak boleh salahkan mereka juga, mereka banyak membaca, banyak pengetahuan, dan mahu mengambil tahu, mahu berbudi, hanya hidayah dan taufiq Allah belum meresap hati-hati mereka lantas pandangan yang diberi tandus nilai Islami. Tapi apa kesannya? Kesan paling jelas tentulah pandangan-pandangan ini menjelajah media dan menerobos akal budi umat, mempengaruhi untuk memandang dunia daripada sudut yang serupa. Kemudian timbul persepsi bahawa Muslimah yang akur Islam ini 'ortodoks', memang tak intelektual dan tertindas, Muslimah 'moden' itulah yang paling merdeka, bebas, lagi berakal sihat. Bahawa pengamalan Islam versi (atau pergerakan Islam) ini lelaki sahaja yang dialu-alukan mengeluarkan pendapat dan didengar cakap mereka. (Er, sebenarnya memang betul juga kan,
to a certain extent?)

2)

Belum tentu pelajar yang 'ikut peraturan', tak mahu aktif dalam mana-mana gerakan
mainstream itu manusia mandom yang tak ada potensi.
Tentu sekali wanita yang lemah lembut, tak bising, tak agresif, tidak boleh disimpulkan sebagai wanita inferior dan pasif yang memerlukan emansipasi atau hanya akan mengangguk kepada suami. Kehebatan itu pada iman, ilmu, dan akhlak. Cara menterjemah dalam aktiviti sehari-hari itu, cerita lain.

Apapun, asal besi pengapak kayu, asal emas menjadi penduk.

3)

Tembikar tidak berkilau sebelum dibakar.


4)

Tak mara berdayung; bergalah; patah galah bercemat, sesudahnya sampai juga ke hulu.

meow~


GLOSARI
alah limau kepada benalu - (hehe, cari sendiri kalau nak tahu.)
asal besi pengapak kayu, asal emas menjadi penduk - Darjat seseorang dapat ditentukan pada sifat perangainya. (Penduk adalah salut sarung keris)
tak mara berdayung; bergalah; patah galah bercemat, sesudahnya sampai juga ke hulu - Segala daya upaya akan dilakukan, untuk menyampaikan maksudnya. (Bercemat maknanya menarik perahu dengan tali yang diikatkan kepada perahu itu.)


Tuesday, March 18, 2008

rawak - tiga hari sebelum ReAwakening

Assalamualaikum.

Hari ini padat dengan perjalanan, fikrah, idea dan penghargaan.

Pagi-pagi sekitar jam sebelas, saya dikejutkan dengan satu lagi terjemahan baru "teknik dakwah masa kini". Nampaknya kita boleh berhemah sebaik mungkin, menghormati anjuran-anjuran pertubuhan lain, tapi adalah suatu kesilapan apabila kita menyangka pertubuhan lain itu juga akan mengamalkan akhlak seumpama kita. Mantap, tahniah kalian! Tahniah!

Hari berlalu terasa sangat cepat. Teman menjemput berhampiran stesen kereta api Sheffield..

"...dibah, nanti dari depan stesen tren, ko gerak arah.. em, apa eh arah antara barat dengan utara tu.. barat utara ke..?"
"barat laut la"

"aa barat laut, apa-apa la, kau berdiri depan stesen tu, lepas tu jalaan arah barat laut..."

Matlamat asal ringkas, hanya mahu menjenguk di mana ASDA, cara-cara pemunggahan barang, dan paling penting lokasi Muslim Welfare House Sheffield serta infrastruktur dalamannya. Tempat tidur (terutamanya muslimat, muslimin tentu sahaja tak kisah berlagak macho rela tersadai di mana-mana sahaja), bilik air, tempat ceramah. Alhamdulillah, semuanya baik.

Akan tetapi nampaknya begitu banyak 'tambahan-tambahan' kepada matlamat ringkas itu. Berjalan kaki (rasa seperti pusing satu Sheffield) naik bukit turun bukit, keluar masuk pekarangan hospital, dan menyelesaikan misteri ''di mana bas no 52 berhenti?" Pelik sungguh apabila satu demi satu perhentian bas yang kami jenguk tidak nampak nombor 52. Rupa-rupanya papan tanda nombor-nombor bas itu boleh dipusing, ada dua belah muka, dan kami hanya tengok satu muka lantas putus asa. Nasib baik kawan beri makan nasi lauk sup kambing sebelum dibawa merayap jaaaaaaauhhhh-jaaaaaaauhhhh tadi.

Sepanjang jalan - dari kompleks beli-belah sampai ke meja makan, sampai ke taman-taman Sheffield dan kembali ke meja makan, bermacam-macam isu yang dibincangkan dan diperdebatkan. Dapat kawan baru pula tidak semena-mena, bertemu di depan masjid, terus diajak bersama. Hehe. Entahlah, saya selesa benar dengan suasana begini. Berbual tidak merapu-rapu, sentiasa ada inti untuk saya berfikir.

Kawan yang kemalangan minggu sudah, luka telah tinggal parut dan bengkak yang kian surut. Haih. Naluri morbid saya terfikir, alangkah excitingnya kalau saya dapat tengok kecederaan itu first-hand! Biasalah, pelajar-pelajar perubatan ini ada yang menjadi sedikit kurang normal. Bukan seronok kerana orang cedera, tetapi seronok kerana dapat melihat tragedi dalam buku teks menjelma di alam nyata dan berpeluang mengaplikasikan pengetahuan. Seperti cerita seorang kakak, pelajar tahun empat perubatan,

"...malam tu masa oncall kt MRI, kitorang tgh bosan, tunggu... tak de orang kena stab ke malam ni, tiba-tiba datang tiga orang sekaligus." MRI, atau nama penuhnya Manchester Royal Infirmary, sebuah hospital besar di seberang jalan di hadapan kompleks perumahan saya, memang disarati kes yang pelbagai, kerana populasi pusat dan sekitaran bandar raya Manchester ini yang bervariasi. Penyakit yang aneh-aneh. HIV-AIDS. Kanser. Wad A&E (Accidents and Emergency) seringkali menjadi medan yang mengujakan.

Kembali ke Sheffield. Terima kasih kepada tuan rumah yang begitu baik hati membawa kami berjalan, berjalan-jalan, masak sedap-sedap dan sabar pula mendengar sambil melayan kami bercakap tidak henti-henti. Saya selalu tepergok dengan sikap manusia yang mengecewakan, malah menyedihkan, tetapi Allah sentiasa mempertemukan saya dengan budi baik dan kejujuran yang sungguh-sungguh menyentuh.

Oh ya, saya masih belum menunaikan 'janji' untuk berkisah tentang sahabat-sahabat di Crookes =).

Mungkin tidak berkait dengan entri secara langsung, tapi saya suka video dan lagu ini.




Tiga hari lagi sebelum ReAwakening.

Ya Allah, mudahkanlah dan berkatilah urusan kami keseluruhannya. Lembutkanlah hati-hati kami, dan hati-hati orang yang Engkau tentukan untuk mendapat manfaat daripada usaha ini, untuk terbuka dan menerima ilmu, taufiq serta hidayahMu.


salam,
meow~

Sunday, March 16, 2008

i'm here












Salam. I don't need to put captions here for I know you'll remember each and every moments, they're countless really, these images are just some tiny fractions of them all. So far we - our friendship - has passed the test of time, space, misunderstandings and disagreements, changes and differences. Let us not fail it this time.

On your own part, for your own trials, you've passed the test of time, space, misunderstandings and disagreements, changes and differences, even false allegations and the neverending pain of human fallacies, human failures to respect that another's choice might not be the same as theirs and still be right. (sounds like IB mission statement, huh? =) )

Let you pass it, again, as you've done before, with flying colors. Seek what you need, and may you find what is best for you, whether or not it is what you initially seek.

I, and the others, will always love you.

We're here.

I'm here. Waiting. And praying.

And Allah, The Most Great is nearer than a hand's reach.


meow~

Saturday, March 15, 2008

1984 - The Wrecked Rebel

Assalamualaikum.

The setting was done in very minimalistic style. Props that consists of little more than a few tables and chairs, with one long table serving either as a makeshift bed (plus a mattress and a piece of white knit material that was supposed to be a bedsheet) or a torture bench (plus a desklight and a wire-less headphone, the main 'torture device'.) There's the telescreens, two of them, represented by two monitors on stands that would show the face of Big Brother whenever they are 'activated'. The incognito face, a collage of multiple patches, with mismatched eyes, one blue and one black, hung ominously with the warning "BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU" overhead the stage, in between three banners vertically proclaiming the three deathless Ingsoc slogans; the mantra of Oceania, FREEDOM IS SLAVERY, WAR IS PEACE, IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH.

Last Wednesday, I had been to watch 1984, one of the plays presented during the University of Manchester's Drama Festival. It was based on George Orwell's novel of the same title. There was a whole array of tantalizing shows around since mid-Feb, including Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues, but I had to prioritize, what with all the work that I have to do, and made do by squeezing one 1984 presentation into my timetable.

As the would-be audience wander around outside the theatre, actors and crews wearing black suits and hard black military caps stood in attention or walked with military-approved upright postures among us.

"Comrades! The show is about to begin. Line up in a single file and enter the theatre, one by one. In a single line!"

Cool.


Mind-Control


The show began with images of war depicted on the big screen at the back of the stage. Then comes the Two-Minute hate, during which the actors wearing Party overalls sat on chairs cursing the fabled revolutionary leader Anthony Goldstein, led by a man in black overalls as a member of the Inner Party (O'Brien). The emotion produced by the facial expressions and the screams of hate are intense, I can feel the air vibrating. By the way, I forgot to mention that I managed to grab a front seat (as always hehe).

Winston Smith was played by a gaunt white young man, with a perpetual expression of confusion and distrust. At the beginning of the play I felt that he rather exaggerated the pain of varicose veins in his leg, it looks more like his leg was broken by the way he limped and grimaced. The story was told by his monologues, his hesitant writing in his diary which he read out loud in a convincingly shaky voice that grew louder and louder as he seemingly became more confident, protesting how the Party manipulated the minds of the people, "...last week the chocolate ration increased to 30%, then this week it increased to 25%, it's always increase with the Party, never decrease..." then all those confidence disappeared as the telescreen suddenly called all Party members to stand in front of it, whence he hastily hid the diary under a stool and shuffled to the front of the screen.

There's Parsons, the simple-minded man, sort of a comic relief, a portrayal of blind loyalty and almost pathetic innocence. "Guess what, Winston? The chocolate rations increased to 25% this week! Isn't it good?" He happily talked about how his daughter played the role of one of the Spies - children playing the role of eavesdropping and spying on family members, denouncing anyone who said the wrong thing or simply looked suspicious to their naive indoctrinated little eyes. Ironically, almost expectedly, it was his daughter who denounced him at the end, over the claims that he muttered 'Down with Big Brother' in his sleep. Even then he was apologetic, "...I'm glad they caught me before it's too late, that's what I'll tell them in the tribunal, thank you for saving me.." only to end up dragged, screaming, to the notorious Room 101.

Syme the intellectual was not spared. Voraciously slicing down the vocabulary of the language into fewer and fewer words, "...soon, no one will ever revolt or protest, because even if they have the idea, they wouldn't know how to express it!" He seemed to know exactly the mind-controlling plans of the Inner Party, and to understand perfectly his role in the department of linguistics towards achieving that goal. Winston's prediction was correct; 'they' didn't let Syme get away either. Remember Hang Nadim anyone?

Language and literature play timeless roles in waking up people's minds, fuelling revolutions and idealisms, or suppressing them altogether. When the media is kept under chains and shackles, it is not difficult to feed the people with all sorts of lies and dramas which they will believe without hesitance. When the media belches all sorts of nonsense and rubbish, one can bet one's little finger that the people's minds will be full or rubbish as well. Just forget about idealisms, revolutions, or even substantial thinking.

The Inner Party knew exactly what it is doing when it produces mass quantities of pulp art and literature - meaningless love songs and paperback churned out by machines with no human role whatsoever in producing them, a lot containing porn and violence - for the Proles (proletariats, the 80% of people in Oceania who are not members of the Party, regarded as 'animals who eat and breed' by the Party). This part is not included exactly in the play, except for the melodious "...'twas an 'opeless fancy..." sung over and over again in several scenes.

I mentioned it for I think there's a not-so-subtle sarcasm there, when Orwell the author told us how the pulp arts and literature were produced by machines without human intervention at all. In other words, when arts and literature lose their sacred role of sanctifying and fuelling human intelligence and spirituality, they're not human anymore, they're dehumanized, they're not fit for human consumption. And twisting the analogy in another way would reveal that humans who produce pulps in place of arts and literature are actually dehumanized, less human, undeserving to be humans.


Revolt

Julia, Winston's counterpart, a young lady with the Junior Anti-Sex League belt tied around her slender waist. Her way of rebellion is sexual, by breaking the strict moral code imposed by the Party. She initiated Winston into his first act of actual rebellion in the bushes in the countryside. There's graphic sexual scenes in the play, them kissing passionately (although the act has a 'wooden', dispassionate, even vulgar characteristic in it - most probably intended), them lying together only half-dressed on the aforementioned makeshift bed. "... the more men you have done this before, the more I loved you." as Winston said to her during their first encounter.

People who are oppressed might resort to anything in order to show rebellion. Those with idealisms, might fight with ideas and structured actions, fruitful or not. Those without idealisms, only the notion of rebellion, the protest for injustice, would resort to their lower nature.

Winston, however, is a man of ideas. He began with questions, unanswered doubts and gut-wrenching confusions of the lines between the past and the present. He succumbed to sexual rebellion because - well, for one thing, he's a man whose needs hasn't been satisfied by his frigid ex-wife - and because that's the only outlet through which he can exert his protests.

When given the chance to have idealisms, through O'Brien's offer, he accepted without much ado. And driven by love (or lust?), without much thinking, Julia jumped into it. "...whatever you do, I'll join in." Uh. If there's anything I despise about people in love, it's about immediately adopting the other person's views and decisions without proper contemplation.

Even wifely loyalty is not a good enough excuse, and I mean it. =D

Winston Smith stated his willingness to do anything - murder, lie, break chaos, even throw sulphuric acid on a child's face - as long as disruption to the Party's ideals and schemes can be achieved. Machiavellian? Shows how people who are desperate for a change from the oppressive status quo are willing to descend to pretty much the same level, simply because they want to
protest, want to change. Rings a bell, anyone?

And in the end, it makes the fight against evil no less evil than the evil itself. There's no virtue in using murder to resurrect the dead.

Deceit and Pain

In the end, of course, Winston was caught. The old man who provided what he thought was a sanctuary where he can read 'Goldstein's manifesto', where he can enjoy Julia's company (and intimacy), was actually a Thought Police who would grab anyone who're not thinking in the prescribed manner. O'Brien who gave him the manifesto was involved with the Thought Police. Even the Brotherhood of revolutionaries doesn't exist. The manifesto doesn't exist, O'Brien wrote it. Goldstein doesn't exist. Refutation is futile. It's hopeless. Every time Winston screamed realistically, jerking spasmodically with pain upon O'Brien's fingerclicking (just how it was supposed to inflict pain in relation to the headphone on Winston's head, I don't think it matters), the audience is reminded of the power the Party had and the descent of hope in the future of men. As O'Brien said, "...Power is the end in itself. We seek power for power's sake." So was Winston and O'Brien's rendesvous in the place where there is no darkness. In the chamber of torture, in the Ministry of Love, where the light is never turned off symbolising perpetual pain and domination over the prisoners.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, for human beings.

As Winston cowered on the floor in fear, in the depiction of his ordeal in Room 101 - in the play they don't use the cage fixed on his face, they simply darken the stage and put him in an imaginary place, with an overhead voice telling him about the rats, about what the rats would do to him, with a horrible crunching noise, that impending doom of the rats coming to tear his flesh to pieces - we were again reminded of the brittleness of human nature. The brittleness of everything that men fought for, in the absence of power.

"....Power is the ability to make other people suffer.." as Winston said to O'Brien, while he was laid on the torture bench at the latter's mercy, before he was sent to Room 101, where he finally denounced everything that made he feel worthy as a human, where he finally crossed the invisible line that kept his mind in one piece however shattered it might have been, finally reducing it to little more than the contents of pulp literature for the Proles.

"...Pain alone won't break people. A lot of persons can bear pain, intense pain. But for everyone, there is just something that they cannot tolerate. It has nothing to do with cowardice or courage. There is just something that they cannot bear. For some people, it's being buried alive. Or being starved to death. For some people.. it might be.. rats."

The Last Stand?

The human struggle is futile and brittle, the struggle of the hoi polloi, the powerless mass who themselves are dependent upon the oppressive power. Freedom is slavery, for in being slaves, they wouldn't have to compromise their superficial freedom as opposed to a life of pain and imprisonment. War is peace, for when a people is constantly threatened with an outside menace, perpetually kept in fear, they would be docile, too concerned with their own survival than in any efforts to fight. Focusing on an outside menace would also keep the people's attention away from the rot inside that must not be noticed for the benefit of the Powers That Be. Ignorance is strength, although for whose strength, definitely not the people's. The people's ignorance, not knowing things, would strengthen the hold that the bearers of power exercised over them. Strengthen the hierarchies within a society and the stability that goes with it, regardless of the individual freedom and justice. They don't even know that something is wrong, why would they protest to get their rights?

The human struggle is futile and brittle, the struggle of the hoi polloi, the powerless mass who themselves are dependent upon the oppressive power. The power that holds economic supremacy and political superiority, rendering the people irreversibly dependent. The power who utilised all means possible to maintain their herd - deception, mind-control, higher-level conspiracies - the big hands that arrange everything for the little men, constructing a Matrix of sorts, where the men feel that they're in control, that they're doing something, when they actually aren't. Even the Brotherhood of revolutionaries doesn't exist. The manifesto doesn't exist, O'Brien wrote it. Goldstein doesn't exist. Refutation is futile. It's hopeless.

The human struggle is futile and brittle. The fighters as individuals are human beings, who would break under pressure. As O'Brien confirmed Winston's statement, "...Yes, power means the ability to make people suffer. To inflict pain and humiliation." As what was, and is still happening, everywhere in the world. How idealistic one can be in the mind, one would still succumb to the physical constraints. Secret detentions where no one, not even the detainees, know where on earth they are and what will happen to them. Governments who are not totalitarian in principle but exercising principles of one - media control, glib languages, endorsement of hedonism, detention and torture, double-standard treatment of its people, utilization of fear techniques to keep the people toeing the line - this rang true of more than one country in this big world, countries that claim to be civilised.

The less aware mass would fall under the mind-control. The ones whose minds are awake would be physically broken until the mind gave away, like Winston who, in the end of the play, was cheering for Big Brother with a psychotically-happy expression that is enough to make a revolutioner weep.

I'm not offering any solution. After all, these dark pictures are simply reflections of a low-cost play one Wednesday night.

And yes, I think the best 'special effect' was when O'Brien put his fingers into Winston's mouth and pulled out his 'tooth' (something white, a brief glimpse told me it looked more like a piece of chalk) and threw it somewhere under the audience's chair.

"...Your teeth are rotten. Look at that. And so is the rest of you and your rebellion."

peace,
meow~


Post-Script:


"Oranges and lemons"
say the Bells of St.Clement's
"You owe me five farthings"
say the Bells of St Martin's
"When will you pay me?"
say the Bells of Old Bailey
"When I grow rich"
say the Bells of Shoreditch....


And yes, again, these rhymes are not prominent in the book (and the play) for no reason. This site is one of those that explained its, erm, not-very-angelic history.



Monday, March 10, 2008

Elitis

Assalamualaikum.

Entri peribadi malam ini. Hm, janji kepada diri (dan orang-orang tertentu juga) untuk menulis itu dan menulis ini, belum tertunai-tunai. Lepas ni emel, laporan dan portfolio bakal dilayan. Sibuk, sibuk.

Sesetengah teman yang rapat mungkin pernah ingat bagaimana saya mengutuk golongan elitis. Manusia-manusia intelek atau cenderung-politik yang leka dengan dunia mereka, mabuk dengan seminar dan kolokium, diskusi dan persidangan, bergesel bahu dengan tokoh akademik dan makan semeja dengan pemuka parti-parti besar, langsung mendabik dada sebagai saviour , pembela dunia. Konon mau membela nasib umat yang tidak mereka kenalpun sebenarnya. Mau memperjuangkan keadilan, sedangkan keadilan itu mereka tidak fahampun ertinya. Mau menghapuskan kezaliman, sedangkan kezaliman itu mereka sendiri sebahagian daripadanya. Mau memprotes diskriminasi dan menuntut kesamarataan hak, walhal ruang lingkup hak itupun mereka taksirkan dengan kamus sendiri, bukan dengan perbendaharaan kata orang-orang yang konon mereka pertahankan.

Selalu kata saya, turunlah ke khalayak. Bercampur-gaul dengan pelbagai lapisan masyarakat dan dengar suara mereka, dengar kata mereka. Hati dan akal mesti terbuka, bukan totok menerima berkata iya, tidak juga menolak mentah-mentah atau berlagak pandai ala patronising.

"Aku dengar apa yang kamu kata hanya kerana menghormati kamu, tetapi aku tahu pendapat akulah yang paling tepat. Aku lebih berminat mengucapkan pendapatku daripada mendengar buah bicaramu. Aku hanya melayan kamu kerana tidak mahu kamu meninggalkan aku dan merosakkan perjuanganku."

Sejujurnya ada beberapa orang yang saya kenal - ada yang akrab amat dengan saya - yang saya rasa, memancarkan 'aura' itu apabila berkomunikasi dengan saya. Seperti selalu, oleh sebab kepentingan-kepentingan tertentu, saya 'layan' sahaja, two - or perhaps more - people - can play at a game! Oh kepada teman yang baru pulang ke Malaysia itu, bukan anda yang saya maksudkan, kalau anda ada terbaca coretan ini.

(Lagu tema : Lux Aeterna, runut bunyi filem Requiem for a Dream)

Saya bosan benar melawat laman-laman web tertentu - contohnya forum dan blog-blog yang saya 'terserempak', yang perbincangan atau pengisiannya begitu ringan, mundane, dan membosankan. Saya tidak nampak poinnya membincangkan isu-isu remeh seperti masalah sahabat yang berakhlak buruk dalam satu forum yang mendapat berbelas-belas respon, atau membandingkan saiz tudung yang mana lebih mulia sehingga berpuluh-puluh respon, atau meluahkan hasrat hati yang ingin meninggalkan buah hati kerana rasa berdosa tetapi tidak ada kekuatan. Apabila isu-isu besar dibincangkan, komen yang ditinggalkan persis ciciran dari orang yang langsung tidak berfikir apatah lagi menganalisis. Perabih minyak.

Saya akui kerana jemu dengan hal-hal seumpama ini - yang juga pernah mengelilingi saya, saya biarkan mengepung saya - akhirnya saya memilih jalan lain. Keluar dan mencari arah sendiri dengan cara yang lebih bersesuaian dengan saya. Tidak ada gunanya saya memaksa diri meniti jalan yang menyeksa batini, yang tidak saya yakini lagi, dan yang menyebabkan saya didera rasa bersalah, rasa seolah-olah diri ini jahat kerana tidak akur menerima dan bergembira meniti 'jalan ke syurga' seperti orang lain yang ada bersama-sama.

Saya pernah mengorbankan fikiran saya, pendirian saya, kerana mencari sesuatu. Yang akhirnya tidak saya jumpa, dan terima kasih kepada semua yang berusaha membebaskan saya daripada pelukan mencengkam itu.

Aih, melalut pulak.

Jauhari yang mengenal manikam tentu sahaja dapat mengecam jauhari lain dengan senangnya. Penipu akan mudah mengesan penipu yang lain.

Mungkinkah saya begitu cepat mengenal siapa elitis, siapa patronizing, kerana saya sendiri mempunyai sifat-sifat sedemikian?

Laman-laman web yang bosan, blog-blog yang menjemukan, bukankah itu realiti umat yang saya bising-bisingkan perlu diterjuni bukan dijauhi?

Selesa saya dengan orang-orang tertentu, bosan saya dengan situasi tertentu, adakah kerana saya sendiri mempunyai sifat-sifat yang saya benci?

Saya rasa Adibah Abdullah ini semakin lama semakin berubah.

Sifat dismissive saya semakin ketara. Mengabaikan pendapat orang yang tidak saya sukai adalah sesuatu yang sangat senang. Kalau ia ditinggalkan di blog saya, saya tidak akan padamkan atau membalasnya. If I don't like what you say, I don't bother to respond to it. Berhujah atau berdebat juga saya jarang lakukan. Apa gunanya? Menghabiskan minyak. Orang yang dilawan berhujah tidak akan mengubah pendiriannya. Saya juga tidak akan mengubah pendirian saya. 80% of the time. Saya tidak pernah membalas komen di blog ini walau apapun yang diucapkan, kerana blog ini blog peribadi. Akan ada waktunya nanti, ada kenyataan-kenyataan yang tidak menyenangkan ditinggalkan, dan saya tidak mahu memulakan 'tabiat' membalas komen supaya saya dapat terus berpegang kepada prinsip itu.

Saya seperti sudah putus asa dengan cita-cita besar saya dulu untuk mengubah minda umat. Apabila saya rasa saya ketemu jalan, ia berhujung dengan kepalsuan. Apabila saya rasa saya ketemu kebenaran, pintu seperti payah dibuka untuk saya. Saya mahu mengikut rasa. Saya kepingin hidup dalam dunia saya, membaca, mengarang - mungkin novel, cerpen, puisi,
artikel, editorial - dengan matlamat menyampaikan mesej saya sebagai seorang rakyat yang bebas bersuara, tanpa ada sebarang harapan besar bahawa ada sesiapa akan mengubah pendirian mereka. Betul juga, penyampai hanya menyampaikan, orang nak dengar atau tidak, itu mereka punya pasal. Saya kepingin melakukan apa yang saya mahu, jauh daripada kontradiksi dan pertengkaran, mungkin di ceruk-ceruk kampung membuka klinik kebajikan atau di tubir medan perang menjadi sukarelawan. Saya mahu tinggalkan dunia aktivisme, idealisme atau realisme, pergi mampus dengan semua istilah itu, pseudo semuanya. Apabila saya diam dan akur, jiwa saya memberontak. Apabila saya terjun ke lapangan, saya jadi menyampah dengan kontradiksi dan sekatan. Keras kepala saya tidak seperti dulu lagi. Degil saya tidak seampuh dulu.

Tapi saya tidak melakukan apa yang saya mahu, kerana rasa tahu apa yang perlu itu lebih teguh daripada rajuk-rajuk dan marah-marah. Terima kasih kepada siapa-siapa sahaja, baik anda elitis atau patronizing, baik anda akrab mahupun hadir sepintas lalu, yang sama ada secara sengaja atau tidak, membantu memastikan bara-bara yang hampir padam itu tetap memercikkan api, langsung mengipas-ngipas malah menyediakan bahan bakar agar ia bernyala.

Saya rasa saya semakin berubah dan perubahan itu semakin laju. Mimpi menjadi reformis itu masih meligan-ligan, dengan suara yang makin kuat semula, perlahan-lahan, setelah hampir mati suatu waktu.

Siapa saya sebenarnya? Mungkin saya juga elitis yang patronizing. Kalau benar begitu, saya bukan sengaja ya. Dan saya tahu, kalau anda sahabat-sahabat yang kenal saya, yang saya ambil peduli pendapat anda, anda akan tetap sayang dan terima saya.

Jangan risau, ini bukan dilema baru yang mencacamurbakan semula suasana saya yang sudah 'aman' sekarang. Itu soalan retorik yang tidak memerlukan jawapan.Yang penting, saya tahu apa yang perlu saya lakukan. Saya dikurniakan Allah dengan kawan-kawan seperjuangan, dan saya yakin dengan Allah yang Maha Berkuasa dan Maha Mengetahui.

Haha.

meow~

Saturday, March 08, 2008

tanah serendah sekebun bunga

barangkali bonda Saadong menangis
sambil sumbing tersenyum
terkenangkan ayahanda Abdullah
yang ditusuk cucuk sanggul
bukan adinda tidak sayang,
namun apakan daya kekanda curang.

kalau bonda Wan Kembang masih ada
barangkali diutus seratus kijang emas
ke seluruh ceruk kampung dan kota
petanda restu dan doa
daulat untuk rakyat dari istana.

aku yang jauh
menyatukan hangat air mata dan dingin salji
dalam sujud sarat syukur melimpah rindu

tanah serendah sekebun bunga,
aku yang jauh diamuk cinta
mau lekas didakapmu
mengucup hamparanmu.







meow~

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Ingrid Mattson

Assalamualaikum.

Normally I don't like to copy-paste articles.

However, this simply blew me off my feet. It's not a new article, though.

More Muslimah like her, please?

(Instead of the timid, stay-at-the-back, sickly-sweet version of good Muslimahs. BORING.)

Btw, I've emboldened her statements at the end of the article that resonances with what I hold true, insyaAllah.


The Face of Islam in America
Cathy Lynn Grossman, USA Today

HARTFORD, Conn. — Ingrid Mattson knows the media drill well.

She has done the "We condemn … (fill in the terrorism incident)" speeches — as if, she says, that's all anyone needs to hear from the president of the Islamic Society of North America (ISNA).

She has done the profiles of her as first woman/first convert/first North American-born head of the continent's largest Muslim group.

She has done the talk shows retelling how 20 years ago, she left the Catholicism of her Canadian childhood and her college focus on philosophy and fine arts to find her spiritual home in Islam.

"It's time now to move the focus back off me and back on the issues," says Mattson, a professor at Hartford Seminary, where she directs the first U.S.-accredited Muslim chaplaincy program at the Macdonald Center.

Mattson begins the second half of her two-year term at the society's Labor Day weekend national conference outside Chicago. The annual event draws 40,000 Muslims of every sect, culture, age, race and ethnicity for scores of sessions on faith, family and society and a massive multicultural bazaar.

But two weeks before the conference, sitting with two women in her tiny, book-stuffed office, Mattson has a moment to kick off her shoes. She sheds the long brown jacket stifling her tailored blue blouse, leans back and talks about her vision of American Muslim life and her visiting friend, Heba.

Heba Abbasi, 31, a faithful young Muslim in her snug black headscarf, is a Chicago inner-city public school teacher, a fitness trainer, a Palestinian-American wife with an equally observant mosque-going Indian-American husband. Both are also triathletes training for an event.

"This is who I mean. They are who ISNA has to serve. They are why I'm concentrating on building a strong religious and civic institutional life for Muslims in America. I want to be sure I'm not the first and last young woman leader. Why be a flash in the pan?" says Mattson, who turns 44 on Friday.

A uniquely American Islam

She talks of nurturing a genuine American Islam, rooted in the classical faith, which dates back before the theological, political and legal schisms fractured the Ummah, the Muslim world, centuries ago.

This is the faith she chose at age 23, drawn in, she says, by Islam's beauty, its ethos of service and its synthesis of life and faith in which every act relates to God.

The key is not to confuse the eternal religion — submission to God, respect for the Prophet, prayer, charity and the goal of pilgrimage to Mecca — with Islam's myriad cultural expressions that shift with times and society, Mattson says. Her essays and speeches are threaded with references to the Quran, the Hadith (the sayings of the Prophet) and the Sunna (the record of his practices).

American Muslim men and women alike should be empowered to speak to public policy in all areas — medicine, ethics, law, education, justice, marriage and family life — by drawing from the common wellspring of Islam, she says.

Ask others about Mattson and she sounds like Goldilocks in a headscarf: too liberal for some, too conservative for others, and just right to many young activists.

"I'm proud to have her elected as my president," says Eboo Patel, 31, founder of Chicago's Interfaith Youth Core, which creates social-service opportunities for Muslims, Christians and Jews. He sees Mattson's message come to life in ISNA.

"The bulk of the American Muslim community is very young and overwhelmingly under 40. Increasingly our leadership needs to be people we can relate to," Patel says. "She conducts herself within the ethos of service that unites American and Islam. That's what religious communities can offer at their best, the inspiration to reach out to the world from the basis of your own heritage."

But Pamela Taylor, a co-founder of Muslims for Progressive Values, wants Mattson to push for women to lead congregational prayers.

"I'm worried that she buys into the same logic that can be, and is, used to restrict women from everything: education, political office, even driving," Taylor says.

Roles for women

Mattson shakes off that critique. Yes, she does conclude, based on the Prophet's words, that an imam who leads men and women together in prayer must be male.

However, other religious roles — reciting the Quran, preaching, teaching, scholarship, counseling and issuing legal rulings — are open to all. She's excited about an upcoming book from a noted scholar who has traced female Islamic scholars back 27 generations to the wife of the Prophet. She lists the "man-made obstacles to women's spirituality" that worry her more: misogynistic sermons, misguided and demeaning counseling, limited access to education and scholarship, and prayer spaces for women that are too small, uncomfortable or inaccessible.

As for whether men are in the front of the mosque and women in the rear? "When you are bowed in prayer," says Mattson, "you are not in front or behind any person. You are in front of God. That's the whole point of prayer."

Jamillah Karim, an assistant professor of religion at Spelman College in Atlanta, says Mattson is wise not to focus on women as imams.

"Most women are not overly concerned with this. This is an American religious community still in formation. Women are more interested in issues of family life, traditional concerns such as marriage and divorce," says Karim.

University of Delaware political scientist M.A. Muqtedar Khan gives Mattson mixed reviews. He calls her "an angel" and "the queen of American Muslims." But he adds, "She'll never rock the boat.

"She's not radical on anything. She's allowed ISNA to take strong positions against terrorism, but she'll never be at odds with the government. You won't see any criticism of U.S. policies. You'll see her continue the talk about the diversity within Islam. She'll make her mark as an activist with things like her chaplaincy program but not as a scholar with influential ideas or someone who modernizes thinking within Islam," says Khan.

Won't rock the boat?

Mattson rolls her brown eyes. Headline-making, provocative individual action holds no attraction for her.

"That's the 'great man' theory of history. Look where that's gotten us. I want to build something. I'm interested in long-term institutional strength," she says.

Mercy and caring

Topics at this year's conference include sessions on faith and social justice and community service, and one called "U.S. Sponsored Torture: A Concern for Muslims and All People of Faith."

"If religion is not about expanding the borders of your empathy, you might as well write it off," she says. "Religion is all about extending mercy and caring. If not, it's just tribalism: Muhammad himself said religion should be the opposite."

Mattson says she takes on the controversies, too, confronting in her own way the atheists, ideologues and "Islama-phobes" who say religion is outmoded or Islam is anti-Zionist or, simply, irrationally, fear any Muslims among them.

"These days, if you say anything nice to or about Muslims, it's seen as being soft on terrorism, as if all Muslims were terrorists.

"Anti-Muslim sentiments are used as a way to score points" in politics, she says.

"People see us, they see Heba and her husband, who wears a beard and a kufi (cap), and they have no idea the life they lead."

Or the life that Mattson leads.

If people saw her, covered from her colorful scarf to her long skirt, walking 3 miles home on a steamy summer evening, they would not know:

•She's a mother of two teens.

•She relaxes by mowing the lawn; juvenile rheumatoid arthritis forced her to give up running.

•She kept her name when she married her husband, a Baghdad-born Egyptian engineer whom she met while working with Afghan refugees in Pakistan in the '80s.

Photos of Afghan friends join family snapshots tacked to Mattson's office wall, along with a newspaper photo of an old man swarmed by pigeons he is feeding. It inspires her, she says, because "this is a man who has found exactly what he wants to do."

"What do you want to do?" may be Mattson's favorite question.

When someone asks her guidance, she'll reply: "Be the kind of Muslim you want to be. Do not let other people define your faith for you."

Mattson's Islam? "To glorify God through service to God's creation."



meow~