In Batley, British Muslims are calling for Civility not Censorship
It was the Autumn of 2010 and we had just finished paying for our shopping and were wheeling our trolleys towards the supermarket exit when my eyes met those of an elderly volunteer for the British legion. Our gazes remained locked on one another as I approached the poppy stall. No words passed between us as I placed some coins in the donation box and he pinned a poppy to my lapel. None were needed, an unspoken understanding had been communicated through that gaze, I as a visibly Muslim man and this man who I presume was a war veteran were silently affirming our agreement that what had happened a few days earlier was a disgraceful act that did not represent the manners and conduct of Muslims. That at that moment as he pinned that symbol of remembrance for those who died in wars past, we were engaged in a statement of mutual sympathy and recognition of the higher virtues which unite us. Remembrance Sunday is one of those few remaining moments in British public life in which a true sense of solemnity and awe grips the nation. Even atheists and agnostics who may not care at all for the Christian prayers that accompany the memorial service, bow their hands, observe silence and feel a genuine sense of reverence and gratitude towards those who gave their lives in the defence of their homeland. At other times and in other venues there are heated debates and discussions about the handling of the two world wars, the disastrous waste of life on the Somme or at Arnhem due to the foolishness of generals, or about the legacy in the round of such a complicated personality and politician as Churchill. But Remembrance Sunday is not the time for that. Nor was it appropriate to burn poppies and hurl abuse in protest, at the then wars Britain was engaged in overseas in Iraq and Afghanistan, despite the genuine issues that surrounded those conflicts. The outrage that followed was not, on the whole a call to censor the protestors’ freedom of speech, but rather a collective expression of disgust and anger that this sombre ceremony had been desecrated in such a disgusting manner. Everything after all has a time and place and a manner of doing things.
There is a notion in Britain today that when British Muslims take some sort of social or political action on religious grounds, that there is a desire among us to impose our faith on the nation. Do you remember that time Muslims triggered a debate in Parliament by signing an online petition to have the production and sale of alcohol prohibited? How about that long summer of sit-ins at Greggs up and down the country, protesting the pork pies? Or perhaps that time activists stormed the stage and stapled hijabs on the Cheeky girls? No? That would be because such things never happened, and despite the vivid fantasies of G.K. Chesterton a century ago, are never likely to. Nor are Muslims in general particularly interested in censorship, hundreds, perhaps thousand of books, articles, podcasts, television and radio broadcasts are produced every year critiquing and questioning every aspect of Islamic faith, practice, law and history. Despite the media generated stereotype the community has largely responded through academic publications of our own and public debates with our critics, rather than demonstrations, boycotts and petitions.
It is understandable that many in modern Britain who live largely secular lives can find it difficult to understand that solemn awe and reverence they might find occasionally in events such as Remembrance Sunday or the Last Night of the Proms, are felt at all times when Muslims bring the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ to their minds. Unlike other religious traditions such as Christianity, Buddhism or Hinduism, God is considered to be beyond notions of depiction and even positive depictions of the Prophets are not acceptable, as it is considered impossible to accurately portray their beauty. Believers instead learn written descriptions of the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ and seek to envisage him in their hearts. Is it then at all surprising when Muslims become upset when their children are exposed to demeaning caricatures of the Prophet ﷺ which imply his responsibility for the appalling barbarity carried out by fringe fanatics in recent years? Especially when it is done in the context of a Religious Studies class supposedly about the reasons for the prohibition of images in Islamic religious contexts!
Protesting the use of these images in a classroom full of Muslim children is not a denial of the teacher’s freedom of speech or an attempt to impose Islamic law or notions of blasphemy. Rather it is an expression of anger, hurt and disgust at images which are not merely offensive but explicitly insulting, in some ways similar to the sentiments of those who felt outraged at the burning of the poppies all those years ago. It is an appeal for civility and common decency. Indeed, these are two traits that we- the British- used to pride ourselves upon. We are not Americans, we value freedom of expression, but we do not set it up as an idol to worship. We recognise that its worth comes from giving space to people to search for and discover the truth. Surely, we cheapen the importance of freedom of speech, by claiming, as some do, that it is as important to be able to say the earth circles the sun as it is to publish comic strips of Hagar the Horrible. By the same token we are most certainly not the French. We have an exceptionally long history and wholly natural aversion to the state interfering in our private lives and imposing the state’s ideological stances upon the population. This is why we have a long standing right enshrined in law to remove our children from religious studies classes in part or in whole, and why teachers in state schools are not permitted to promote their personal political and religious beliefs to their pupils. We expect our public servants (party politicians aside) to be stoically neutral in their approach to all the affairs that we, the taxpayers, pay them to do. We do not expect them to indoctrinate our children with any particular philosophy or religious view and are rightly outraged when teachers do sometimes cross these lines. Similarly, we should not expect any teacher to quite deliberately provoke and insult those concerns which their pupils hold sacred. Yes, we certainly expect them to challenge their pupils, get them to deal with difficult questions and think about several sides of an argument. But it was entirely possible to do that in this case without displaying the cartoons. They could easily have been described and then discussed by the class, and I suspect if that had happened, we would never have ever heard about this little school in Batley.
