Examining the interface between religion, politics and violence, Sarah Schroeder presents:
A Political
Economy of Hajj:
When embarking
on Hajj becomes political, even violent
One question increasingly brought to
my attention is about the Muslim pilgrimage of Hajj; does one go in order to
fulfill a Muslim obligation, or should one boycott the
practice as a moral statement? While the Kingdom of Saudi
Arabia claims a monopoly on the Islamic faith, can and should one separate
religion from politics? I think we have arrived at a point, where going on Hajj
is difficult – if not impossible – to defend and reconcile with our moral
values. Let’s talk about this and try to unpack how Hajj has surpassed as a
mere religious endeavor and become a political and moral decision and a tool with
violent outcomes. Violence here is broadly
seen as a “force that directly threatens bodies” and “the outcome of particular
cultural, political and economic struggles”.
As the fifth pillar of Islam and a
lifetime obligation for able-bodied Muslims in possession of necessary financial
means, Hajj is a six-day
pilgrimage to Mecca. During Hajj, special
emphasis is placed on equality; the practice removes any indication of class,
socio-economic background and material difference, signified by the simple
cloth worn by pilgrims. But in reality, Hajj is built on and produces stark
inequalities through violence. As revenues from Hajj constitute approximately
$8 billion making it Saudi’s second
biggest source of income after natural oil and gas, it is
important to talk about Hajj in a wider context and in relation to violence. We
cannot ignore what is achieved with the money we readily invest, in what we
deem a religious and spiritual experience.
Firstly, let’s delve into who gets
to go on Hajj. The Saudi government sets a
quota for each
country, according to its Muslim population.
While markers of wealth and class are removed during the pilgrimage, being able
to go on Hajj is in itself a marker of wealth. Securing a place on the waiting
list may cost around $2000 in Indonesia, which can be between one to three
annual salaries. In addition, Hajj packages which include travel costs between
cities, accommodation and food range around $5000 per person. How can this
promote equality?
Apart from financial obstacles,
Saudi has politicized Hajj further by preventing travel for Qatari nationals
and Palestinian refugees. In 2017, after a Saudi-led blockade was imposed on
Qatar, Muslims from Qatar were prohibited from entering the country, making it impossible
to participate in the pilgrimage. Since 12
September 2.94 million displaced Palestinians in Jordan, Lebanon, East
Jerusalem, and Israel without travel documents are no longer
issued visas for Hajj, as part of bilateral
agreements between Saudi Arabia’s de facto ruler Crown Prince Mohammed Bin
Salman (MBS) and Israel. So although Mecca should “not [be] owned by any
government” but accessible for all Muslims, as Abdelmajid Mrari from the
Alliance for Freedom and Dignity stressed, Saudi claims a monopoly over the way
in which Hajj is both practiced and who is allowed to participate in it.
It is crucial that we frame Hajj
within the wider political picture, as life in Saudi Arabia is marked by
violent inequalities. Small political reforms and new ‘reformist’ rulers such
as MBS, supposed to appease the West, have not changed lived realities for
women and migrants and do not fool anyone. MBS’ regime is one that grants citizenship
to an Artificial Intelligence before
granting it to thousands of migrants spending their lives living and working
there, and hinders women’s freedom of movement without male escorts. Although women
are legally allowed to drive, it is up to six times as expensive for women
compared to men to obtain their driver’s license, which affords only some women
this privilege. Political parties are banned, protests prohibited, and activists
and critics of Saudi Arabia, like Israa al-Ghomgham and Jamal Khashoggi,
arrested, sentenced to death, tortured, or
dismembered and dissolved.
This monopoly of violence extends
beyond Saudi’s borders, as it grips firmly onto regional states, imposes
blockades where states do not conform, and fights a disastrous war in Yemen. Saudi
Arabia expends approximately 10% of its GDP on weapons and $14.5 billion in its
arms deal
with the United States. Participating in Hajj means contributing
to the purchase of weapons deployed in Yemen, which has devastatingly left 85,000
Yemeni children dead, 14 million Yemenis at risk of
famine, and cities and heritage sites destroyed. Are we really willing to
accept our complicity in Saudi’s violence in exchange for our freedom to
religious practice?
This begs the question – does our freedom to go to Mecca ultimately come at the
expense of other people’s freedom and lives?
In (re)focusing the conversation
about Hajj, we may begin to understand how Hajj becomes a tool for the Saudi
regime to conceal the violence it deploys in its devastating wars, structural and
more ‘mundane’ everyday violence. Violence and Hajj constitute one another and are
instrumentalized to maintain the status quo. Acts of violence, such as
restrictions and exclusions from an obligatory practice, sustain Hajj and frame
its nature. Hajj is no longer just religious; its social life becomes political
and violent, as it leaves violence unchallenged and contributes to it
financially, and socio-politically through reifying inequalities. Hajj thus becomes violence, serving to maintain
Saudi’s assertion of power and legitimate authority in the Islamic world.
After this reflection, any insistence
on viewing Hajj as separate from politics and violence would seem
unconscionable. Separating politics from all other domains of life, such as
art, sport, or religion, is a dangerous privilege reserved only for specific
groups of people. This is a privilege the oppressed cannot afford, as the very
politics, which religion can mask, shape the way people may live, survive, move
and practice their freedoms.
Comments
Post a Comment