I had arrived at Pondok Infak Mulia’s headquarters early on that day, on my way to join other volunteers and staff at Plaza Senayan, a most exclusive, high-class mall situated at the thumping centre of Jakarta’s business and administrative district. The aim was to promote the organisation’s work in poverty alleviation and solicit public support. It was mid-August, at the height of the dry season, during the second half of Ramadan, the ninth in succession month in the Islamic calendar dedicated to fasting. Even though I never underestimated the challenges my Muslim interlocutors are in the habit of overcoming regularly, that is year-in and year-out, in terms of having to go without food and water from dawn to dusk, the summer of A.D. 2012/A.H. 1433 was quite instructive: for alongside the disciplines of the fast which I always found myself unable to withstand, they also had to endure the tests and tribulations of an everyday life otherwise expected to carry on with as little disturbance as possible. Sharing the same metropolitan area with more than 30 million people, packed in densely populated neighbourhoods, themselves sided by modern, sky-high towers, all busy with making ends meet, forming long traffic jams in the unending pursuit of greater returns for inputs expended, is already a big ask. To add to this blend of conditions, the demand to perform good deeds (amal) was a test of faith bound to increase the rhythms the city lived on, intensifying its connections, swelling its contours. I should clarify myself: amongst Muslims in Indonesia as well as elsewhere in the Islamic world, subjecting oneself to privation that causes to experience hunger immediately and first-hand is understood as requisite for the cultivation of feelings of empathy and compassion, especially with the difficult situations facing others less fortunate. And thus, during Ramadan, the well-off are tested with raising money for the poor, donating clothes and food, engaging in commensality with them, breaking the fast together. My presence at Pondok Infak Mulia’s headquarters that day was meant for similar purposes: studying the social overflowing with itself, observing its grids undergoing rejuvenation, while participating, body and soul, in this very process, was my end of the story.
Because all the sofas available at the reception were taken by young volunteers waiting to be interviewed, I took a chair and set it next to the receptionist. The latter was engaged in conversation with a bespectacled, well-dressed man, probably in his mid-fifties and carrying an expensive-looking black leather handbag. As it turned out, he was visiting Pondok Infak Mulia (PIM henceforth) in his capacity as muzakki, his intention being to conduct zakat worship. Zakat which derives from the Arabic verb zakā carries the meaning of increase and growth as well as purification, stands for the third pillar of the Islamic faith, second only in importance to the five daily prayers and the confession of the faith. Its performance is a major religious ritual and an obligation that befalls all adult Muslims of adequate financial means, involving the transfer of value from those under such obligation (muzakki) to those with a valid entitlement to it. Amongst the latter the most important are the needy and poor (fakir miskin). Picking up his leather handbag, the well-dressed man clarified that the zakat he was ‘outing’ (mengeluarkan) that day belonged to the category of zakat profesi, that is, it was related to income generated from practising a profession such as medical doctor, architect or office manager. The receptionist posed a series of questions the purpose of which was to make sure the visitor’s calculations as to the amount of zakat due were accurate. Without the slightest hesitation, the receptionist asked about the visitor’s annual salary, the relevant percentage applicable and whether the payment was to be made on an annual or monthly basis. The middle-aged man replied straightforwardly that his annual salary for the past year totalled 452 million rupiah, equivalent roughly to $45,000, an amount easily placing him amongst an expanding number of elite professionals and managers in the city, normally employed at multinational corporations. He also added that he wished to pay his zakat on an annual basis, informing the receptionist that he had already checked with PIM’s website: thus, his calculations were based on PIM’s suggestion of a 2.5% levy on the proceeds of profesi. Next, the receptionist asked whether the man’s calculations were made on the basis of net or gross income: the bespectacled visitor replied that that it was his gross income that he wished to zakat, an answer which should have delighted his interlocutor. At that point, the well-dressed man took a plastic freezer bag out of his black leather handbag, and placing it on the receptionist’s desk, removed a couple of bundles containing cash in fresh and crispy notes of 100,000 rupiah, passing them to the receptionist. The receptionist started counting the money silently, flexing his fingers with considerable dexterity and speed, skills more often found amongst bank cashiers. After the first count gave him a total of 11.3 million rupiahs, the receptionist started filling an electronic receipt on the computer. The receipt in question, called formulir setoran donasi, records the personal details of the muzakki, the kind of transfer involved, that is whether it relates to zakat, alms (infak /sedekah ) or endowment (wakaf), the amount transferred to the organisation and the muzakki’s tax number and total annual income. The form comes in three different coloured copies: the white is stored at the counter, the rose is sent to the organisation’s accounting department and the green is handed to the muzakki. This copy the muzakki can present to Indonesian tax officials, requesting that the amount of zakat paid is deducted from his annual taxable income.
While a hard copy of the receipt was printed, the receptionist counted the money once more. Having satisfied himself that he held the correct amount, he turned his face to the visitor, offering his right hand. With the two men locked in a soft handshake, their heads cast down, eyes closed, the receptionist went to recite the opening chapter of the Quran, al-Fatihah. He then offered the following prayer for the benefit of his partner: semoga Allah memberikan pahala atas apa yang telah anda berikan, menjadikannya suci dan mensucikan, serta Allah memberikan keberkahan atas harta anda yang tersisa, which can be translated as ‘may Allah give you merit for what you have yourself given and make it pure and purifying as well as bless the remaining of your property.’ To this, the well-dressed man uttered amin as declaration of his affirmation. The receptionist then inserted the green copy of the receipt to a branded envelop and passed it with both his hands in a gesture of respect, thanking the visitor once more for the trust he placed in the organisation. At this point the man made his excuses and quickly exited the premises, bringing thus the ritual to its conclusion.
In twenty-first century Indonesia, performing zakat can also take place through bank transfers, off- and online. PIM has been on the forefront of making such services available to the public, asking muzakki to confirm the transfer of funds by telephoning or emailing its offices, along with providing further information. The latter is required for the receipt’s safe delivery at the muzakki’s address, usually accompanied by a copy of PIM’s monthly magazine, inclusive of its financial report, containing details of programmes currently carried out and listing the precise amounts invested. I asked Pak Budi, the receptionist, about any issues arising in face-to-face encounters. He replied that sometimes zakat payers protest for having zakat profesi calculated on the basis of gross income, asking for it to be reduced first in accordance with expenses incurred for basic needs such as food, school fees and credit card repayments. In the ensuing negotiations, Pak Budi uses as his guide a set of instructions issued by PIM’s board of syariah (Islamic law) experts. The latter clarify that loan servicing payments for house and car purchases are indeed deductible; however, food expenses, school fees and other credit card payments are excluded from the list of deductions. Pak Budi admitted that having to deal with personal financial circumstances sometimes brings him in an awkward position: on the one hand, he wants to avoid getting into anything resembling an argument with would-be zakat payers who might after -all decide against transferring their zakat to PIM, taking their business elsewhere. On the other hand, the more steadfast, he said, he is with bringing relevant jurisprudential provisos to bear, the greater the value of financial resources available to PIM stands to be; as a result, he added, ‘Insya Allah (God willing), it won’t be long before PIM is truly successful in making poverty in Indonesia a thing of the past.’
Reducing, if not totally eradicating, poverty is an earnest mission undertaken and a passionate promise publicly made by a series of new institutional actors in Indonesia, amongst which PIM counts as one of the most prominent. Such actors are also keen to demonstrate the potential inherent in Islam for bringing about significant improvements in the life conditions for the entire community of the faithful, safeguarding the delivery of prosperity and well-being to each and every one of its members, especially the needy and the poor, both in this life and in the next. Since 1999, such institutional actors are known as Lembaga Amil Zakat (LAZ) or Zakat Management Bodies: they have been tasked by both state and civil society with the purpose of assisting the overcoming of the mounting challenges and difficulties characterising the present situation as far as the economic predicament1 and the general level of religious awareness and piety of millions of Indonesians is concerned. For Zakat Management Bodies bringing about the required improvements in the economic and religious life of the nation is an interchangeable, mutually supportive exercise: for them, putting Islam to work in everyday life is a move that encompasses in a single pounce the ceremonial and the commercial, joining inexorably the liturgical to the pecuniary. In this context, the pursuit of a better livelihood in a strictly economic sense is indubitably conceived contra the ‘purificatory’ operations of Western modernity (Latour 1993), and understood as attainable only through the enhancement of an array of religious disciplines, and vice versa.
The principal methods LAZ deploy in implementing the promise of making a brighter, more prosperous and pious future arrive is the subject matter of this book. In the following pages I show that one of the most significant interventions LAZ perform in the social life of the nation has been a comprehensive re-positioning of zak...