Chapter One
Introduction
Islamic-themed Popular and Visual Culture and Images of Modernities
For weeks the affairs and adventures of Bang Jack, Chelsea, Barong, and Juki had me and my Indonesian friend, Fitria, glued to the TV. Bang Jack, Chelsea, Barong, and Juki are four characters of the Ramadan sinetron (religious soap series) Para Pencari Tuhan. Watching those one-and-a-half hour episodes of Para Pencari Tuhan in that small living room, in a kampung-house on the outskirts of Yogyakarta, became a daily routine for me, Fitria, her family, and several of the neighbours. Broadcast on the privately owned SCTV channel, right before iftar (the breaking of the fast), every cliffhanger of Para Pencari Tuhan was followed by a festive home-cooked dinner.
The neighbours and family members would often discuss what happened on Para Pencari Tuhan while enjoying their meals. The seriesâ characters dealt with alcoholism, bankruptcy, prison life, betrayal, love affairs, political intrigue, evil mothers-in-law, going from rags to riches and the other way around, stardom, terrorism, and suitcases with millions of rupiahs popping up in the street without any owner to claim them. While many of these problems are faced by soap series characters all over the world, others are particular to present-day Indonesia.
Set in a village in West Java, Indonesia, Para Pencari Tuhan follows the lives of a group of villagers. In the first episode we meet three former inmates, Chelsea (Melky Bajaj), Barong (Aden Bajaj), and Juki (Isa Bajaj). The three men are released from prison and wander along the roads of Jakarta feeling lonely and lost. Juki, a former pickpocket, is rejected by his mother on his return to home, while Chelsea tries to reconcile with his ex-wife, but finds out that she is now married to the police officer who had put Chelsea in prison. Chelsea, Barong, and Juki feel as if they are shut out from the world, a feeling that is underscored by the setting: all buildings in the city they try to enter are closed because it is Ramadan. Having nowhere to go, the men strand in a mosque in a nearby village and are taken under the care of the mosque keeper, Bang Jack (Deddy Mizwar). While Bang Jack tries to lead the former inmates to the right path, we also meet the other villagers. We meet Aya (Zaskia Adya Mecca) and Azzam (Agus Kuncoro). Aya is a Muslim girl, who has excellent knowledge of religious matters and always helps out Bang Jack. Azzam is hopelessly in love with Aya, but is rejected by her. Then there are Ayaâs brother Ustad Ferry (Akri Patrio), the chairman of the mosque, and his wife Haifa (Anisa Wulandari). We also follow Jalal (Jarwo Strong), the richest man in the village, and his two loyal security guards Udin (Udin Nganga) and Asrul (Asrul Dahlan).
Over the course of the series, the village community not only has to deal with universal soap problems, but is also repeatedly confronted with issues that relate to the changes that Indonesia is undergoing as ongoing processes of modernization transform the archipelago. For instance, in one episode, the village elders are shocked by a sudden drop in rice production. Worried about the future of the village, they set up an investigation. As it turns out, the farmers working on the rice fields have acquired smartphones and are now avid users of social media. As a result, they are constantly updating their Facebook status when they should be working in the fields. They have become, in the words of one of the village elders, âunproductive citizensâ due to their use of modern technology.
In another episode of Para Pencari Tuhan, security guard Asrul and his wife enjoy the success of their soup stall. For a long time they were the poorest couple in the village, but after their success they could move into a decent house while winning respect from the other villagers. Their upward mobility is not without problems. Their wealth is threatened when, in rivalry for money, other villagers make petrol bombs and set Asrulâs soup stall on fire. Making matters worse, Asrulâs busy schedule puts stress on his family, and he has little time to practice Islam. The situation leaves Asrul unhappy and at a certain point he even begs Allah to restore the life he once had when his family was poor.
Para Pencari Tuhan raises several questions. For instance, what to think of modern technology? What are its advantages and disadvantages? How does technology affect social relations? How to live a âgoodâ life? What does it mean exactly to belong to the middle class? And conversely, how to deal with poverty? How to keep moving forward when faced with changes and challenges? And what lessons are taught during these experiences?
Central to these questions is the theme of modernity. What is changing, what could change in the future, with what consequences, and how should one think about that? What does it actually mean to be modern in Indonesia today? By making these questions part of its narrative, Para Pencari Tuhan critically explores what kind of modernity is right and suitable for what kind of circumstances. Para Pencari Tuhan is a sinetron Islami (Islamic soap opera), a Muslim-themed soap opera with an emphasis on prayer, moral guidance, and devoutness (Ida 2010, 1). The question is then not just âwhat does it mean to be modern?â but also âwhat does it mean to be modern as a Muslim?â That is not to ask whether Islam and modernity are compatible. Islam is modern (Hefner 2005, 8), and relegating it to the realm of âtraditionâ is to reinforce both a dangerous Orientalist stereotype and the problematic idea that modernity can only be secular. Para Pencari Tuhan instead asks how to participate, as an Indonesian Muslim (like any other citizen elsewhere), in a changing environment. As Indonesia, the worldâs most populous Muslim nation, is simultaneously modernizing and Islamizing, this question is important.
The question of what it means to be modern in Indonesia today was also underlying much of our own dinner table discussions about Para Pencari Tuhan. For example, when Fitria and her aunts talked about what they themselves would and should do in a certain situation, or what they thought would (not) be good for the practice of Islam, for the village community, and by extension, for the nation. Considering that Para Pencari Tuhan was watched by more than 32 per cent of the national television audience, and was viewed by men and women of almost all age groups (10â24 years; 25â40 years; 40â49 and 50â75 years [ABG Nielsen 2012]), it is not unimaginable that these issues were also on the minds of other viewers.
Discussions about Para Pencari Tuhan went beyond the realm of the more private sphere of the family home. In newspapers like Kompas and the Jakarta Post and on various blogs like Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube, people engaged with similar questions. Besides contemplating what was ârightâ for the village, viewers also debated whether and how Islam, Ramadan, consumption, and entertainment should go together. During its broadcast, Para Pencari Tuhan was not only interrupted by lengthy Ramadan-themed commercial breaks, but it was also interspersed with a quiz in which participants could win 1 million rupiah. During the showâs last quiz break, a pilgrimage tour with Para Pencari Tuhanâs actors could be won.
In terms of its negotiations of modernity and its alliances with the market Para Pencari Tuhan does not form an exception. Popular and visual culture present perfect tools to publicly fantasize and experiment with Islamic modernities. They reflect on the question of whether the archipelago is on the âright pathâ towards the âright kindâ of modernity or not (Brenner 1999, 17; Schmidt 2012, 32). In the last decade, Indonesia has seen a boom of Islamic-themed popular and visual culture as entrepreneurs imbue cultural products with religious as well as economic value (Widodo 2008). These cultural products, which are largely targeted at Indonesiaâs next generation of young urban Muslims, are a key site to experiment with Islamic modernities.
By viewing popular and visual culture as a field marked by the struggle to articulate and disarticulate specific meanings, ideologies, and politics (Mouffe 1981, 231), this book explores how (and which) Islamic modernities are imagined, negotiated, and contested in Indonesian Islamic-themed popular and visual culture. By analysing different cultural products, it shows that Indonesian Islamic popular culture both critically reflects on, and is shaped by, the processes of modernization that are currently transforming the archipelago. Indonesian Islamic popular and visual culture forms a site where Islamic modernities are imagined, negotiated, and contested. Simultaneously, the book zooms in on the politics that are practiced when different modernities are defined, and lays bare which powers and voices are included and excluded in the imagination and production of Islamic modernities in Indonesia today. This book will thus not only show that modernities are, indeed, multiple, but also, and more urgently, that some modernities are more dominant than others.
ISLAMIC-THEMED POPULAR AND VISUAL CULTURE IN SOUTHEAST ASIA
In the last two decades, Southeast Asia has seen a spectacular surge in Islamic-themed popular and visual culture. The Muslim majority countries of Indonesia and Malaysia constitute the main centres of production. In addition to domestic audiences in Indonesia and Malaysia, Muslim communities in Singapore, Brunei, Southern Thailand, and Southern Philippines also enjoy Islamic-themed popular and visual culture. The Indonesian Islamic love epos Ayat-Ayat Cinta (âVerses of Loveâ, 2008) for instance not only drew people to cinemas in Indonesia, where the film attracted 4 million viewers in the first two months â thereby beating the longstanding-record of 3.5 million viewers set by Titanic (1997). But the story of Ayat-Ayat Cintaâs Fahri, an Indonesian student who studies at Al-Azhar University and solves problems through the teachings of Islam, also attracted audiences in neighbouring countries. In Malaysia, Ayat-Ayat Cinta earned 70,000 Malaysian ringgit in its first two weeks (Box Office Mojo 2016). In the meantime, many Singaporeans travelled to the nearby Indonesian island of Batam to see the film (Melayu Online 2008). Because of its popularity the filmâs producers decided to bring the Islamic love story to Singapore itself.
As Kenneth George points out, defining what makes cultural forms âIslamicâ is âcomplicated and wrought with assumptions about what constitutes both culture and religionâ (George 2010, cited in Hoesterey and Clark 2012, 208). Despite its name, âIslamic popular and visual cultureâ has a tenuous relationship with the religion of Islam itself. While some Muslims produce âIslamic popular cultureâ for overt religious purposes, many others do not, and some producers or artists do not even consider themselves as Muslims. Following Ben Arps (1996, 395), and James Hoesterey and Marshall Clark (2012, 208), I use the prefix âIslamicâ to describe cultural practices that are considered to bernafaskan Islam (âto breath Islamâ), which means that these cultural forms are inspired by Islam or that they connote Islam thematically.
This book zooms in on popular cultural products that bernafaskan Islam and focuses on Indonesia. In the post-Suharto era (1998âpresent), Indonesia has witnessed a phenomenal rise of Islamic-themed popular and visual culture. This spectacular boom of Islamic popular culture was facilitated by a number of structural â political, economic, social, and cultural â transformations that have radically altered the Indonesian cultural scene.
ISLAM AND POPULAR CULTURE DURING THE NEW ORDER
Probably the most drastic transformation is the liberalization of the cultural scene after the collapse of the authoritarian New Order regime in May 1998. The âNew Orderâ is one of the periods that characterized the socialâpolitical lives of Indonesians. In 1945 Sukarno and Hatta declared Indonesiaâs independence and became the archipelagoâs first president and vice-president. After the Indonesian War of Independence (1945â1949) the Dutch finally recognized the independence of Indonesia. Then-President Sukarno remained in power until the mid-1960s. After the mass killings of (presumed) communists (1965â1966), Suharto rose to power in 1966. The period until his fall in May 1998 is called the âNew Orderâ. The period after the collapse of President Suhartoâs regime is referred to as the Reformasi, âpostâNew Orderâ or âpost-Suhartoâ era (1998âpresent) (Ahmad 2003).
During the New Order (1966â1998), President Suharto guided an impoverished nation to rising prosperity, and outward stability, however at the cost of abridged political and civil liberties, gutted democratic institutions, nepotism, and flourishing corruption (Schwarz 1997, 119â120). Although media were under the control of the Department of Information, Krishna Sen and David Hill (2000) note that media did leave room for contestations. Media were nevertheless part of Indonesiaâs ânational culture projectâ, a range of state-sponsored activities that were designed to disseminate the stateâs ideology and construct a shared Indonesian national identity (Kitley 2000, 3â4; Sen and Hill 2000, 12).
Under the âSARAâ-regulation, expressions of ethnicity (suku), religion (agama), race (ras), and class (antar-golongan), were used to the stateâs benefit. Alternative discourses on these markers of identity, and particularly those that might inflame âdisorderâ in the nation â tensions between groups in society â were suppressed (Sen and Hill 2000, 12). In this way, Suharto hoped to safeguard the unity of the geographically fragmented nation and maintain order in a country of extremely diverse cultures, religious beliefs, languages, and traditions.
During his rule, Suharto particularly suppressed political Islam. The marginalization of political Islam was part of the strong anti-Islam politics that marked Suhartoâs rule during the 1970s and 1980s. Suharto feared political Islam, which he rejected for its desire of an Islamic state (Van Bruinessen 2011, 1). Muslim political leaders and those who spoke out about political Islam were often prosecuted as right-wing extremists who endangered the stability of the nation. Nevertheless, as Florian Pohl (2009) notes, under the influence of the global Islamic revival, Muslim activists have since the 1970s contested Islamâs political suppression and have tried to stimulate political Islam (Pohl 2009, 74).
In the 1970s and 1980s, no one could have imagined that a couple of years later, in the mid-1990s, the governmentâs view on Islam would have made a 180-degrees turn. As his authoritarian rule was losing power in the 1990s, Suharto tried to build new partnerships to maintain power in the face of a divided military that had been his main support base (Heryanto 2008, 14). He started to give way to political Islam by making the composition of the cabinet and the military more Islamic (Heryanto 2008). In this way, Islam became politically institutionalized. Muslim political leaders who had been imprisoned were released, and people who were speaking out against Islam were taken to court (Heryanto 1999, 175). Suharto also lifted the ban on the veiling of Muslim schoolgirls and made a very public pilgrimage to Mecca.
While Islam was gaining political space, the state was losing its grip on media due to changes in media technologies and economies. In the case of the audiovisual media, the sheer volume of material started to defeat the governmentâs attempts to control it (Sen and Hill 2000, 12).
POSTâNEW ORDER TRANSFORMATIONS AND THE RISE OF THE MIDDLE CLASS IN SOUTHEAST ASIA
It was not until the collapse of Suhartoâs regime in May 1998 that the character of the Indonesian cultural scene changed drastically. In 1999, then-President Habibie did away with the requirement for all publications to have a publishing license. Media was deregulated and privatized. After three decades of state-dominated political culture and censorship, post-authoritarian Indonesia could develop a cultural scene in which id...