Islam in Post-Soviet Russia : Public and Private Faces [1 ed.] 9780203217696, 9780415297349

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Islam in Post-Soviet Russia

This book, based on extensive research in the field, analyses the political, social and cultural implications of the rise of Islam in post-Soviet Russia. Examining in particular the situation in Tatarstan and Dagestan, where there are large Muslim populations, the authors chart the long history of Muslim and orthodox Christian co-existence in Russia, discuss recent moves toward greater autonomy and the assertion of ethnic-religious identities which underlie such moves, and consider the practice of Islam at the local level. The differences between ‘official’ and ‘unofficial’ Islam are shown, with reference to how ceremonies and rituals are actually observed (or not), how Islam is transmitted from one generation to the next, the role of Islamic thought, including that of radical sects, and Islamic views of the different roles of men and women. Overall, the book demonstrates how far Islam in Russia has been extensively influenced by the Soviet and Russian multi-ethnic context. Hilary Pilkington is Professor of Russian Society and Culture and Director of the Centre for Russian and East European Studies at the University of Birmingham. She has been researching aspects of Soviet and post-Soviet Russian society for more than a decade. Previous publications include Russia’s Youth and Its Culture (1994), Migration, Displacement and Identity in Post-Soviet Russia (1998) and Looking West? Cultural Globalization and Russian Youth Cultures (co-author, 2002). Galina Yemelianova is Research Fellow of the Centre for Russian and East European Studies at the University of Birmingham. She is a specialist in Arabic and Islamic studies, researching and publishing extensively in Russia and internationally on history and contemporary ethno-political and religious issues. Previous publications include Yemen During the First Ottoman Rule (1538–1635) (1988) and Russia and Islam: A Historical Survey (2002).

Islam in Post-Soviet Russia Public and private faces Edited by Hilary Pilkington and Galina Yemelianova

First published 2003 by RoutledgeCurzon 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by RoutledgeCurzon 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2003. RoutledgeCurzon is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group © 2003 Hilary Pilkington and Galina Yemelianova for selection and editorial matter; individual chapters, the contributors All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Islam in post-Soviet Russia : public and private faces / edited by Hilary Pilkington and Galina Yemelianova. Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Islam–Russia (Federation)–Tatarstan–History–20th century. 2. Islam–Russia (Federation)–Dagestan–History–20th century. I. Pilkington, Hilary. II. Yemelianova, Galina M. BP63.R8 I77 297'.0947'09049–dc21

2002 2002073384

ISBN 0-203-21769-1 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-27336-2 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0–415–29734–6 (Print Edition)

Contents

List of illustrations Notes on contributors Acknowledgements Note on transliteration Glossary Introduction

vii ix xi xiii xv 1

H I L A RY P I L K I N G T O N

PART I

The public face of Islam 1 Islam in Russia: an historical perspective

13 15

G A L I N A Y E M E L I A N OVA

2 Islam and power

61

G A L I N A Y E M E L I A N OVA

3 Official and unofficial Islam

117

D M I T R I I M A K A ROV A N D R A F I K M U K H A M E T S H I N

PART II

The private face of Islam 4 Islam and the search for identity E L E N A O M E L’ C H E N KO A N D G U S E L’ S A B I ROVA

165 167

vi

Contents

5 Practising Islam: rituals, ceremonies and the transmission of ethno-Islamic values

183

E L E N A O M E L’ C H E N KO A N D G U S E L’ S A B I ROVA

6 Islam in multi-ethnic society: identity and politics

210

E L E N A O M E L’ C H E N KO , H I L A RY P I L K I N G T O N A N D G U S E L’ S A B I ROVA

7 Gender discourses within Russian Islam

242

E L E N A O M E L’ C H E N KO A N D G U S E L’ S A B I ROVA

Conclusion

264

H I L A RY P I L K I N G T O N

Appendix: key events in the history of Russia and Islam Bibliography Index

276 280 292

Illustrations

Plates 1

2 3 4

5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

Rafael Khakimov, Director of the Institute of History, Tatarstan Academy of Sciences and personal advisor of President Shaimiev, Kazan, Tatarstan. Gabdulla Galiullin, ex-Muftii of DUMRT and leader of the Omet party, Kazan, Tatarstan. Rashida Abystay, the influential spiritual leader of Muslim Tatars, Kazan, Tatarstan. Jalil-efendi, one of the leaders of the Milli Mejlis and husband of Fauzia Bayramova, leader of Ittifaq, Naberezhnie Chelny, Tatarstan. Bulgar Mosque, Kazan, Tatarstan. Faizrahman Sattarov, amir of the Islamic sect of Faizrahmanists, Kazan, Tatarstan. Dagestani Muslims during the Islamic holiday of Mawlid, Makhachkala, Dagestan. Tatar national holiday Sabantuy, Naberezhnie Chelny, Tatarstan. Two students of the medresse al-Shafii, Makhachkala, Dagestan. Opening of the Islamic Institute in Kazan, Tatarstan. Interior design in Kubachi village, Dagestan. Children from Majalis village, Dagestan. Entrance to Gubden village, Dagestan. A village church in Laishevskii raion, Tatarstan. Russian peasants in folklore costume, a village in Laishevskii raion, Tatarstan. Women from Kubachi village, Dagestan. A Russian convert to Islam, Makhachkala, Dagestan. Women from Gubden village, Dagestan. A girl by the door, Gubden village, Dagestan. Three old men from Gubden village, Dagestan.

70 73 74

83 128 131 135 193 199 200 217 217 218 221 222 245 254 259 259 260

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Illustrations

Figures 2.1 2.2 2.3 6.1

Russia’s autonomous republics. Contemporary Tatarstan. Contemporary Dagestan. The imagined ‘ethnoscape’ of post-Soviet Tatarstan.

61 63 89 213

‘Being a Muslim’: strategies of identification.

175

Tables 4.1

Contributors

Dmitrii Makarov is a fellow of the Russian Centre for Strategic Research and International Studies, Institute of Oriental Studies (Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow). He received an MA in Islamic History from Moscow State University in 1987 and has researched and published extensively in Russia and internationally on issues of Islam, ethnicity and political Islamic movements in the contemporary Middle East and Islamic regions of Russia and the Commonwealth of Independent States. He is author of Islam and Development at Micro-level: Community Activities of the Islamic Movement in Israel (Moscow: RCSRIS-Ithaca Press, 1997) and Official and Non-Official Islam in Dagestan (Moscow: Niopik, 2000). Rafik Mukhametshin is Professor of Islamic Studies and Deputy Director of the Institute of Tatar Encyclopaedia (Tatarstan Academy of Sciences, Kazan). He received his Ph.D. in Islamic Philosophy from Kazan Institute of Language, Literature and History (USSR Academy of Sciences) in 1983. Since then he has researched historical and contemporary questions of intellectual and popular Islam in the Volga-Urals. He is author of Islam in Public and Political Life of Tatarstan at the End of the Twentieth Century (Kazan’: Iman 2000) as well as over twenty articles on nineteenth century Islamic modernism – jadidism, regional Tatar Islam and Islamic organizations in modern Tatarstan. Elena Omel’chenko is Director of the interdisciplinary research centre ‘Region’, which she established in 1995. She received her Ph.D. from Moscow State University in 1982. She began lecturing at Ul’ianovsk State University, Russia since 1989 and has served there as the Head of Department of Sociology and Pro-Vice Chancellor for Advertising and Marketing. She has extensive experience of managing large quantitative and qualitative research projects on contemporary Russian society, especially in the areas of youth, ethnicity and gender. Recent monographs and edited volumes include Youth Cultures and Subcultures (Moscow: Institut Sotsiologii RAN, 2000); Hero in Our Time, (Ul’ianovsk: Srednevolzhskii Nauchnii Tsentr 2000); with S. Perfil’ev, Another Field. Sociological

x

Contributors Research in Action (Ul’ianovsk: Srednevolzhskii Nauchnii Tsentr, 2000); and with H. Pilkington, M. Flynn, U. Bliudina and E. Starkova, Looking West? Cultural Globalization and Russian Youth Cultures (Penn State University Press, 2002).

Hilary Pilkington is Professor of Russian Society and Culture and Director of the Centre for Russian and East European Studies at the University of Birmingham. She has been researching aspects of Soviet and post-Soviet Russian society for more than a decade. Her published monographs include Russia’s Youth and Its Culture (Routledge 1994), Migration, Displacement and Identity in Post-Soviet Russia (Routledge 1998) and with E. Omel’chenko, M. Flynn, U. Bliudina and E. Starkova, Looking West? Cultural Globalization and Russian Youth Cultures (Penn State University Press, 2002). She is currently researching drug use among Russian youth and, together with Galina Yemelianova, the ethno-politics of the western North Caucasus of Russia. Gusel’ Sabirova is currently a doctoral candidate at the Institute of Sociology (Russian Academy of Sciences), Moscow working on the development of Islamic Education in Moscow in the post-Soviet period. Prior to this she was deputy director at ‘Region’, Ul’ianovsk State University, during which time she worked on a number of externally funded academic research projects related to ethnic relations and identity, Islam and youth. She holds an MA in Sociology from the Institute of Sociology, Moscow. She has participated in a number of international conferences and workshops in Russia, the USA, and Europe (UK, Germany, Belgium and Turkey). Publications include ‘Ethnic selfconsciousness in the sociocultural context of a provincial region’ and ‘Muslims of Tatarstan and Dagestan: ideals and identities’ both in E. Omel’chenko and S. Perfil’ev (eds), Another Field. Sociological Research in Action (Ul’ianovsk: Srednevolzhskii Nauchnii Tsentr, 2000). Galina Yemelianova is a specialist in Arabic and Islamic studies. She received her Ph.D. in Islamic History from Moscow State University in 1985 and worked as a Research Fellow at the Institute of Oriental Studies (Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow) until 1994. Since then she has been a Research Fellow at the Centre for Russian and East European Studies at the University of Birmingham. She has researched and published extensively on historical and contemporary ethno-political and religious issues in the Middle East and the Islamic regions of the Russian/Soviet empire and post-Soviet Russia for more than two decades. Her monographs include Yemen during the First Ottoman Rule (1538-1635) (Moscow: Nauka Press 1988) and Russia and Islam: A Historical Survey (Palgrave 2002). She is currently conducting research, together with Hilary Pilkington, on Islam and ethno-politics of the western North Caucasus of Russia, funded by the Leverhulme Trust.

Acknowledgements

The research behind this book was funded by the Economic and Social Research Council and the editors and authors of the book greatly appreciate the exciting opportunity the Council’s support gave us to conduct empirical research of a kind never previously undertaken. We would also like to thank the Centre for Russian and East European Studies, the University of Birmingham, for providing us with excellent research facilities, ample source material and the intellectual atmosphere necessary to conduct the work. We owe a special debt of gratitude to our colleagues, Professor Julian Cooper, Director of CREES during the period of our research, Professor Emeritus John Rex of the Centre for Research in Ethnic Relations, University of Warwick, Professor Jorgen Nielsen of the Department of Theology, The University of Birmingham and Dr Peter Duncan of the School of Slavonic and East European Studies, University College London for their expert advice and encouragement. Our colleagues in Russia were also highly supportive and welcoming. We are deeply indebted to Rafael Khakimov, Director of the Institute of History of Tatarstan’s Academy of Sciences, Rinat Nabiev, Chairman of the Council for Religious Affairs under the Cabinet of Ministers of Tatarstan, academician Indus Tagirov, President of the All-Tatar World Congress, Damir Iskhakov, Reshat Amirkhanov and Lilia Sagitova of the Institute of History, Tatarstan Academy of Sciences, Professor Alexei Litvin of Kazan State University, Vladimir Beliaev and Alexander Salagaev of the Chemical Technological Institute in Kazan, and Rafis Kashapov, leader of VTOTs in Naberezhnie Chelny, who greatly facilitated our research in Tatarstan. We are also wish to express our gratitude for the help given our research team in Dagestan by Magomedsalikh Gusaev, Minister for Nationalities and External Relations of Dagestan Government, Magomed Kurbanov, Deputy Minister for Nationalities and External Relations, Ali Magomedov, Chairman of the Religious Department of the government of Dagestan, Professor Ahmed Osmanov, Director of the Institute of History, Archaeology and Ethnography, of the Dagestani Scientific Centre of the Russian Academy of Sciences, academician Amri Shikhsaidov and Professor Mamaikhan Aglarov of the Institute of History, Archaeology and

xii

Acknowledgements

Ethnography and Abdurashid Saidov, founder of the Islamic Democratic Party of Dagestan. The research team who contributed to the work described in this book was much larger than the number of authors in the final volume. We are deeply grateful to all those who participated in the research in the role of consultants and fieldworkers in both the preparation and analysis stages. In particular we would like to thank Magomed Rasul Ibragimov, of the Department of History, Dagestan State University, for his organization and facilitation of the sociological research in Dagestan, and for his good humour and coolness when things got tough. Mikhail Roshin also participated in and facilitated the gathering of ethnographic data in Dagestan, and we thank him for his contribution. We thank also Rosa Musina and Elena Mashkova for sharing their expertise on Tatarstan society and lending their help in organizing fieldwork. The team of sociological researchers from ‘Region’, Ul’ianovsk State University showed their usual dedication and determination to see the project through to the end and we are deeply grateful to them. In particular we thank Vladimir Pavlov, Sergei Isliukov, Zhenia Lukianova, Natal’ia Kremneva and Natal’ia Goncharova. Our thanks go also to colleagues who graciously shared with us their profound knowledge on the subject under research in true academic fashion. In particular we acknowledge information, comments and advice given by Professor Robert Landa and Professor Irina Smilianskaia, by Vladimir Bobrovnikov, Alexei Kudravtsev and Aligber Aligberov of the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences and Ahmet Iarlykapov of the Institute of Ethnology and Anthropology of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Finally, we want to thank Nigel Hardware for his assistance in dealing with the book’s bibliography and maps, Paul Tann for his translation of preliminary drafts of contributions to the book, Marea Arries for her help in producing the typescript (and everything else that keeps us sane) and Tricia Carr for her assistance with keeping the project finances in good order. Hilary Pilkington Galina Yemelianova Birmingham February 2002

Note on transliteration

The Library of Congress system of transliteration has been used for transliterating all terms taken from Russian. Most personal and geographical names have been transliterated from Cyrillic, with the exception of those that have a generally accepted English spelling; thus, Catherine, rather than Ekaterina, or Khwarasm, rather than Khorezm. The authors have substituted the combination of two Cyrillic characters rendered in Latin letters as dzh with the letter j. Thus, jadidism, rather than dzhadidism. If, however, such names constituted part of a Russian title or quote, or have been generally accepted in English language publications, they have retained dzh. For Arabic names and terms the authors have used a simplified transliteration, dispensing with diacritical and vowel-length marks. For words of Arabic origin in the languages of Russia’s various Muslim peoples they have maintained a unified spelling system based on a spelling and pronunciation compromise between those languages and Arabic. The authors have also rendered plural forms of foreign words by adding an ‘s’, instead of the form used in the language of origin; thus, raions instead of raioni. The exception to this is words appearing very frequently, like Polovtsy instead of Polovets or ulema instead of alims. All dates before February 1918 have been given according to the Julian calendar, which was twelve days behind the Gregorian calendar in the nineteenth century and thirteen days in the twentieth century. Dates after February 1918 have been rendered in accordance with the Gregorian calendar. The authors have used place names that were used in the period under discussion, where these have since changed, present-day names are provided in parentheses.

Glossary

abystai abyz adat ahl-ul-kitab ahl-ul-hadith Akhbar akhund aksakal Alash Orda alim amanat amin amir amliak ataman aul avlod ayat baba-devlet bahr al-ulum baskak basmach

lit. ‘older sister’; used for female religious figure or mullah’s wife, who would give religious instructions to girls lit. ‘elder’; religious and administrative leader of a Tatar village community customary law lit. ‘people of the script’, followers of the world’s three main religions lit. ‘people of hadith’, followers of pure Islam lit. ‘reports’; Shi‘a sacred script based on the authority of Ali ben Abu Talib leading religious figure of a Shiite mosque; leading Imam among the Tatars lit. ‘white beard’; elder lit. the Horde of Alash named after Alash, the mystical ancestor of the Kazaks (pl. ulema or ulemo) a scholar of shariat law. The plural form used by Dagestanis is the non-standard alimi a non-Russian privileged hostage in medieval Russia postprandial prayer (Volga-Urals region) lit. ‘leader’ a category of state-owned land in medieval Islamic states in Central Asia Cossack chieftain a kinship and territorial formation among various Muslim peoples, a village an ethno-religious community among the Tajiks a verse of the Koran lit. ‘father-state’ lit. ‘the sea of Islamic knowledge’, reference to ancient Dagestan collector of yasak under Mongol rule (pl. basmachi) participant of the liberation movement in the early twentieth-century Central Asia

xvi

Glossary

batyr bek, bey, biy bessermen bibiotun bichura bid’a boevik boiarin bulgari bti caravan-saray CARC chadra chaykhane da’awa danishmend Dar-ul-Harb Dar-ul-Islam dehqan dervish desiatina desiatnik dhikr dibir dirham djien dukhovenstvo fard fasik fetwa fiqh gayur gazawat gazi gubernia hadith

chieftain among the Kazaks and Kyrgyz aristocratic rank among Turkic nomads, head of clan an official in the Mongol empire female religious figure the spirit of home among the Volga Bulgars unlawful innovation in Islam fighter (pl. boiare) a representative of the Rus trading nobility a distinctive Bulgar technology of fur and leather processing charms and prayers protecting one from bad luck and bad spirits (Volga-Urals region) trade-stations in Central Asia abbreviation for the Council for the Affairs of Religious Cults see paranja Central Asian tea-house summons to Islam a member of the Islamic elite in the Khanate of Kazan lit. ‘the world of war’ lit. ‘the world of Islam’ (pl. dehqane) peasant in traditionally sedentary parts of Central Asia member of Muslim order who takes upon himself vows of poverty and austerity 2.7 acres a commander of ten warriors in the Mongol empire lit. ‘remembrance’; glorification of Allah with certain fixed phrases, integral part of ritual of all Sufi or dervish orders Islamic cleric in the North Caucasus a silver coin, which was the main currency of the Arab Caliphate a clan-based territorial commune among the Volga Bulgars and Tatars clergy, or priesthood compulsory precepts in Islam lit. ‘sinner’ theological ruling a branch of traditional Muslim scholarship on jurisprudence infidel an Islamic holy war, identical to jihad fighter of the gazawat province in the Russian empire tradition, account of what the Prophet said or did

Glossary xvii hafiz hajj hajjee halal hijab ibadat ‘Id Al-Adha ‘Id Al-Fitr ‘Id Al-Kabir Id Al-Saghyr ijaza ijma ijtihad imam imamat imam-khatib iman inorodets iqama ithna-asharites or Twelvers ishan izbirkom jadid or jadidist jahannam jamaat jihad kafir kalym khaer khoja khutba Komsomol Kuchuk-Bayram

a member of the Islamic elite under the Genghizids annual pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, one of five pillars of Islam a member of the Islamic elite in the Golden Horde; a pilgrim to Mecca and Medina food which is permitted to Muslims full veil homage to Allah Islamic festival of Immolation, blood sacrifice see ‘Id Al-Saghyr see Kurban-Bayram, Buyuk-Bayram or ‘Id Al-Adha see Uraza-Bayram licence granted by a sheikh to his khalifa to spread the tariqa and to initiate his own murids a consensus of Muslim experts in legal matters independent judgement in a legal or theological question based on interpretation of the Koran and hadith prayer leader among Sunni Muslims theocratic state in the North Caucasus governed by the shariat imam who also fulfils the role of khatib Islamic faith (pl. inorodtsy) in Russian historiography, non-Russian subjects of the Tsar a specific form of calling to prayer a sect within Shi’a Islam, the members of which recognize the legitimacy of the twelve successive Imams from the line of Ali ben Abu Talib a Sufi teacher or leader electoral commission lit. ‘new’; representative of Islamic modernism lit. ‘hell’ rural commune in Dagestan; also used to indicate a community of Wahhabis an Islamic holy war non-believer in Islam payment for a bride alms given to the poor a reputed descendent of the Arab conquerors of Central Asia Friday address or sermon by khatib who conducts collective prayer-service Young Communist League, Communist Party youth organization see Uraza-Bayram

xviii

Glossary

kufr kumgan Kurban-Bayram madhhab mahalla mahalli mejlis mahdi makhar mankurd maslenitsa Mawlid

mazar medresse mekteb mihrab millet muamalat muallim muderris muezzin muhajir

muhtasib muhtasibat mujahed muftii mul’k mullah mullah-zade munafiq murid muridism murshid

non-belief in Islam pitcher for washing see‘Id Al-Adha a juridical school within Sunni Islam traditional urban settlement among various Muslim peoples a local council God’s messenger religious consecration of marriage a person who betrayed his or her cultural and religious roots a celebration of the arrival of spring among Eastern Slavic tribes celebration of the Prophet’s or saint’s birthday, usually accompanied by prayer and chanting of hymns in honour of the celebrated person holy shrine or tomb an Islamic secondary school an Islamic primary school a niche in the mosque’s wall directed towards Mecca lit. ‘nation’; the ethno-cultural community of Russia’s Muslim Turks lit. ‘social practice’ (pl. muallimin) lit . ‘teacher’, a mekteb’s teacher (pl. muderrisin) lit. ‘teacher’, a medresse’s teacher person who calls to prayer from mosque roof or minaret (pl. mahajirin) those companions of the Prophet who emigrated with him from Mecca to Medina. In the North Caucasus, those who emigrated from the Russiancontrolled territories to the Islamic mainland regional representative of spiritual board office of muhtasib (pl. mujahedin) Islamic warriors head of Muslim spiritual directorate in Russia and the USSR private land in the Islamic East Muslim religious functionary; often senior clergyman in a mosque a representative of the Islamic elite in the Khanate of Kazan (pl. munafiqin) hypocrite Sufi novice or adept in Russian historiography, the equivalent of the Sufi movement in the North Caucasus Sufi spiritual guide qualified to direct the murid

Glossary xix murza mustahab mutashaykh naib namaz (salat) nauruz nikakh niqab nubuvva nutsal oblast’ oglan okhranka okrug otpadenie otynehi papakha paranja pir pools pop posad posadnik qadi qadim, qadimist qazikolon qibla qutb raion rais Ramadan RCP(b) RSDRP

a Genghizid dignitary approved precepts in Islam lit. ‘spurious sheikh’. In Dagestan this term is applied by the officially recognized Sufi sheikhs to their opponents lit. ‘deputy’, a governor of a province in Shamyl’s imamat in the North Caucasus the basic Islamic prayer, recited five times daily New Year Festival Islamic marriage face veil belief in the prophetic mission of Muhammad a ruler among some peoples of Dagestan (pl. oblasti) administrative region within Russia and the USSR a free warrior in the Mongol empire secret police in Tsarist Russia military territorial unit falling away from Christianity by forcibly converted Muslims highly respected older woman in Islamic rural community (pl. papakhi) fur hat (North Caucasus) full veil (see hijab) old person or elder (Persian); in Sufism the murshid or mentor single currency in the Golden Horde, introduced by Uzbek-khan Russian Orthodox priest a trading and artisanal suburb of a town in medieval Russia a kniaz’s personal representative in the provinces of Kievan Rus a shariat judge lit. ‘old’, refers to proponents of Islamic traditionalism and scholasticism and is the opposite of jadid chief Islamic cleric in Tajikistan orientation towards Mecca supreme authority of the Sufi hierarchy a district in the USSR and post-Soviet Russia a chieftain in medieval Dagestan, any Islamic authority among Russia’s Muslims the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar and the month of saum Russian Communist Party (Bolsheviks), name of Soviet ruling party 1918–36 abbreviation for Russia’s Socialist Democratic Party

xx

Glossary

sabantuy sadaqa safi sahaba salafi salat saum seyid shahada shahid shakird shamail shaman shamkhal shari’a, or shariat sheikh sheikh-ul-Islam sheikh-zade shirk shura shurale silsila sipokh sloboda sotnik stanitsa sufi sufism or tasawwuf Sunna

sunnet sunnetchi sura tafsir tajdid takfir taqlid tarkhan taraqqi

festival of the Plough among the Volga Bulgars and Tatars voluntary alms lit. ‘pure’ followers of Prophet Muhammad (pl. salafiyin) proponent of ‘pure Islam’ of the ancestors five daily prayers Islamic fasting; one the pillars of Islam descendant of Muhammad testimony or profession of faith; one of five pillars of Islam martyr for Islam a medresse’s student in the Volga-Urals a prayer text usually placed above the entrance to a house a pagan priest, witchdoctor the ruler of Tarki, one of the main Dagestani principalities Muslim code of law lit. ‘old man’; a religious figure serving at place of pilgrimage; Sufi, head of order the leading authority in Islamic doctrine a member of the Islamic elite in the Khanate of Kazan heresy, polytheism council the spirit of the forest among the Volga Bulgars chain of transmission of a particular Sufi tradition military nobility in the Khanate of Bukhara a settlement in medieval Russia, the residents of which were exempt from various duties and taxes a commander of a hundred warriors under the Mongol system a Cossack settlement Muslim mystic Islamic mysticism lit. ‘custom’ and ‘example’, Sunna Rasul Allah, example of Prophet Muhammad’s life as guidance for the whole umma and every Muslim lit. ‘custom’; circumcision man performing sunnet a chapter of the Koran interpretation of the Koran renovation of Islamic creed unbelief lit. ‘tradition’, Islamic traditionalism, opposite to tajdid a Genghizid dignitary lit. ‘progress’

Glossary xxi tariqa tariqatism tawhid teip tekke temnik tiubeteika treba tugra tukhum tysiachnik ulan ulus umma ‘umra Uraza-Bayram uraza ustadh usul-ul-jadid

Usul-ul-qadim uyezd uzden’ vajib vali veche vezir vladyka voievoda volost Wahhabi waqf wird yarlyk yarmarka

(pl. turuq) lit. ‘way’ or ‘path’; mystical method, hence Sufi order Sufi Islam in the North Caucasus monotheism a tribe among the Vaynakh (Chechens and Ingush) a Sufi order a commander of ten thousand warriors under the Mongol system scull cap worn by Muslim men in Russia main sacrifice ritual among eastern Slavic tribes a special heraldic sign of the Islamized court a rural commune among some peoples in the North Caucasus a commander of a thousand warriors under the Mongol system a member of the military elite in medieval Russia a province of the Mongol empire universal community of Islam, embracing all believers small hajj see ‘Id Al-Fitr, or Little Festival, celebrating end of thirtyday fast of Ramadan see saum Sufi mentor (equivalent of murshid) lit. ‘new method’ ; the new, phonetic, method of teaching Arabic in Russia’s Muslim schools, which was first introduced by Ismail Gasprinskii in 1884 lit. ‘old method’ ; the old syllabic method of teaching Arabic, opposite to usul ul-jadid an administrative unit within Russia (abolished 1929) a free man of common origin essential precepts in Islam lit ‘saints’ city assembly in Kievan Rus chancellor in the Golden Horde regional Christian Orthodox authority military governor in medieval Russia (pl. volosti) an administrative unit within the Russian empire see salafi Islamic religious land, property etc with protected status used as endowment fund lit. ‘the special litany given the adept by his ustadh’; a subdivision of the tariqa a khan’s permission or decree in the Mongol empire the annual trade market among Eastern European tribes

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Glossary

yasa yasak yasakchi yuvari zahir zakat

zemstvo ziyarat

the Genghizid codex of laws the annual tribute which was paid by provincial vassals to the Mongol khan a collector of the yasak a member of the military aristocracy in the Mongol empire literal provisions of the Koran and the Sunna obligatory alms among Muslims

municipal government in the Russian empire lit. ‘visitation’; hence, Muslim holy shrine (North Caucasus)

Introduction Hilary Pilkington

That Islam has many faces is a truism in a world in which it is recognized that individual and collective identities are multiple and trans-local. Yet, at the beginning of the twenty-first century, this fact came as a surprise to much of the population of the non-Islamic world. In the aftermath of the attacks on New York and Washington of 11 September 2001, the Western media sought to explain the apparent paradox that followers of Islam – literally meaning submission to the good will of God1 – could perpetrate such acts of violence upon ordinary citizens by qualifying, or questioning, their ‘faith’. Were these individuals not Muslims at all, but just plain ‘terrorists’, using the banner of Islam for essentially extremist political goals? Or, were they indeed ‘Muslims’, albeit deviant – ‘fanatical’, ‘extremist’ or ‘brainwashed’ – ones? And, if the latter, what specific components within Islam allowed it to take such intolerant forms? In seeking their answers, journalists and ‘experts’ uncovered not only different branches of Islam (Shi’a and Sunni) but different juridical schools, or madhhabs, within Sunni Islam (Hanafism, Hanbalism, Shafiism and Malikism), more than one sacred text (Koran, Sunna and Akhbar) and even different interpretations of these. For some analysts, Hanbalism and Wahhabism in particular were synonyms for ‘fundamentalism’, while Hanafism was a flexible and moderate school. But for others Wahhabism was an institutionalized, state religion containing little that might be construed as oppositional or ‘radical’; in contrast, adoption of the Hanafi madhhab held the possibility for individual interpretation, and thus maximum potential for manipulation in the interests of extremist political causes. The confusion and anxiety characterizing the current popular debate on Islam in the West, the authors argue here, stems not so much from the demonization or even ignorance of Islam as from its decontextualization as a faith system. After 11 September, in the Western mind Islam became a jet airliner, uprooted and off course – a homeless, global force, disconnected from real people, places and histories. Of course nobody could deny the importance of the global Islamic umma (community) both as a reference point for millions of individual Muslims and as a trans-national movement, with all the infra-structural paraphernalia that implies. But this is just one

2

Hilary Pilkington

photographic still in a vast gallery of possible portraits of contemporary Islam. In reality, Muslim identity is rooted in a multiplicity of ethnic and local cultures, traditions and ways of life, political and social structures. These social and cultural contexts, moreover, condition not only doctrinal (‘radical’, ‘moderate’, ‘purist’, ‘interpretive’) preferences within Islam, but are also constitutive of Islam in the contemporary world; Islam remains a lived faith and as such is articulated through its everyday public, and private, practices. This book seeks, first and foremost, to explore Islam within the postSoviet Russian context. Russia has the largest Muslim minority of any country in the European West and provides a unique example of how, over many centuries, Muslim and Christian faith communities have accommodated one another, moulding themselves around political upheaval and manipulation, ethnic rivalries and external (political and religious) influences. Islam in Russia is not a religion of postcolonial immigration, nor is it a manifestation of the recent acceleration of globalization and cultural exchange; in the year 2000, Russian Muslims celebrated fourteen centuries of Islam on Russian soil. Russia also provides an essential reminder that binary understandings of ‘civilization’ – be they rooted in notions of East versus West, of Islam versus Judaeo-Christianity or Europe versus Asia – have little more than headline value. Russia lies between East and West, has a ‘Eurasian’ cultural identity and accommodates almost fifteen million Muslims2 within a federally organized state whose culturally dominant religion is Orthodox Christianity. The current book could not hope to do justice to even a small part of the diversity of Islam across contemporary Russia. Instead, the authors have selected two important centres of Islam in the post-Soviet Russian Federation to ‘sample’ that diversity. The particular choice of Tatarstan and Dagestan as the subjects of research reflects the differing historical origins of the Muslims of the Volga-Urals region (mainly Turkic-speaking Tatars and Bashkirs) and the Muslims of the North Caucasus (of Ibero-Caucasian and Persian, as well as Turkic origin). The two republics have adopted also contrasting social models for development in the post-Soviet era; while Tatarstan has sought to negotiate de facto sovereignty from Moscow, Dagestan has remained fiercely loyal to Russia’s political centre despite severe socio-economic deterioration and growing discomfort with Russia’s military activity in the North Caucasus. Moreover, the two republics have played contrasting roles in the spiritual development of post-Soviet Islam. The Muslim authorities of Tatarstan have acted as spiritual leaders for reformist trends in Islam, while Dagestan – being ‘the gate through which Islam entered the territory of Russia’ (Abdullaev 2001) – has remained the repository of Islamic knowledge within Russia and the key point of reference for traditionalist Islam in the region. In each local context, the authors explore both the ‘public’ and the ‘private’ faces of Islam. This structure to the text was shaped by the emer-

Introduction

3

gence during data analysis, in both republics, of two quite distinct – public and private – narratives of Islam. The former narrative – found among the political establishment, the official Islamic clergy, the nationalist and Islamic opposition, intellectual and cultural elites and members of the new business class – embedded Islamic revival in wider processes of ethno-national mobilization and ethno-political power bargaining in post-Soviet Russia. The second narrative – evident in individuals’ talk about what it meant to ‘be Muslim’ – articulated the profound significance of Muslim identity for embodying, or conversely, transcending ethnic, clan and regional identities in contemporary Russia. The visibility of these narratives, however, was undoubtedly facilitated by the conceptual and empirical design of the research project from which the data in the book are drawn. This design thus requires some elucidation.3 While explanations of ethnicity and politics via notions of primordialism, instrumentalism or constructivism are conventionally seen as being mutually exclusive (Sharafutdinova 2000: 14), the research upon which this book is based adopted a synthetic and reflexive conceptual approach. The approach is ‘synthetic’ in so much as it is rooted in a ‘constructivist’ understanding of the relation between ethnic identity, political power and nation-state formation. The authors employ ‘instrumentalism’ as a conceptual frame, however, in so far as they explore the way in which ethnic and confessional belonging is currently employed in competition for scarce resources, not least political power. Finally, we recognize the significance, if not the veracity, of ‘primordial’ explanations of nationalism within the elite and popular narratives studied. Indeed, it is in this sense that the approach is also ‘reflexive’. Thus, the authors themselves would reject a primordialist understanding of ethnicity as a territorially or genetically rooted and fixed characteristic of any individual or group and, in Chapters 4 and 6, the multiple and changing ways in which individuals understand their ethnic identity, and its interaction with religious confession, are explored in detail. However, at the same time, we accept and explore the way in which primordialism is employed within elite narratives in the pursuit of nationhood, and indeed in popular narratives of ethnic politics (for example, in how Dagestanis popularly talk about their ‘difference’ from Chechens). In this sense we would agree with Agadjanian that in order to be instrumentalized, religion must have ‘meant something to large numbers of people’ (Agadjanian 2001: 484). Similarly, popular narratives of ethnicity and political power frequently reveal instrumentalist or ‘institutionalist’ understandings. For example, in Tatarstan few people believe that ethnic conflict would ever emerge ‘bottom up’; the future of the ‘Tatarstani project’ is considered almost wholly dependent upon ‘what Kazan and Moscow decide’. In Dagestan, similarly, the distribution of political power according to ethnic hierarchy is considered as little more than the ‘normal’ political process (see Ware and Kisriev 2001). These conceptual starting points had significant implications for the design of the empirical project and thus for the data presented in the book.

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In the first instance, the authors’ acceptance of the ‘institutionalist’ argument that ‘Soviet and post-Soviet “national struggles” were and are not the struggles of nations, but the struggles of institutionally constituted national elites’ (Brubaker 1996: 25) necessitated close attention to narratives of Islam and ethnicity being spun in key social and political institutions. These narratives were elucidated through a series of interviews with representatives of the political establishment, the official Islamic clergy, the nationalist and Islamic opposition, intellectual and cultural elites and members of the new business class.4 These interviews were interpreted within the context of an ongoing analysis of academic and media discourse. This textual analysis focused on five Dagestani and nine Tatar academic journals and twenty-five Dagestani and sixteen Tatar newspapers, as well as a number of unofficially distributed opposition newspapers and the relevant federal Russian academic journals.5 While some ‘instrumentalist’ approaches might focus solely upon the manifestation of ethnic or national interests at the elite level, newer ‘institutionalist’ theories explore the social and cultural institutionalization of ethnic, national and religious interests.6 In the sociological part of the current research, therefore, we sought to determine the degree of popular engagement with Islam and ethnic nationalism in the republics and make apparent any discursive gap between elite and popular narratives on the scope and nature of Islamic nationalism in Tatarstan and Dagestan. At the same time, we hoped also to chart how the phenomenal change in the ethno-political landscape of the former Soviet Union in the preceding decade had impacted upon individual and collective understandings of religious, ethnic and national identity. In order to achieve this, a constructivist, rather than primordialist, understanding of ethnic identity and its relationship to the striving for nation-statehood was necessitated; we could not assume the ‘given’ nature of Muslim, ethnic or national identity and sought, above all, to understand their interrelation. Sociological fieldwork was undertaken in Tatarstan and Dagestan over the period September 1997–August 1998. Following the analysis of data and discussion of fieldworkers’ experience from a pilot study conducted in Tatarstan – during which ten in-depth interviews (designed for qualitative analysis) and ten questionnaires (designed for quantitative analysis) were conducted – it was decided to confine the sociological research to qualitative data collection.7 In total, 516 respondents took part in in-depth interviews; 302 were from Tatarstan and 214 were from Dagestan. Although random sampling was not appropriate for the methodological approach adopted, quotas (relating to residency, ethnicity, sex and age) were constructed for both republics in the selection of respondents, which facilitated crossrepublic comparison. In each republic the research was conducted in two cities (the capital and the second city in both) plus seven or eight districts8, which were selected according to their ethnic composition and level of religiosity or ethnic self-consciousness. In each district between one and three

Introduction 5 settlements were selected as sites for interviews. Individual respondents were chosen either randomly or through ‘snowballing’, but always in accordance with the ethnicity, sex and age quotas. Interview scenarios were constructed in three variants for Tatarstan (for Tatars, Christian (converted) Tatars and Russians) and in two variants for Dagestan (for Russians and non-Russian ethnic groups). Interviews were conducted mainly in Russian. In Tatarstan, however, a separate interview scenario was prepared in Tatar and the interview was conducted in Tatar if the respondent so desired. Since the pilot study had revealed that both Russian and Tatar respondents treated questions about ethnicity cautiously, in Tatarstan special care was taken to ensure that the interviewer and respondent shared the same ethnic background. In Dagestan local translators were used in the few cases where respondents were unable to converse freely in Russian. The majority of interviews were conducted in respondents’ homes. In referring to interview data, anonymity has been preserved in all interviews conducted with the general public; all respondents in the sociological part of the research were assigned identification codes in a Microsoft Access database and are identified in the text only by their sex and declared ethnic identification. ‘Expert’ interviewees were asked whether they would like their anonymity to be preserved. Some interviewees declined, as they welcomed the opportunity to disseminate their opinions. Others – especially those involved in opposition movements – requested anonymity to be preserved, and this has been respected.

The ‘public’ face of Islam in Russia: past and present Since the early 1990s, there has been growing concern in the Russian Federation about ‘a new wave of Islamic radicalism’ and a ‘further expansion of Islamic extremism’ in the Near and Middle East, Central and Southern Asia, and most significantly for Russia, in the Caucasus region of the Russian Federation (Poliakov 2001: 21). In the first part of this book, entitled ‘The Public Face of Islam’, the authors explore Russia’s relations with Islam in their historical and contemporary political context, in order to facilitate an understanding of ethno-religious processes in the Muslim enclaves of the post-communist Russian Federation. In the first chapter of the book, Galina Yemelianova traces the peculiar development of Islam in Russia. Central to understanding its specific features, she suggests, is the recognition of the deep roots of Islam in Russia. Islam came to Russia from the South, first becoming established in the city of Derbend (the second city of contemporary Dagestan) in AD 685. By 922 the Volga-Kama Bulgars (from whom the population of contemporary Tatarstan descend) had also accepted Islam (Landa 2000a: 18). Over these 1,400 years of co-existence, Yemelianova argues, Russia developed distinctive relations with the world of Islam, which differ significantly from relations between the West and Islam. The first distinctive feature of Islam in Russia is that it developed always in complex interaction with ethnicity – it was never associated with a single

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ethnic group, as was Russian Orthodoxy, for example – and always alongside other religions. Thus both the Khazar Khaganat (eighth –tenth centuries) and Volga Bulgaria (eighth–thirteenth centuries), which played a central role in the shaping of the early Russian polity and society, were multi-ethnic and poly-confessional entities. This was made possible at least partly because Volga Bulgar Muslim scholars (ulema) adhered to the principles of tajdid (renovation) and ijtihad (independent judgement in a legal or theological question based on interpretation of the Koran and Sunna) much longer than elsewhere in the Islamic East. This enabled them to play down the dogmatic differences between different branches and schools within Islam and to emphasize its moral and social values. A second distinguishing feature of Islam in Russia emerged as a result of its long history of subordination. The suppression of Islam, accompanied by coercive Christianization and Russification, were central to Moscow’s policy of integrating nonRussian territories within a centralized Russian state. The accompanying destruction of mosques and persecution of clerics ‘rid’ Russia of the Kazan Islamic elite; the main repositories of Tatar cultural, ethical and spiritual distinctiveness crystallized in Islam were thus the villages. In contrast, in Dagestan ‘high’ or intellectual Islam survived much better than it had in the Volga-Urals facilitated by the Naqshbandi tariqa (order), which played a crucial role in the long resistance against the Russian conquest in the North Caucasus from the second half of the eighteenth century. Islam in Russia was deeply marked by the great Russian debate of the nineteenth century: how to modernize a country crippled by an autocratic, imperial regime. This sparked a powerful reform movement within Tatar Islam – jadidism – which adopted the principle of multi-ethnic and civic nationhood whilst, at the same time, providing an ideological framework for the national consolidation of Tatars within the Russian state. Finally, and despite both the ideological engagement of jadidists in Tatarstan and the spiritual authority of learned religious leaders in Dagestan, Islam retained a popular presence in both republics. In comparison with Orthodoxy, for example, Islam maintained an everyday significance, and was articulated through a multitude of everyday rituals and practices that although deviating from ‘standard’ Islam, allowed it to survive as a faith system even through the Soviet period. In Chapter 2, attention shifts to charting the engagement of Islam and Islamic nationalism with post-Soviet political structures. In this chapter, Galina Yemelianova explores the role of the Muslim elite in political decision making, the degree to which Islam influences legislative and executive activities in the republics and the impact on public consciousness of the official re-institution of Islamic holidays and rituals into public life. She also raises more abstract questions about the ethno-political implications of the formation of an Islamized national identity for a multi-ethnic society, Islam’s impact on the formation of official national identity and external relations and the use of Islam in establishing a national ‘mythology’ integral

Introduction

7

to national self-assertion. The chapter considers in detail relations between Islam and opposition political and non-political organizations and movements. It analyses the ethnic and social make-up of key political and non-political opposition forces and their actual impact on the politics of both republics. The opposition’s perceptions of Islam and its role in national and regional development are explored, and the correlation between the Islamic and ethnic aspirations of ‘ethnic political parties’, especially in multi-ethnic Dagestan, is assessed. In the case of Dagestan, it is argued, the formation of the post-Soviet regime has been accompanied by a controlled decline and demoralization of the Islamic democratic and nationalist opposition that emerged during perestroika and triggered political change in Dagestan. Continued economic impoverishment and lack of security in the republic, accompanied by a popular perception of the new regime as corrupt and largely professionally incompetent, have led to ongoing social protest since the mid-1990s, which has been channelled largely into the Islamic fundamentalist movement, known as Wahhabism. In Tatarstan, however, the attempts of various opposition forces to play the Islamic card have failed, as yet. In contrast to the North Caucasus, Islam in Tatarstan has not provided a mobilizing framework for opposition to the ruling regime, which, on the whole, has secured its relative stability and undermined the chances of opposition forces within Tatarstan to present a serious threat to it in the foreseeable future. In Chapter 3, Rafik Mukhametshin and Dmitrii Makarov analyse the reaction of the Muslim spiritual elite to religious liberalization and ideological uncertainty in the post-Soviet era. The chapter outlines the organizational structure of the regional and local Islamic spiritual bodies – in particular, the Islamic Spiritual Boards of Tatarstan and Dagestan – and the ethnic and political struggles for their control. The position of Islamic officialdom on the level and degree of re-Islamization of Tatar and Dagestani societies is examined as well as official views on what the role of the state should be in this process. The authors evaluate the political and spiritual influence of prominent muftiis and imams and assess the social and political implications of the extensive construction of mosques, Islamic schools and cultural centres, the development of a broad network of Arabic study groups and the mushrooming of Islamic mass media. Mukhametshin, writing on Tatarstan, suggests that the organizational and structural development of the Spiritual Administration of Muslims of Tatarstan has dominated the Islamic agenda in the republic in the 1990s. However, by the end of the decade this was almost complete and Tatar clerics had begun to engage in more fundamental, theological debate. While it is still too early to speak of a revival of the traditions of Tatar Muslim theology of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, he maintains, there has been lively debate in the last few years about how Islam in Tatarstan can be strengthened, freed from theological and ritual features that are essentially non-Islamic, and defended from infiltration by alien ideas. The key issues in

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this debate have concerned taqlid (Islamic traditionalism), madhhab, Wahhabism, Sufism (Islamic mysticism) and bid’a (illegitimate innovation in Islam). In contrast, in Dagestan, ‘official’ Islam has met greater challenges from the rise of Islamic fundamentalism, or ‘unofficial Islam’. Makarov argues that the socio-economic, ideological, spiritual and political crisis in post-Soviet Dagestan in the 1990s contributed to the rise both of ‘traditional’ Sufi (tariqatist) Islam and of Wahhabism. Over the course of the 1990s, however, representatives of what used to be ‘unofficial’ Sufi Islam – the sheikhs and their murids (disciples) – took control of the Spiritual Board and the rapidly expanding system of religious education, effectively giving tariqatism the status of official Islamic ideology. At the same time, the role of unofficial, persecuted Islam was passed to Wahhabism.

The ‘private’ face of Islam in Russia: paradoxes and contradictions In the second part of the book, the discussion turns to everyday understandings and practices of Islam among the populations of contemporary Tatarstan and Dagestan. Chapter 4 begins by establishing what criteria Muslims in Tatarstan and Dagestan themselves use to define ‘believers’ and ‘non-believers’. The authors relate these self-identifications to both the socio-demographic characteristics of the populations of the two republics and to the changing position of Islam in the Soviet and post-Soviet period. The chapter also opens the question of the relationship of ethnic identification to self-identification as a ‘Muslim’. The authors suggest that in the context of the bi-ethnic republic of Tatarstan, Muslim and Tatar identities are deeply entwined, whereas in multi-ethnic Dagestan, fears of an explosive development of ethnic consciousness has led Islam to be accorded an ethnically neutral position; the role of universal peacemaker and pacifier. In Chapter 5, the significance of the observance of Islamic rituals and norms for Muslim identity is explored. As Bobrovnikov notes, although Russian media discourse might lead one to suspect that the North Caucasus is already governed by shari‘a law, in reality only in Chechnia and Ingushetiia has there been any state-level acceptance of the shariat and even there the actual elaboration of shari‘a legislation is in danger of dragging on for many years, if not being abandoned altogether. Much more important than shariat for local Muslims, he suggests, is the observation of everyday ritual practice of Islam (Bobrovnikov 2001: 7). The first decade of postSoviet life in Tatarstan and Dagestan has been characterized by a rapid growth in interest in the symbols, rituals and traditions of Islam, but the actual practice of Islam in both republics remains extremely diverse, in part at least because of its profound localizaton and privatization in the conditions of Russian Imperial and Soviet suppression. In Tatarstan, for example, at the everyday level of Islamic practice, the population fails to distinguish between Islamic rituals and local traditions. In Dagestan, in contrast,

Introduction

9

customary law and clan traditions as well as Sufi practices have generated a strong sense of a distinctive Islamic tradition. The chapter also examines the process of transmission of Islamic faith and values from one generation to another. The authors suggest that the emergent Islamic education system, mosques, published religious literature, and Muslim communities were important sources of Islamization, but remained secondary to the family and media. Language also was considered an important factor in the transmission of ideas and in the successful co-habitation of different ethnic groups. In Tatarstan, the Tatar language was being actively promoted by the state and its institutions and the Tatar language ability of the population had become a significant factor of socio-cultural differentiation. In Dagestan, however, multilingualism prevailed with Russian remaining the main language of inter-ethnic communication and being perceived as the language of social progress. Chapter 6 contextualises the revival of Islam in the ethnic politics of Russia’s Muslim republics. It compares and contrasts the Islamic component of ethnic identification of Tatars, who inhabit a bi-ethnic republic, and of the many different ethnic groups that form the ‘Dagestani’ people. The authors outline the way in which ethnic ‘stereotypes’ in Tatarstan, both among Tatars and Russians, are mobilized within mainstream socio-political discourse to validate dominant discourses of ethnicity and nationality. In contrast, it is suggested, in Dagestan, ethnic stereotypes relate mostly to everyday encounters and are expressed with simultaneous conviction and affection. The chapter considers individuals’ views on the competing pulls of republic and federal-level identities, including the question of the future of the republic within or outside the Russian Federation. It analyses the populations’ understanding of the proper role of Islam in the state structure and political process and popular perceptions of Islamic fundamentalism and its relations with political extremism and terrorism. The chapter pays particular attention to popular perceptions and views of Wahabbism and the Chechen struggle for independence. Chapter 7 considers how the recent ethno-religious revival in Tatarstan and Dagestan has affected the Muslim population’s attitudes to gender. The chapter focuses on four themes in respondents’ talk about how gender and Islam interact: their images of what constitutes a ‘real’ Muslim man and a ‘real’ Muslim woman; attitudes to polygyny; displays of Muslim identity, primarily through dress; and views on the significance of ethnicity and religion in marriage choices. Reflection on these narratives allows a preliminary analysis of how the recent ethno-religious revival in Tatarstan and Dagestan has affected people’s attitudes to gender, and how people in the two republics would feel about any movement away from the current residual ‘Soviet’ notions of gender relations towards Islamic gender models and practices. In reality, however, the narratives of gender articulated by respondents were exceptionally diverse, and particular attention is paid in the chapter to indicating the discrepancies and gaps which appear between

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actual gender relations and practices and the ‘ideal constructs’ via which Muslims in Tatarstan and Dagestan seek to make sense of that practice. The book concludes by bringing together the key findings of the authors in a directly comparative way. It assesses the implications of Islamic renaissance for the process of nation building in Tatarstan and Dagestan and how this, in turn, fits the evolving model of the multi-ethnic, culturally pluralistic but integral Russian state, as envisaged in Moscow. Moving the debate beyond a strictly Russian perspective, the concluding chapter outlines how Russia’s ‘Islamic problem’ has been re-cast in the light of the events of 11 September 2001. It asks whether Russia’s ‘in-between’ position makes it a tinderbox in an escalating ‘civilizational conflict’ or a transferable model for cohabitation of Muslim and Christian faith communities? Whilst the discussion, almost inevitably, falls short of offering any answer to this question, the authors compare and contrast the historical, cultural, ethno-political and social contexts of the revival of Islam in two local contexts within the Russian Federation and argue that it is only through a profound understanding of these contexts that any deeper understanding of the role of Islam in shaping ethnic, national, religious and political agendas can be gained.

Notes 1 2

3

4 5

The word Islam is derived from the Arabic root aslama and means submission. It is through submission and obedience to the will of God that peace and harmony are best secured. Estimates of the number of Muslims in Russia vary from around twelve million to more than twenty million. The difficulty in calculating the exact number arises from the problem of defining what constitutes ‘being a Muslim’, and this is discussed at length in Chapters 4 and 5. The figure of fifteen million used here reflects the number of Russian citizens belonging to ethnic groups of historically Islamic cultural background rather than actively practising Muslims. The book is the chief outcome of a three-year research project funded by the Economic and Social Research Council entitled ‘Islam, Ethnicity and Nationalism in the post-Soviet Russian Federation’ (R000 236628). The project leader was Dr Hilary Pilkington (The University of Birmingham). The historical and political research was co-ordinated by Dr Galina Yemelianova (The University of Birmingham) and the sociological work was co-ordinated by Dr Elena Omel’chenko (Ul’ianovsk State University). The research team included Mr Dmitrii Makarov and Dr Mikhail Roshin (both of the Moscow Institute of Oriental Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences), Ms Gusel’ Sabirova (Ul’ianovsk State University), Dr Rafik Mukhametshin (Kazan Institute of Tatar Encyclopaedia of the Tatarstan Academy of Sciences) and Dr MagomedRasul Ibragimov (Makhachkala State University). During the course of eight research visits to Tatarstan and Dagestan over seventy expert interviews in each republic were conducted, taped, transcribed and analysed. Tatarstan publications included both Russian and Tatar language journals and newspapers although, due to financial constraints, not all were published regularly. The periodicals from Dagestan were more numerous and diverse than those

Introduction

6

7

8

11

from Tatarstan, although most were in Russian – due to the multi-lingual nature of Dagestani society – and almost all of them were published irregularly. While the central role of institutionalized national elites in processes of national identity formation in the Soviet Union is well established, Brubaker’s ‘new institutionalism’ suggests that at a more fundamental level, both interests and actors are institutionally constituted (Brubaker 1996: 24). The reasons for this were threefold: the multiplicity of understandings of religion among respondents (most exploring their own religious views for the first time) made the use of closed questions problematic; the wide range of ethno-religious identities, not only between republics but associated with individual districts within the republics, made a standardized questionnaire inappropriate; and the particular focus of the research on the degree and character of intersection between Islamic and ethnic identity necessitated the space for contradiction and confusion as well as conviction to be fully articulated by respondents. In Tatarstan, the districts studied were Laishevskii, Menzelinskii, Arskii, Chistopol’skii, Pestrechinskii, Elabuzhskii, Drozhzhanovskii and Al’met’evskii. In Dagestan, the districts selected were: Buinakskii, Kiziliurtovskii, Kizliarskii, Rutul’skii, Kaitagskii, Karabudakhkentskii and Dakhadaevskii.

Part I

The public face of Islam

1

Islam in Russia An historical perspective Galina Yemelianova

There are about fifteen million Muslims in the Russian Federation, belonging to over forty ethnic groups. At one level Russia’s Muslims represent an ethno-cultural and historical entity which, while being an organic part of the world Islamic umma (community), has specific characteristics that distinguishes it from their co-religionists abroad. Those characteristics emerged as a result of interaction between specific local cultures and traditions and the dominant Russian and Soviet cultural order. Beneath these common experiences, however, lie diverse perceptions and practices of Islam, levels of religiosity and political, social and cultural aspirations among Russia’s Muslims. In order to capture both what is shared by, and what is unique to, individual Muslim communities in Russia, this chapter provides an historical perspective on the evolution of Islam in Russia in general1 and in Tatarstan and Dagestan, in particular. It examines key stages of the historical development of relations between Russia and Islam, including the Islamic revival in post-Soviet Russia, and analyzes the political and cultural implications of co-existence for both ethnic Russian and Muslim citizens of the Russian Federation.

Ancient Rus and Islam Historically Russia has developed quite different relations with the world of Islam than those between the West and Islam.2 These relations were shaped by Russia’s intermediate geographical location between Europe and subsequently Islamicized Asia, as well as its predominantly flat landscape, lacking natural borders but abundant with long and mighty rivers. From the eighteenth century Russian historians have noted the country’s geographical openness to the Islamic East, the resemblance of its plains to ‘Asian spaces’, its natural links with the ‘Great Steppe’ and the spontaneous and intensive interaction of proto-Russians with other inhabitants of the vast Eurasian plains and steppes, especially with Turkic nomads, many of whom subsequently converted to Islam.3

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Proto-Russians and their neighbours When, in the seventh century AD , Islam emerged as a new powerful religion in Arabia, the proto-Russians – who populated the river banks of the Dnieper, Pripiat’, Bug and Volkhov of present-day western Russia and Ukraine – were pagan. They were largely sedentary people and made their living by gathering, fishing, hunting, trading, and through agriculture based on the forest-burning technique. The flat landscape, lacking major water and mountain barriers, facilitated a spontaneous and gradual expansion of proto-Russians eastwards and southwards. By the eighth century AD they had settled in the basins of the rivers of the Oka, Volga (Idil’) and Kama (Chulman). In the course of the following century they occupied most of the Eastern European plains and became one of the largest ethnic groups in Eurasia. Their immediate neighbours were numerous nomadic and sedentary peoples of Turkic, Altaic, Finno-Ugric, Mongol, Iranian and Caucasian origins. A substantial number of these peoples were Muslims.4 Relations between proto-Russians and their neighbours were neither exclusively conflictual nor wholly co-operative. Disputes emerged over claims to fertile agricultural lands and pastures, natural resources and lucrative trans-continental trade routes. The major regional opponents of proto-Russians were Turkic nomads, whose raids on Russian settlements and merchant missions seriously hindered the economic advance and political consolidation of the early Russians. On the other hand, the fact that they faced the same environmental conditions and external threats facilitated close interaction between the proto-Russians, Turks and other Eurasian peoples. As a consequence, these diverse ethnic groups developed similar survival and production skills, customary norms and beliefs and elements of social organization (Trubetskoi 1927: 47; Vernadskii 1927: 22, 87; Landa 1995: 16). The economy and polity of proto-Russians were formed under the influence of their more culturally and economically advanced neighbours, represented by the Turkic Khaganat, Biarmia (the Volga Bulgaria), the Khazar Khaganat and, to a lesser extent, Bukhara, Khwarasm, Soghdiana, Sassanid Iran, Byzantine empire and the Arab Caliphate. The major conduits of this influence were proto-Russian merchants who participated in the lucrative trans-Eurasian north–south trade, known as ‘the Greek route’, which connected Eastern Europe and Scandinavia with Constantinople and the Middle East via the Black and Mediterranean seas. According to Arab and Persian chronicles, the proto-Russians, who were called the Kuiabah, Arthaniah or Sakalibah, conducted regular trading trips to Baghdad and Constantinople, as well as to Derbend and Semender on the Caspian Sea. They sold slaves, wheat, honey, wax, furs, timber, lead, arrows, swords, armour, black sable and beaver skins. Proto-Russians were also involved in trading on the terrestrial ‘salt route’ that ran parallel to ‘the Greek route’ and linked Eurasia to the Caucasus and the Middle East. Participation in trans-Eurasian trade triggered urban development among proto-Russians

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who built their first towns – Kiev, Chernigov, Pereiaslavl’, Polotsk, Rostov, Liubech, Novgorod and Izborsk – along these trade routes (Ibn Fadlan 1996: 41). Archaeological and historical sources indicate that the initial political and social organization of proto-Russians was influenced heavily by the Khazars and the Biars (Volga Bulgars). In the mid-seventh century AD the Khazars broke away from the Turkic Khaganat (552–745) and formed their own state in the steppes between the rivers Volga and Don and the Azov Sea. The capital of this state was the town of Itil’ in the Lower Volga and, by the mid-eighth century it had turned into a powerful military empire that occupied most of Eurasia and challenged the Byzantine empire and Arab Caliphate for regional supremacy. Although the Khazar rulers were largely pagan they allowed Zoroastrianism, Nestorianism and Manichaeism,5 as well as Islam, within the borders of the Khaganat. Islam arrived in the Khazar Khaganat during the Arab–Khazar wars of 708–37. In 737 the Arab general Mervan forced the Khagan and his subjects to adopt the new religion following his successful military incursions into Khazar territory. Muslim Bukhara merchants, who traded in the lower reaches of the Volga, also contributed to the proliferation of Islam among some peoples of the Khaganat. By the end of the eighth century there was already one large central mosque and thirty district mosques in Itil’ (Alov et al. 1998: 247). From the seventh century the Khazars sought domination over the eastern Slavs. Arab sources indicate that some proto-Russian tribes, known as Kasogi, allied with the Khazars against the Arab advance in the Caucasus. Following defeat by the Arabs in 737, the Khazar rulers forced some Kasogi to move to the North Caucasus in order to strengthen the Khazar defence there. In 740 the Khazar Khagan introduced Judaism as the official religion of the empire. This decision in favour of Judaism was to a large extent determined by the geopolitics of the time; it provided the Khagan with an ideological counter-weight to Christian Byzantine empire and the Islamic Arab Caliphate. There is no evidence that the confessional pluralism of the Khazar empire was seriously affected as a result of the official Judaization of the elite. In many Khazar towns, mosques were situated in close proximity to Christian churches and pagan shrines. The military guard of the Khagan was predominantly Muslim (Golden 1980: 62–4). The devastating defeats of the Arabs at Talas in 751 and Poitiers in 753 facilitated Khazar expansion to the west, and by the mid-eighth century the Khazars had established their rule over the southern part of the North Caucasus. However, their further expansion westwards was prevented by the Biars who controlled the Eurasian part of ‘the Greek trade route’. As a result, many proto-Russian tribes were drawn into century-long conflict between the Khazar Khaganat and Biarmia (Artamonov 1962: 174; Dunlop 1967: 46, 241; Bukharaev 2000: 31; Minorskii 1963: 27–41). It is likely that Biarmia was named after its main ethnic group, the Biars (a Turkic nomadic people) who inhabited the valley of the rivers Volga and

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Kama. From the sixth century they had abandoned nomadism in favour of a settled way of life. Like the Khazars, the Biars were originally under the political control of the Turkic Khaganat. At the end of the seventh century they broke away from it and established their own state. The economic and political strength of Biarmia was largely dependent on its control over north–south trade. The Turkic elite was pagan, although the population of Biarmia was multi-ethnic and polyconfessional. Alongside the Biars it included other Turkic peoples, such as the Bulgars, the Essengels, the Suvars, the Bersuls, the Burtas and the Barandjers, as well as Finno-Ugric peoples, represented by the Maris, the Mordvas, the Udmurts and the Komis. Biarmia had a relatively developed urban culture including designated districts for foreign traders in its towns. For example, the chronicles referred to the proto-Russian trade settlements in the towns of Bulgar and Oshel on the Volga, the town of Suvar on the river Utka and the town of Kashen on the Kama. In the ninth century the south-western province of Biarmia, known as Volga Bulgaria, evolved into a separate state and from the twelfth century Biarmia ceased to be mentioned in the chronicles (Trepalov 1993: 42; Zakiev 1995: 33, 58–67; Rorlich 1986: 4, 10, 33, 100). In the early ninth century the Khazars overpowered the Biars and forced them into submission. The Biars lost control over a substantial part of the north–south trade to the Khazars and began to pay tribute to the Khagan. Having subjugated Biarmia, the Khazars advanced further into the Eastern European plains, largely inhabited by proto-Russian tribes. In 859 they established control of Kiev, one of the largest trade centres of Eurasia which had been dominated traditionally by the Eastern Slavic tribe of Poliane. Subsequently, the Khazars imposed their domination upon Severiane, Radimichi and Viatichi. The chieftains of these tribes agreed to pay regular tribute by ermine, swords and sable skins to the Khagan and to send members of their families as hostages to the Khagan court. The merchants from these tribes were subjected to a tax of one-tenth of the value of the goods in favour of the Khagan. In return the Khazars guaranteed them military protection against plunder by nomads. As a result of Khazar subjugation of most of the proto-Russian tribes, the borders of the Khazar Khaganat stretched from Kiev in the west to Khwarasm in the east and from Biarmia in the north to the Bosphorus in the south (Dunlop 1967: 198, 232; Zakiev 1995: 101). Volga Bulgaria From the end of the eighth century the political and social evolution of proto-Russians was particularly influenced by Volga Bulgars (proto-Tatars), who split from Biarmia and formed a separate state – Volga Bulgaria in Lower and Middle Volga – which still remained politically dependent on the Khazar Khaganat. The Volga Bulgars were Turkic people ethnically and culturally close to the Khazars. Like its predecessor Khazaria, Volga

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Bulgaria presented a multi-ethnic and polyconfessional state formation. The largest ethnic groups were of Turkic and Finno-Ugric origins. The relations between proto-Russians and Volga Bulgars were shaped by their common opposition to Khazar supremacy, on the one hand, and their increasing competition for economic and political domination in western Eurasia, especially north–south trade, on the other. Hence, the Bulgar and, subsequently, Tatar factor was central for the development of proto-Russia. Islam arrived in Volga Bulgaria in the late eighth century from Khazaria and Central Asia. Distinguished Russian Islamic specialists Vladimir Gordlevskii and Egor Kovalevskii believed that Central Asian merchants played the major role in the grassroots Islamization of the Volga Bulgars. Central Asians introduced the Volga Bulgars to the Hanafi madhhab (juridical school) of Sunni Islam and the specific Central Asian Islamic rites long before Volga Bulgaria’s official conversion to Islam in 922 (Gordlevskii 1934: 164). The latter occurred during the legendary visit of Ibn Fadlan, the ambassador of the Abbasid Caliph Muqtadir (908–32), to Volga Bulgaria. It is significant that the Bulgar elite refused to follow the Abbasid version of Islamic public rites and insisted on retaining more familiar Islamic practices which resembled those in Central Asia. In particular, the Bulgar rulers refused twice to change the existing practice of the iqama (way of calling) or to adjust it to the Abbasid patterns (Kovalevskii 1996: 58; Kluchevskii 1956: 143, 152; Tikhomirov 1947: 62). The Christianization of Kievan Rus The introduction of Islam as the official religion of Volga Bulgaria had important political and cultural implications for proto-Russians. In particular, it affected the religious choice of Kievan kniazes (chieftains), the rulers of the first proto-Russian state – Kievan Rus – which was formed in western Eurasia in the late ninth century following the Varangian (Viking) invasions.6 In 988 the Kievan kniaz Vladimir proclaimed Greek Christianity as the state religion of Kievan Rus. It could be argued that by so doing Vladimir initiated the social divergence of Rus from the Catholic West – represented by Poland, Hungary and German states – the Judaist Khazar Khaganat, and the Islamic East – embodied in Volga Bulgaria and some other eastern and southern neighbours. Furthermore, Orthodox Christianity enabled the Rus kniazes to present themselves as perpetuators of the Byzantine imperial and spiritual traditions which sacralised secular authority and sanctioned its authority over the law (Kluchevskii 1993: 56–57). However, the considerable autonomy of the local societies from their respective states embodied in their autocratic rulers meant that, at the grassroots level, the adoption of Christianity by the Kievan elite failed to impact significantly on relations between Rus people and their non-Christian Eurasian neighbours. Common pagan and customary practices persisted despite opposition to pagan cults by both the Kievan and Bulgar elites.

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Moreover, the flexibility and tolerance of the Hanafi madhhab of the umma (Islamic community) in the Volga meant Muslim clerics were obliged to recognize a number of local customs and rites which had existed before the arrival of Islam. The demise of the Khazar Khaganat in the late tenth century enhanced the rivalry between Kievans and Volga Bulgars over economic and political domination in western Eurasia, and over the lucrative north–south trade in particular. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries the Volga Bulgars were more economically and culturally developed than the Kievans, although the latter often had higher military capability. From the end of the tenth century and the beginning of the thirteenth centuries Rus and Volga Bulgaria were engaged in a sequence of wars, which were usually initiated by Kievan rulers. According to historical sources the wars between Volga Bulgaria and Rus did not have the form of religious and ethnic conflict and were defined by purely economic and political goals. Moreover, the armies on both sides often included the representatives of opposing adverse ethnic and religious groups (Khudiakov 1996: 708). Another important factor of early Rus was its interaction with various Turkic nomadic peoples who inhabited vast Eurasian steppes. From the tenth century various Rus principalities suffered particularly badly from the raids of the Pechenegs who controlled the steppes south of the present-day Ukrainian city of Khar’kov and the middle and lower reaches of the commercial artery of the Dnieper. The devastating nomadic raids hindered the economic advance of Rus and aggravated its stagnation. In 1036 the Kievans inflicted a devastating defeat on the Pechenegs from which they never recovered. Having crushed the Pechenegs, the Rus were faced with a new threat represented by other Turkic nomads, the Polovtsy, who were Muslims. Most of the eleventh century was dominated by wars between the Rus and Polovtsy. Despite the conflict the Rus and various nomadic Turks treated each other as members of the same geographical and cultural entity. They shared similar customs, ethics, behavioural norms and attitudes. Intermarriage was relatively common among both the elites and ordinary people. Significantly, different religious persuasions did not seem to be an obstacle in their relations. By the mid-eleventh century the Rus rulers asserted their domination over most Pechenegs, Polovtsy and other nomadic peoples of western Eurasia. As a result, the borders of Kievan Rus shifted significantly eastwards and southwards. Russia under Genghizid rule From the thirteenth to the fifteenth centuries the Volga Bulgars and the Rus were integrated within the Golden Horde, which was the western province of the vast Genghizid empire. Like the rest of the Genghizid empire, the Golden Horde was a polyethnic and multi-cultural state formation which was held together by the nomadic Mongol military hierarchy, headed by the

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Khan. It had a sophisticated administrative, fiscal and postal system. The Mongols co-opted the Bulgars, as well as Khwarasmians, Iranians and other Islamicized dignitaries of Turkic and Iranian origins into their ruling class. As a result, the latter acquired privileged status compared to the Rus elite. Relations between the Rus kniazes and their Genghizid suzerains were complex and ambivalent. The Genghizids ruled Rus indirectly, on the basis of the annual yasak (tribute) which was imposed on individual Rus kniazes. However, the Genghizids did not occupy the Rus land and did not interfere in local administrative, economic and religious practices (Fahretdin 1996: 68; Khalikov 1994: 8–15). Although Genghiz Khan (1206–27) and his immediate successor were pagan, the legal code yasa of Genghiz Khan guaranteed equal status to a number of religions and beliefs – Orthodox Christianity, Buddhism, Zoroastrianism, Nestorianism, Manichaeism, Shamanism and Tengrianism – and exempted all clergy from taxation. The Genghizids made the representatives of various churches and branches of Islam equal, thus holding them all at an equal distance from themselves. There were representatives of various madhhabs and Sufi tariqas (orders) in the capital of the Golden Horde. Under the rule of Khan Uzbek (1312–42), Sunni Islam of Hanafi madhhab became the official religion of the Golden Horde. The adoption of Islam completed the cultural and spiritual subordination of the Mongol elite to their Islamicized, sedentary Turkic subjects, primarily the Volga Bulgars. From the mid-fourteenth century until the demise of the Golden Horde in 1437 the Volga Bulgar elite dominated the cultural and Islamic discourse of the empire (Usmanov 1985: 177, 180, 310). The Bulgar ulema (Islamic scholars) adhered to the principles of tajdid (renovation) and ijtihad (independent theological judgement) until the fifteenth century, which is much longer than elsewhere in the Islamic East. This enabled them to play down the dogmatic differences between representatives of various branches and schools within Islam and to emphasize its moral and social values. It succeeded in reducing religious and cultural conflict in the multi-ethnic and poly-religious environment (Khudiakov 1990: 195- 6; Yemelianova 1997: 554). The institutionalization of Islam within the Golden Horde did not seriously affect the positions of other religions and beliefs. There were no official restrictions on proselytizing non-Islamic religions, although this did not prevent occasional conflicts between representatives of different religious creeds. Significantly, the Russian Orthodox Church was given a preferential legal status, which enabled it to strengthen its economic and political positions in Rus. Thus, under Genghizid rule the Orthodox monasteries became the largest landowners in Rus (Soloviev 1988: 145; Bukharaev 2000: 153). Genghizid traditions of religious flexibility and tolerance persisted in the Kazan Khanate that emerged in the Middle Volga in the early fifteenth century as a result of the disintegration of the Golden Horde. The political and economic organization of the Khanate of Kazan was modelled on that

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of the Golden Horde while, in cultural and ethnic terms, the Kazan Khanate strongly resembled Volga Bulgaria. Kazan became one of the major centres of Islamic learning and scholarship. The Kazan ulema also had an important political role: its representatives often acted as the Khan’s ambassadors abroad, and its leaders generally headed the provisional government during interregnums. The Islamic clerics geared the system of religious law of the Hanafi madhhab to local circumstances and state requirements. In particular, they promoted the ijma (agreed opinion of legal experts), which lent flexibility to religious law and recognized regional differences, as the true basis of the fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence). It should also be borne in mind that in the Kazan Khanate, Muslim legal doctrine envisaged the state as an institution vested with both religious and secular powers. This meant that, where no procedure was laid down by the Koran or the Sunna, the imposition of legal penalties for offences was the ‘secular’ duty of the state. Thus, in implementing religious norms and Muslim legal norms, the state could act both as an institution of the political superstructure and as part of the religious system (Khudiakov 1990: 195–7). Relations between Moscow and Kazan developed along the same lines as those between various Rus principalities and Volga Bulgaria; they were characterized by wars, alliances, collaboration and conspiracies. The religious factor was not central to these relations; often the Kazan Khans allied with the Rus Orthodox kniazes against the co-religious Turkic Khanates. From the mid-fifteenth century Rus–Kazan relations were increasingly influenced by a new regional player – the Kasimov Khanate on the Oka river. This was a Genghizid Islamic state formation, which often allied with Moscow and played the role of fifth column among the Genghizids. Subsequently, it became the first Islamic enclave within the Rus Orthodox mainland.7 The Genghizid period had a profound impact on Russia’s socioeconomic, political and cultural evolution (Soloviev 1960: 284–8; Tikhomirov 1975: 383; Bartol’d 1992: 92–3). It facilitated the amalgamation of numerous Russian princedoms and the formation of the unitary Russian state, centred in Moscow. In 1480, the Moscow kniaz Ivan III put a final end to the Genghizid domination over Rus and became the first ruler of an independent and unified Russia. Its political constitution was based on the indigenous, eastern Slavic, Islamo-Genghizid and Byzantine traditions. The latter were of particular importance since it was to these that the rulers of independent Russia appealed when seeking to distance the new Russia from the Genghizid political context. Nevertheless, until the eighteenth century, the Russian state maintained its strong Islamo-Asian component, which was evident in the economic and military organization of the Russian state, its political and social hierarchy, its ethnic composition and in its court ceremony, costumes, architecture, arts and design. Genghizid rule, moreover, had enhanced the autocracy, centralization and militarization of the Russian state and prevented the development of its cantonal system, represented by veches (city councils). In other words, Genghizid tutelage embedded the

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primacy of vertical relations over horizontal links and social solidarity, effectively entrenching Russia’s political and economic divergence from western Europe (Eidelman 1995: 20).

The Russian conquest of Kazan In 1552 the Russian Tsar Ivan the Terrible conquered the Kazan Khanate, the major successor to the Golden Horde. By the end of the sixteenth century the Russian state had annexed other Genghizid remnants, the Khanates of Astrakhan, Nogai and Siberia. Russian Tsars dealt ruthlessly with their former Genghizid suzerains. They destroyed the ruling elite through the confiscation of the most fertile land and its redistribution among the Russian nobility and Orthodox monasteries, and pursued a policy of coercive Christianization of the Muslim population, deporting those who refused to convert. The Russian Orthodox Church played a pivotal role in the Muscovite state’s assault on Islam. It promoted the concept of ‘Moscow as the third Rome’ and the Russian tsar as its divine guardian. The official Russian chronicles portrayed Moscow as the centre of the Christian world, unsullied by the union with Catholicism. They began to refer to Orthodoxy as synonymous with Russian-ness and enlightenment, and to Islam as synonymous with Tatar darkness and wickedness (Dudoignon 1996: 17). The suppression of Islam and coercive Christianization and Russification were among the major elements of Moscow’s policy of integrating nonRussian territories within a centralized Russian state. Its other components were the incorporation of these territories within the Russian administrative system, militarization and economic colonization. This policy persisted, although with some variations, until the late eighteenth century. The feudal leadership was essentially eliminated during the popular revolts of the 1550s and 1560s; according to the Nikon chronicle, 1,560 Tatar princes and murzas (Genghizid dignitaries) were killed during the uprising of 1553–7 alone. Almost the entire leadership of the Kazan Khanate was eliminated during this period (Gubaidullin 1989: 199–200), while that section of the feudal leadership that entered the service of the Russian tsar was gradually absorbed into Russian society. The destruction of mosques, the closure of schools, the persecution of clerics and the absence of any system of education led to a dramatic reduction in the contemporary ‘intelligentsia’. As a result, the traditions of Kazan – high, intellectual Islam, characterized by dynamism and creativity – were undermined. The Kazan Islamic elite was either destroyed or forced to move to Siberia, Central Asia, Afghanistan or Hejaz (Kemper 1996: 42). Having been evicted from Kazan and other major Tatar cities, Islam moved to the villages, which became the main repositories of the Tatar cultural, ethical and spiritual distinctiveness. For centuries these villages maintained their integrity by living according to Islamic tradition, shariat and adat (customary law). An important role in the transmission of tradi-

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tional values belonged to the djien (community), which arose as a type of social-territorial unit – an ancient clan commune – and gradually developed into the village commune. Under Russian rule these ancient institutions of government rediscovered their former democratic tendencies and functioned as organs of popular power. The village commune had a fairly precise structure. At its head was a council of aksakals (elders) who enjoyed the respect of the local population. Rulings of the council were binding for all members of the commune. In addition to the council of elders and the general assembly, there was another figure at the head of each village: the abyz (the eldest elder) who was noted for his exceptional personal qualities and achievements. The abyzes were the permanent representatives of the local authorities and had certain administrative and clerical functions. They ensured liaison between individual rural commune and the Russian authorities, and played the role of Russian-Tatar interpreters. In any disputes that arose between individuals and families, the villagers would turn to the abyz for advice. It was against this background that the integrative function of Islam as an ethnic-confessional ideology gained its significance. It was at this point that Tatars came to regard their ethnic and religious identification as synonymous (Gimadi 1967: 208, 210, 219, 225). Sufi sheikhs, or ishans, represented another source of informal authority in Tatar village communities. Sufism, the mystical Islam of the Yasawi and Naqshbandi tariqas (orders), greatly strengthened its position during this period. Sufism, which presented a rural and tribal alternative to the legalistic Islam of the cities, fitted well into local, rural social structures.8 Ahmed Yasawi’s belief that the combination of social passivity and spiritual resilience provided the most effective means for Muslims to counter a cruel and hostile world helped the Tatars’ religious survival, despite the unfavourable political context. During that period, Sufi tariqas consolidated their organizational structures and socio-political positions in the Volga region. Until the second half of the nineteenth century Sufi teachers maintained links between Bukhara – the Eurasian centre of Islamic scholarship – and Russia’s Muslims. There is evidence that members of the Naqshbandi tariqa were politically active and took part in a number of peasant uprisings of the eighteenth century, although, it could be argued, Sufism did not so much serve as the ideological basis for the uprisings as provide them with a formal external structure. This structure allowed the maintenance of unquestioning submission of the murid (disciple) novice to the sheikh. Sufism, therefore, at least partially filled the ideological, political and sociostructural vacuum that had appeared in Tatar society after the establishment of Russian rule (Amirkhanov 1993: 44–45).

The Russian Empire and Islam In 1783 Tsarina Catherine the Great (1762–96) conquered the last Genghizid stronghold in Eurasia, the Crimean Khanate. The Russian annexation of the

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Crimea occurred in different historical and geopolitical circumstances from those of Kazan, Astrakhan and other Genghizid territories, and this affected the nature and forms of Russian official policies there. Intensive agrarian colonization by Russians caused large numbers of Crimean Tatars to flee to Turkey. By that time Russia had established a new ruling dynasty – the Romanovs (1613–1917) – composed of the indigenous Russian ruling class. Under the rule of Tsar Peter the Great (1682–1725) Russia underwent radical reforms designed to break her Asiatic stagnation and direct the country along a more dynamic western path. Peter sought to transform Russia into a ‘patrimonial’ state in which the whole country was an appendage of the monarch. In the course of these reforms, he institutionalized the Russian Orthodox Church as a symbol of Russian statehood. The impact of modernization ‘from above’ on Russia’s umma Russia’s Westernization ‘from above’ brought about the enormous technological and military acceleration of Russia, which began to claim a full role in European matters in accordance with the logic of Realpolitik. On the other hand, it aggravated the existing alienation between the state, the ruling elite and some urban strata, on the one hand, and the narod (the ordinary people), Russians and non-Russians, on the other. While the former embraced the values and lifestyle of the West, the latter continued to adhere to traditional Eurasian norms and patterns. This societal split was accompanied by the strengthening of the autocratic and coercive functions of the state and the curtailing of any form of local autonomy and individual freedom. Russian rulers continued to brutally suppress any manifestations of class, national, or religious opposition and discontent, and carried on expansionist wars to the south and east of the Russian empire (Sakwa 1993: 394). In the second half of the eighteenth century, the superficial modernization of Russia continued under Catherine the Great. Despite the ambiguities of Catherine’s rule it had an invigorating impact on Russia’s umma. In the aftermath of the Pugachev popular revolt (1773–5), which had almost brought an end to her rule, Catherine launched a new religious policy. Recognizing that Muslim Tatars and Bashkirs from the Urals had been active participants in the revolt, Catherine decided that productive collaboration with her Muslim subjects, rather than their suppression, would ensure better their loyalty to St Petersburg. Catherine provided favourable conditions for the economic and cultural development of the Volga Tatars, whom she regarded as potential promoters of Russia’s interests and as the civilising force among the culturally less developed Islamic regions within and outside the borders of the Russian empire. Tatar merchants were granted permission to trade throughout the Russian empire and to develop textile, leather and some other light industries. Tatar merchants became the main agents in trade between Russia and its Muslim neighbours – Kazakstan, Central Asia, Iran, Afghanistan and western China (Valeev and Nabiev 1999: 108–9).

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Of particular importance to Russia’s Muslims was Catherine’s religious legislation. She banned the interference of the Russian Orthodox Church in the life of other confessions and permitted the local authorities to take decisions regarding mosques, medresses (Islamic secondary schools), caravan-sarais (trade stations), waqfs (religious endowments) and other Islamic institutions. Catherine authorized the creation in the Bashkir and Kazak Steppes of a large network of mosques, medresses and caravan-sarais staffed by Volga Tatars, who were instructed to educate various Turkic nomads and to ensure their loyalty to the Russian crown. After two centuries of the Volga Tatars’ isolation from the centres of Islamic learning, they were given access to higher Islamic education in the medresses of Bukhara and Samarkand. Muslims acquired the right to have their own publishing houses and to produce Islamic literature in Arabic, Tatar, Farsi, Turkic, and Ottoman Turkish languages (Olcott 1987: 47). In 1788 Catherine created the Muftiiat (Islamic Spiritual Board) as a medium of state control of her Muslim subjects; the first Russian Muftiiat was formed in Ufa in the Urals. Between 1796 and 1802, the Muftiiat was moved to Orenburg and was subsequently referred to as the Orenburg Islamic Board. Catherine’s religious liberalization boosted the economic and cultural activity of Tatars and other Muslims of Russia (Ashmarin 1901: 55–8). However, the legalization of Islam undermined the positions of abyzes, ishans and other representatives of informal popular Islam. It is no coincidence, therefore, that the abyzes actively campaigned against the Muftiiat, quite justifiably believing that it was designed to destroy the social and religious structures of the Tatars by establishing control over the activities of the clerics (Zagidullin 1984: 174–6). The Russian conquest of the North Caucasus Alongside the Muslim-populated Crimea, Catherine initiated a century-long annexionist war by Russia against the Islamic North Caucasus, whose territory had been disputed between Iran and the Ottoman Empire from the mid-sixteenth century. The region had made its first acquaintance with Islam as early as the seventh century, by which time Christianity was already fairly widespread. Indeed, many of the indigenous peoples of the North Caucasus professed Orthodox Christianity long before the official adoption of Christianity in Rus, since it had been brought there directly from Byzantium by merchants and missionaries. There is reliable evidence that Orthodoxy had begun to spread in the North Caucasus as early as the fourth century, and intensified in the sixth century under the Byzantine Emperor Justinian. In the north-western Caucasus the dioceses of Fanagoriiskaia, Nikonsiiskaia, Matrakhskaia (Pamanskaia) and Zikhiiskaia had been established, and the Circassians, Abazins and other peoples living in the upper reaches of the Kuban’ and Zelenchuk rivers had their own places of worship. Georgia played a notable role in the spread of

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Christianity in the region also; it was from there that Orthodoxy extended into Ossetia, Chechnia and Ingushetia (Avksent’ev 1984: 19). Its geopolitical position between Asia and Europe meant that the North Caucasus was subjected to continual political and cultural interest and influence from its powerful neighbours. Its territory was contested by the Iranians, Greeks, Jews, Romans, Goths and Arabs, and later by the Mongols, Ottomans and Russians. In the sixth century the western part of the region was under Byzantine rule, and between the seventh and tenth centuries most of it was incorporated within the Khazar Khaganat. The region was also subjected to intensive trade colonization by Venice and Genoa, which established trade colonies of Matrega, Kopa, Mapa and Anapa there. Subsequently it was invaded by the Mongols and incorporated within the Golden Horde. At the end of the fourteenth century the North Caucasus was conquered by Timur (Tamerlane, 1370–1405), who included it within his vast Central Asian empire. The mountainous landscape of the North Caucasus determined the lifestyle, economic activity and beliefs of the local population. The scarcity of arable land accounted for its extreme value and for numerous inter-tribal and inter-clan conflicts and disputes for control over it. Various landless mountain peoples regularly raided the more prosperous plain dwellers, although raids on each other were also common among mountain peoples. The raiders plundered their neighbours and took hostages, whom they subsequently returned upon the receipt of ransom. The Caucasians were natural warriors and horsemen and spent a substantial part of their time fighting. Their life was regulated by the institution of vendetta, the code of Caucasian honour and the adat (Smith 1998: 32–6). In ethnic terms, the North Caucasians belonged to Iranian, Caucasian and Turkic ethno-linguistic groups. The most numerous peoples of Iranian origin were the Ossetians, or the Alans, who had the most ancient statehood tradition and claimed direct descent from the great Scythian and Sarmatian Hordes. Among other indigenous peoples of Iranian origin were the Tats, the Talishes and the Kurds. The peoples of Caucasian ethnic origin belonged to two distinct groups: the western Caucasians, or AbkhazAdyghs, and the eastern Caucasians, or Nakh-Dagestanis. The first group comprised various Abkhaz and Adygh peoples, including Adygheans, Kabardinians, Cherkess, Abazins, Abadzekhs, Ubukhs, Bzhadugs, Nabukhais and Shapsugs. The second group was represented by Chechens, Ingush, Avars, Andis, Tsez, Lezgins, Dargins and Batsbiis. The Turkic peoples of the region were the Karachais, Balkars, Nogais and Kumyks. Despite their extraordinary ethnic diversity, all Caucasians belonged to a distinct Caucasian culture, which was a synthesis of indigenous and external cultural influences. The peoples of the region were characterized by different levels of political development. Some of them, like the Ossetians, Kabardins, Avars, Lezgins, Laks, Tabasarans and Nogais, had an ancient statehood tradition and formed various principalities under feudal rulers – khans, beks

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and so on – while the Chechens, Ingush, Balkars, Karachais and Kumyks had no such traditions (Abdushelishvili 1994: 97). Historically, Islam played the central role in relations between Dagestan and the outside world. Islam began to spread in southern Dagestan among the Lezgins in the late seventh century. In 685–6 the Arabs took the town of Derbend, which subsequently became the focal point of Islamization of the north-eastern Caucasus, referred to as Bab al-Jihad (the gateway of jihad). Although the Arab Caliphate did not manage to secure a long-term foothold in Dagestan, the spread of Islam continued. From the tenth to the twelfth centuries, other peoples of southern Dagestan adopted Islam. The fourteenth century saw Islam spread among the largest ethnic group in Dagestan, the Avars. By the end of the fifteenth century most Dagestanis professed the Shafii madhhab of Sunni Islam. The proliferation of Islam in Dagestan was accompanied by its merger with pre-Islamic pagan traditions and adat norms. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries Islam of the Shafii madhhab spread among the indigenous population of Chechnia and Ingushetia, the Vaynakhs. Islam had penetrated into the western Caucasus from the Golden Horde in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries following the conversion of Khan Berke to Islam (1257–66) (Zelkina 2000: 28). In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries it extended into Kabarda too, from where it spread to Ossetia. The Turkic peoples of the western Caucasus adopted Islam even later. In the mid-eighteenth century it spread to the Balkars, and in 1782 the Kabardian mullah Iskhak Abukov introduced it in Karachai. The main propagators of Islam in this region were Crimean and Ottoman merchants and missionaries, and it was not until the end of the eighteenth century that Islam consolidated its position in the western Caucasus. In contrast to Dagestan and Chechnia, the mountain peoples of the western Caucasus preferred the Hanafi madhhab, which made greater allowance for local traditions (Emel’ianova 1999: 30–8). The level of Islamization of the various peoples of the North Caucasus varied considerably. The most profoundly Islamicized ethnic groups were the Avars and Dargins and, to some extent, Kumyks. These groups produced the largest number of ulema, who were recognized in the outside Islamic world. Avars dominated the Islamic elite in the region. More superficially Islamicized groups in the region included the Adygh and Turkic peoples of the western part of the North Caucasus. Although Chechens and Ingush were the ‘youngest’ Muslims of the region, they were among the most zealous Muslims in the North Caucasus. In the twelfth century the bulk of Ossetians of the western part of the North Caucasus adopted Orthodox Christianity. Thereafter they remained a solitary Orthodox indigenous people in a largely Muslim region.9 From the Middle Ages, Dagestani Islam acquired a Sufi (mystical Islamic) form. The first Sufis followers – of the Kadiri tariqa – appeared in the region in the twelfth century. In the fifteenth century the Naqshbandi tariqa reached the North Caucasus from the Black Sea region of eastern

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Anatolia, and later on from Central Asia as well. The Naqshbandiyya struck particularly deep roots among Avars, Dargins and Kumyks.10 Most Dagestani Naqshbandiis belonged to the Mujaddidi branch of the tariqa,11 although the tariqa of Yasawiyya had a strong following among the Nogais of northern Dagestan. By the seventeenth century a substantial proportion of the Muslims of the North Caucasus, especially in Dagestan and Chechnia, were Sufis and Sufism became deeply integrated into the system of traditional community, providing its spiritual substance. As a result, there emerged a specific regional form of Sufism, known as tariqatism (Landa 1995: 115, 118). The Russian conquest of the Caucasus followed two centuries of Russian political and economic advance into the region. In the mid-sixteenth century, Tsar Ivan the Terrible had forged an alliance with individual local rulers in Kabarda and Dagestan who regarded Russia as a viable counterbalance to the Ottoman and Persian presence in the region. At the end of sixteenth century the Russians founded their first fortresses on the river Sulak (Smith 1998: 39). From the seventeenth century the Cossacks – peoples belonging to a sub-ethnic Russian-Turkic group of Orthodox persuasion – became a significant force in the Russian penetration of the region, as they began to settle along the Terek river. The Russian authorities skilfully played upon the Cossacks’ religiosity in order to enhance their loyalty to the Russian crown; they carried out their raids into the Muslim regions under the banner of Orthodox Christianity. However, on a daily basis, the Cossacks closely interacted with Caucasian Muslims with whom they shared similar social norms, codes of honour, customs, dances, interior decoration, cuisine and costumes (Landa 1995: 78–9). The Persian campaign (1722) of Tsar Peter the Great marked a new attempt to seize the Caucasus by Russia. Early successes were overturned rapidly, however, and by 1736 Russia was forced to recognize Iranian and Ottoman domination in the region. However, in the same period the Russians managed to strengthen their positions in northern Dagestan by founding the Russian town of Kizliar. In the 1760s they built a chain of fortresses in the plains of the North Caucasus, which constitute the origins of most present-day cities and towns (Bennigsen and Broxup 1983: 134). In the 1780s Catherine the Great began an annexionist war against the North Caucasus. Compared to Kabarda and northern Dagestan, where the Russian presence met relatively passive resistance, in Chechnia and the mountainous areas of the North Caucasus the Russians faced ferocious resistance from the local Muslim population (including the majority of Chechens, Avars, Adygheans, Cherkess, Abazins, Abadzekhs, Ubukhs, Bzhadugs, Nabukhais and Shapsugs). The anti-Russian resistance – led by Chechen holy man Mansur Ushurma – made widespread use of the existing Sufi network in the interests of popular mobilization against the Russian Orthodox invaders. Sheikh Mansur was eventually defeated and imprisoned in 1791 in the Shlissel’burg fortress by the Russians, where he died. His

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legacy was to be long-lasting, however; the war marked the first use of guerrilla tactics against the Russians in the Caucasus. Perhaps more importantly, Mansur had been able to use Islam, particularly the Sufi Islam of the Naqshbandi tariqa, as the ideological framework for the first political unification of the region (Zelkina 2000: 66–7). Because of the selfless resistance of the Chechens, Cherkess, and other indigenous peoples and the mountainous landscape of the region – almost impassable to outsiders – the conquest of the North Caucasus became an extremely difficult and costly affair in terms of human lives and economic resources. In 1790 the Russians founded the fortress of Vladikavkaz in Ossetia, and in 1806 the Ossetian rulers recognized Russian suzerainty. In the same year the Russians annexed Kabarda and Derbend. The latter became the centre of Derbend province of the Russian empire, ruled by the Russian military administration. In 1818 the Russians built the fortresses of Groznii in Chechnia and of Nal’chik in Kabarda, as well as a line of smaller forts along the rivers Terek, Chegem, Beksan and Melka. By the middle of the nineteenth century Russian control had been established in the Balkarpopulated mountainous regions of the eastern part of the North Caucasus. In 1844 the Russians founded the fortress of Petrovsk (present-day Makhachkala) in Dagestan. Alongside the North Caucasus the Russians strengthened their grip over the Transcaucasus. By the beginning of the nineteenth century Russia had asserted its influence over Christian Georgia and Armenia, as well as over the predominantly Shi’a Muslim population of Azerbaijan. Russia’s relations with its Transcaucasian vassals highlighted the religious aspect of Russian policy in the Caucasus. Representatives of the Armenian and Georgian nobility received preferential treatment; they were relatively easily integrated within the Russian state hierarchy and promoted to the higher civil and military ranks. They constituted the core of the Russian imperial administration in the Caucasus and became bastions of Russian influence in the Caucasus. In contrast, Azerbaijan was regarded in St Petersburg as a problematic region and there were hardly any members of the Caucasian Muslim nobility among the Russian imperial elite. Until 1887 Caucasian Muslims were exempt from regular military service in the Russian army (Landa 1995: 109). In the 1830s St Petersburg intensified its military operations in the North Caucasus, triggered by the growing resistance of the local Muslim fighters who began a gazawat (Islamic holy war) against the Russian Orthodox invasion. It is believed that the ideologist of the gazawat was the Dagestani Islamic scholar Imam Muhammad Yaragskii (d. 1839). He had a radical interpretation of tariqatism that included the struggle for the spiritual and political independence of North Caucasian Muslims. Imam Yaragskii was also a zealous opponent of pre-Islamic adat norms and traditions, and a promoter of the shariat. He advocated the formation of an Islamic state – an Imamat, based on the shariat, as a viable political framework for the

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armed gazawat against the Russian gayurs (infidels). The legendary leader of the gazawat was Imam Shamyl (d. 1871), who mobilized the Sufi network for the anti-Russian resistance. He succeeded in unifying Chechnia and northern Dagestan within a single Islamic state – an Imamat – which for more than a quarter of a century successfully withstood the Russian military advance. By the 1860s Tsarist troops had finally defeated the gazawat and had incorporated the North Caucasus into the Russian empire. After this defeat, thousands of Abkhaz, Adygheans, Avars, Chechens, Cherkess and other mountain peoples fled the North Caucasus to settle in Anatolia and other provinces of the Ottoman empire (Agaev 1996: 99). During the Russian conquest of the North Caucasus over twenty thousand Russian soldiers were killed, over sixty thousand were wounded and over six thousand were taken prisoner. After the war, the Russian presence in the region cost St Petersburg almost a quarter of the annual imperial budget. Due to the special circumstances in the North Caucasus – not least the long, and bloody, struggle for annexation – the Russian military administration refrained from interfering in the existing economic, social and legal system. In Dagestan, for example, there was no grand agrarian colonization. Rather, St Petersburg combined the military occupation of the region with a policy of ‘divide and rule’; certain local political and religious leaders were co-opted and given special preference, thus pitting them against their rivals. This policy tended to favour the members of the Kabardinian and Ossetian nobility. The latter were granted Russian imperial noble status, while the other ethnic elites were treated as socially and culturally inferior (Daniialov 1996: 67). The Caucasian war, which had acquired a religious dimension, inflicted severe damage on Russian–Muslim relations in the region and within the Russian empire as a whole. In the North Caucasus the Naqshbandi tariqa, which had played a crucial role in the anti-Russian resistance, suffered particularly badly in its aftermath. Many Naqshbandiis emigrated to Turkey, while those who stayed were weakened by the witch-hunt unleashed against them by the Tsarist secret police. Many Naqshbandi sheikhs and ustadhes (teachers) and their murids were physically eliminated. The survivors were forced either to move to other tariqas unassociated with the recent gazawat, or to go into hiding in the mountains. In Chechnia many former Naqshbandiis joined the Kadiri wird (a branch of the tariqa) of Kunta-Haji (d. 1867),12 although some Chechen and Ingush Kadiriis also followed the wirds of Batal-Haji, Bammat Girey-Haji and Chimmirza (Beno 2000). By the late 1860s there were over 6,000 followers of Kunta-Haji in Chechnia, making it the largest wird. Unlike the Naqshbandiis, who conducted a quiet dhikr (rhythmical repetition of the name of Allah), the Kadiriis performed a loud and ecstatic dhikr, by means of which they believed they physically cleansed themselves from the social environment. This practice was to become a symbol of the resilience of the Caucasians to Russian rule.

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After the Caucasian wars the Kadiriis prevailed in the plains, while the Naqshbandiis maintained their secretive dominance in the mountains. Whether or not any Naqshbandi sheikhs survived the severe Tsarist persecution to leave successors remains an issue of historical dispute. The descendants of Dagestani and Chechen Naqshbandiis, who fled the North Caucasus in the 1870s, believe that no Naqshbandi sheikhs were left in the region after the Caucasian wars and that the Naqshbandi silsila (Sufi transmission chain) was interrupted. This is contested by contemporary Dagestani Naqshbandi sheikhs, however, who insist that some Naqshbandi sheikhs survived and continued the Naqshbandi silsila. In contrast to the Naqshbandiis, who refused to submit to Russian rule, the Kadiriis formally accepted it, whilst remaining privately opposed to it. This enabled them to work as qadis (Muslim judges), mullahs and other Muslim clerics under the Tsarist administration (Beno 2000; Sayid-efendi 1999; Ramazanov 2000; Siradjuddin 2000). The conquest of the Caucasus created the second largest Islamic enclave, after that of the Volga-Urals, in Russia. However, unlike in the Volga-Urals, the St Petersburg administration refrained from a policy of total Christianization of the Islamic Caucasus and Crimea. Instead it created two additional Muftiiats to that already established in Orenburg, in order to monitor the local Muslim populations. In 1831 the Muftiiat of Crimea was formed in Bahchesarai and in 1872 the Muftiiat of Transcaucasus was created in Baku. The Muftiis were on the payroll of the Ministry of Interior and the most co-operative of them received imperial decorations. The Muftiis reported directly to the Interior Minister, who sanctioned their appointments and major initiatives. However, the Muftiiats retained some degree of autonomy due to its waqf property in the form of plots of land, hospitals, shelters and canteens. Until 1874 the Muftiiats were also in charge of mektebs (primary Islamic schools) and medresses, which provided a comprehensive Islamic education for the bulk of the Muslim population. This, and the fact that some Muftiis came from distinguished Islamic families, accounted for the considerable spiritual authority of the Muftiis among ordinary Muslims despite their formal compliance with Russian official policies. The final stage of the Russian conquest of the North Caucasus was intertwined with the Russian expansion towards Islamic Kazakstan and Central Asia. Western Kazakstan, which bordered the Russian empire, was populated mainly by Kazaks, while eastern Kazakstan, especially the regions adjacent to China and the Kokand Khanate, was populated by Kyrgyz, Turkmens and some other Turkic nomads. By the 1860s most of the Kazak steppes were incorporated within the newly established Turkestan Governorship-General of the Russian empire. Nineteenth-century Central Asia was dominated by three centres of power: the Emirate of Bukhara, the Khanate of Khiva and the Khanate of Kokand. All three were medieval Islamic state formations, based on irrigated agriculture, craft industry and trans-Asian trade. They were populated by Uzbeks (a Turkic people), Tajiks

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(an Iranian people), Turkmens, Jews, Kipchaks and Kyrgyz (both Turkic peoples). By the late 1860s the Russians had conquered the Kokand Khanate and included its territory within the Turkestan GovernorshipGeneral. In the mid-1880s the rulers of Bukhara and Khiva were forced to accept the Russian protectorate over them.13

Islamic modernism Russia’s defeat in the Crimean war (1853–6) demonstrated its economic and military backwardness and revealed the acute necessity for its technological modernization and political liberalization. In 1861 Tsar Alexander II abolished serfdom and initiated the ‘The Great Reforms’. Like previous modernizations by Peter the Great and Catherine the Great, those reforms were conducted ‘from above’ and therefore bore a limited and superficial character. Nevertheless, they provided an impetus to the belated capitalist development of Russia. The need for a nationwide unified and standardized modern educational system required radical reform which, among other goals, sought to integrate Russia’s Muslims into the socio-economic and political fabric of the empire. The leading representatives of Russia’s Muslim elite responded to St Petersburg’s modernization initiative by generating ‘jadidism’ (literally ‘modernism’), which presented their conception of modern education for Muslims. The latter developed against the background of the Islamic revivalist thinking of the second part of the eighteenth century and reflected two trends: an understanding of the need for radical ideological change and the preservation of a powerful Islamic traditionalism. The renowned Tatar enlighteners Abu Nasr al-Qursawi (d. 1812), Shihabuddin Marjani (d. 1889), Huseyn Faizkhanov (d. 1866) and Abdul Qayum an-Nasiri (d. 1812) advocated the creative and flexible potential of Islam and its compatibility with economic and technological progress (Validov 1981: 26). The Tatar enlighteners agreed that, alongside Islam and the Tatar language, historical interaction with Russians was a defining component of Tatar national identity. This, they believed, was a logical consequence of the fact that Tatars and Russians shared a common homeland and knowledge of each others’ interests, habits, customs and beliefs. They traced mutual cultural influences in architecture, costume, traditional medicine, fairy tales and superstitions. Thus, they clearly distinguished between the anti-Islamic Russification policies of the Russian state, which they categorically rejected, and the objective benefits for Russia’s Muslims of a strong Russian state under an enlightened Tsar, who would treat all his subjects equally irrespective of their religious and ethnic origins. An-Nasiri, Marjani and Faizkhanov recognized the importance of Russian as the lingua franca of a polyethnic and multicultural state and thus were the proponents of the principles of multiculturalism and the civic nation of their time (Yemelianova 1997: 544).

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The ideas of these Tatar thinkers paved the way towards language, education and political reform within Russia’s umma. However, they had little influence on the bulk of the Muslim population, who adhered to Islamic traditionalism on a non-dogmatic, largely subconscious level. Another serious impediment to the wide dissemination of reformist ideas was the absence of an Islamic mass media or other Islamic institutions. The situation began to change in the 1880s when the usul -ul-jadid (literally ‘the new, phonetic method’) of teaching Arabic began to penetrate Islamic education. The usul-ul-jadid was pioneered by Ismail Gasprinskii (d. 1914), a well educated and European-minded Crimean Tatar. Subsequently, the proponents of this method were called ‘jadidists’, while the advocates of the preservation of the old, syllabic, method of teaching (usul-ul-qadim in Arabic) were called ‘qadimists’. The new method also included the introduction of secular subjects – arithmetic, geography, history and the Russian language – into the school curriculum. This required a switch from Bukharan qadimist textbooks, written mainly in Arabic, Persian, or Chagatai, to Turkish textbooks or new Tatar textbooks in Arabic, or slightly modified Ottoman Turkish (Gasprinskii 1985: 11). Tatar Islamic reformers declared an allegiance to the Bulgar-era traditions of Islamic creative thinking, the ijtihad.14 They rejected Islamic scholasticism and the dogmatic and factional differences between Sunni and Shi’a Islams and, in particular, within Sunni and Shi’a Islams. Instead they emphasized the cultural and ethical dimensions of the Islamic faith, viewing it first and foremost as a source of moral judgement and self-control for the individual. They suggested a modified interpretation of iman (faith), namaz (prayer), zakat (alms) and other basics of Islam, which reflected Russian geographic and cultural realities (Kamalov 1994: 46–9). The usul-ul-jadid, in essence, was a philological-lexicographic reform, designed to meet the interests of the growing Tatar business class, which sought wider opportunities and markets in the Muslim-populated regions of Russia and beyond the Russian borders. However, it soon evolved into a broader socio-political and cultural phenomenon which was also referred to as ‘jadidism’, although in a wider sense.15 The latter was organically linked to Islamic modernism being promoted by Jamal ad-Din al-Afghani (d. 1897), Muhammad Abduh (d. 1905) and Rashid Rida (d. 1935). On the other hand, jadidism was a peculiarly Russian Islamic phenomenon, reflecting the specific conditions of Russia’s Muslims. Noted jadids were either directly involved in the Russian nationwide intellectual and political debate on the future reform of the Russian state and society, or were strongly influenced by it.16 Ismail Gasprinskii’s newspaper, TerjumanPerevodchik (Interpreter), founded in 1883, was not only the most influential and popular Muslim periodical, but helped shape the national political debate as well as the literary norms of Russia’s Muslim educated class. A powerful vehicle for jadidist ideas, Terjuman promoted the notion of a strong, modern and nationally pluralistic Russian state, on the one hand,

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and Turkic unification – millet (‘nation’) – within Russia on the basis of ‘common language, action, and thought’ (dilde, iste, fikirde birlik), on the other (Iskhakov 1997 b: 72–4). Significantly, Gasprinskii interpreted millet as an ethno-cultural, not ethno-political entity. Thus Islam was viewed as an essential component of that millet but, in contrast to the Ottoman Turkists, Gasprinskii never envisaged any political self-determination for Russia’s Turks, viewing their future within the Russian state. For Russia’s Muslims, he argued, Russian cultural influence was more important than the influence of Ottoman Turks, Iranians, or other powerful Islamic neighbours. He considered ethnic Tatars and ethnic Russians to have a cultural and psychological affinity, and viewed Russian cultural influence as a positive factor in the Tatars’ historical development. Furthermore, he believed the key to the economic and social success of Russia’s Muslims to lie in their full-fledged engagement in nationwide Russian modernization, and thus he welcomed their intellectual Russification (Gasprinskii 1985: 59). The main limitation of jadidism was its Tatar-centrism, which alienated non-Tatar Muslim intellectuals. As a result, the number of jadids in other Islamic parts of the Russian empire was relatively small.17 Outside of Tatarstan, therefore, the educated elite remained largely qadimist. Moreover, in the Caucasus, Crimea and Central Asia, which were more exposed to Turkish influence, a substantial number of qadimists held strong proOttoman sympathies. This was particularly true of members of Kadiri tariqa in the North Caucasus and the Islamic elite of the Kokand Khanate. A small number of qadimists also advocated ethnic and religious isolationism, that is, the political disengagement of Russia’s Muslims from the Russian state. Their most well-known ideologist was Bakha ad-Din (d. 1893), a Naqshbandi Tatar, who proclaimed himself the spiritual leader of the anarchist Tatar-Islamic sect, Vaisov Bojii Polk (The Godly Regiment of Vaisov). The Vaisites advocated civic disobedience to the authorities, including the Islamic authorities. They rejected civil registration and refused to pay taxes, perform military service or attend mosques where prayers were led by mullahs who had passed the Russian language test (Biriukov 1925: 399–400). As a general rule, therefore, jadids welcomed the deeper intellectual, economic and political integration of Russia’s Muslims within the nationwide process of modernization, while qadimists were largely in favour of perpetuation of the ‘semi-detached’ existence of individual Muslim communities within Russia, were suspicious of any reform of the Russian state and society, and opposed Muslim involvement in it. However, there was no absolute correlation between jadidist or qadimist orientation and attitude to the Russian state, culture and people among the Muslim elite. Paradoxically, for example, the Muftiiats – which were the bastions of qadimism – tended towards an alliance with conservative forces in Russian politics. Muftiis, who were among Russia’s largest landowners, were devoted monarchists and often found themselves in unlikely alliances with the ‘Black Hundred of

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Archangel Michael’ and other right-wing organizations of a chauvinist nature (Yemelianova 1999: 466–7). Until the late 1880s the jadidist–qadimist debate was limited to the educated Islamic minority represented by clerics, intellectuals and businessmen. The vast majority of ordinary Muslims adhered to traditional, popular Islam and their perceptions of themselves and the outside world were largely defined by their local mullahs, Imams, sheikhs and pirs (Sufi authorities). The social and spiritual status of these representatives of popular Islam was higher than that of Russian priests, for they were perceived to play a central role in safeguarding national identity, itself rooted in Islam. In the Volga-Urals, relations between Muslims and their spiritual leaders (mullahs, imams and so on) were warmer and more durable than those between Russian peasants and the Orthodox pop (priest); among ethnic Russians, priest-parishioner relations were formal and had a rather occasional character. Indeed, despite the political dominance of Russians, in 1870 there was one mullah for every hundred Tatars yet, on average, only one Orthodox priest per thousand Russians (Volgin 1936: 193). Russia’s umma at the turn of the nineteenth century The bourgeois-democratic revolution of 1905–7 created more favourable conditions for the socio-political and intellectual activity of Muslims in Russia. While the rural Muslim majority remained outside the revolution, the Muslim elite defined a position towards it that was largely in line with the Russian liberal opposition, represented by the Kadet Party.18 In August 1905 Tatar and Azeri intellectuals and businessmen organized the First AllRussian Muslim Congress, which called for the establishment of a constitutional monarchy based on the proportional representation of ethnic groups. The Congress also demanded the institution of the freedom of the press, assembly and religion and legal, political and social equality for Russia’s Muslims. It advocated the organization of local Muslim assemblies and Muslim congresses and called for reconciliation between Shi’ites and Sunnis and mutual religious tolerance (Bigi 1917: 177). The October Manifesto of 1905 provided a further momentum to the political and social activity of Russia’s Muslims, and in January 1906 the Second All-Russian Muslim Congress took place in St Petersburg. At this Second Congress, the first Islamic political party, Ittifaq-i-Muslimin (Union of Muslims, 1906–17), was formed and the party resolved to co-operate with the Russian Kadets in the election of the first Russian Parliament, the Duma.19 The Third All-Russian Muslim Congress, which was held in August 1906 in Nizhnii Novgorod, witnessed the emergence of other Islamic organizations, such as the Islamic Popular Party, the Azeri National Party Musawat (Equality) and the Kazak National Party Alash Orda. Throughout the 1906–17 period, however, it was members of the Ittifaq Party that made up the core of the Islamic Duma faction. The faction spoke out about both

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general issues of democratization and the specific problems of Russia’s Muslims; Muslim deputies advocated the parliamentary transformation of despotic Russia into a democratic, multi-ethnic, modern nation in which Muslims could enjoy equal political and legal rights.20 Among other important implications of the October 1905 Manifesto was a publishing boom among Russia’s Muslims, and Tatars in particular. As a result, by 1907 the number of Islamic periodicals published in Russia had reached fifty-two.21 Most of them adhered to jadidist principles, although a few maintained a qadimist position. The Muslim periodicals were published in Arabic script and were in Tatar, Ottoman Turkish, Uzbek or Arabic languages. Significantly, most Tatar periodicals used the Kazan vernacular, one exception being Gasprinskii’s Terjuman, which appeared in modernized Ottoman Turkish. Alongside periodicals that had a relatively small readership, Russia’s Muslim publishers began to produce an Islamic popular literature with a wider circulation and greater social impact (Bennigsen-Broxup 1987a). On the whole, the 1905 bourgeois-democratic revolution strengthened the position of the Islamic reformers and expanded the geographical boundaries of jadidism, which had come to provide the ideological framework for the process of nation-building among a number of Muslim peoples of Russia (Khalid 1998: 82–113; Iskhakov 1997b: 80). However, ethnic and religious solidarity could not hide the more fundamental social and political divisions within Russia as the country dissolved into increasing social turmoil, aggravated by Russia’s protracted involvement in the First World War. In 1916 a group of left-wing Muslim deputies quit the Muslim faction in the Duma to join the left-wing faction of the Trudoviki (labourers).22 Indeed, many representatives of the Muslim dissenting minority held sympathy with the socialist revolutionaries, socialist democrats and anarchists of the Russian radical tradition. The views of Russia’s Muslim radicals presented a remarkable synthesis of socialist democratic and Islamic ideas. Some left-wing jadids either joined the all-Russian Social Revolutionary (SR) and Social Democratic (RSDRP) parties, or formed radical Islamic socialist organizations which advocated strikes, mass demonstrations, individual terrorism and other revolutionary methods of struggle against the tsarist regime.23 Significantly, the pro-Russian political orientation of the Muslim liberal majority survived the test of the First World War, in which Russia confronted Muslim Turkey. Although there were attempts by extremist nationalist and Islamist circles to instigate mass disturbances among the Islamic population of the Russian empire in support of their Turkish co-religionists, the vast majority of ordinary Muslims remained passive. From the first days of the war, the Muslim elite unambiguously allied itself with the Russian government. Similarly, most of Russia’s Muslim soldiers, mainly Tatars and Bashkirs together with some Caucasians, fought courageously against their co-religious adversaries (Yemelianova 1999: 472). However, the Tsar’s decree of 25 June 1916 on conscription of Turkestani Muslims triggered an antiRussian revolt in Central Asia, which by January 1917 had been brutally

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suppressed by the Russian troops. This revolt, which evolved into the popular basmachi movement, had a distinct anti-colonial character. It reflected the long suppressed resentment of local nomads and sedentary peoples against the agrarian colonization of the most fertile land by Russian and other Slavic settlers, as well as against the advancing destruction of traditional ways of life as a result of Russian economic and military penetration.24 The bourgeois-democratic revolution of February 1917, which brought an end to the monarchy, split Russia’s Muslim elite. Its traditionalist representatives, especially among the Tatars and Bashkirs, feared that the abolition of the monarchy and its replacement by the republic would have a destabilizing impact on the multi-ethnic and poly-confessional empire. The qadimist feudal elites of Bukhara and Kokand were shocked by the demise of the authority of the White [Russian] Tsar, with whom they identified effective government, and they were suspicious of the new republican regime, which they associated with anarchy and disorder. By contrast, the majority of reform-minded Muslim liberals and radicals welcomed the establishment of the Provisional Government, which proclaimed equal political status for all citizens of Russia irrespective of their ethnic and religious origins. The latter launched into action immediately after the February revolution, forming the Provisional Central Bureau of Muslims of Russia in Moscow and the Islamic Committee in Kazan. The aim of both bodies was to secure and promote the political and economic interests of Muslims in republican Russia. In May 1917 they organized the First Muslim Congress of republican Russia in Moscow, which debated the future political and cultural organization of Russia’s Muslims. The delegates were divided between those who advocated ethno-cultural autonomy for individual Muslim peoples within a unitary Russia, and proponents of Muslims’ political and administrative autonomy within a federative Russian state.25 The federalists prevailed and the Congress adopted a resolution in favour of the formation of the autonomous republics of Azerbaijan, Dagestan, Turkestan and Kazakstan within the federal Russian state. The Congress created the Milli Shuro (the Central Muslim Council) to preside over the practicalities of federalization (Kappeler 1997: 266). However, the Council’s activity was hampered as a result of growing unitarist opposition. At the Second Muslim Congress of republican Russia, which took place in July 1917 in Kazan, the Tatar and Azeri unitarists gained a majority and promoted resolutions that overrode the decisions of the First Congress in favour of a unitary Russian state and ethno-cultural autonomy for the Turko-Tatars of the Volga-Urals and Siberia. The Congress elected a legislative body – the Milli Mejlis (the National Council) – and its executive body – the Milli Idare (the National Administration). The Islamic Military Congress, which took place at the same time, formed the Harbi Shuro (the Islamic Military Council) chaired by the well-known Tatar politician Ilyas Alkin. The Harbi Shuro was supported by the Provisional Government, which allowed it to organize special Islamic armed forces (Daulet 1989: 27–9).

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A number of Muslim radicals, however, regarded the 1917 February Revolution as an opportunity to restore the political independence of some Muslim peoples of Russia. In April 1917, Kazak activists convened their first congress in Orenburg which demanded administrative autonomy for the Kazaks and the introduction of a ban on new Russian agrarian settlements in the Kazak steppe. In the summer of the same year they formed their political party, the Alash Orda, to represent and articulate their interests in Petrograd. In Central Asia, jadids formed the political parties of Young Bukharans and Young Khivans.26 In May 1917 Imam Uzun Haji, with substantial assistance from Turkey, proclaimed an Emirate of the North Caucasus and declared a jihad (Islamic holy war) against ‘everybody who writes from left to right’. In August 1917 another North Caucasian leader, Imam Nadjmutdin Gotsinskii, whose support came from members of the Bamat-Girey-Haji wird of the Kadiri tariqa, attempted to re-create Shamyl’s Imamat on the territory of Chechnia and Dagestan. Simultaneously the Chechen warlord Ahmetkhan Mutushev mobilized members of the KuntaHaji wird of the Kadiri tariqa in a struggle for an independent Chechnia. The Crimean Tatar radical nationalists from the Milli Firka (the National Party) responded to the February revolution via the movement ‘Crimea for Crimeans’.27 In Azerbaijan, the Azeri nationalists from the Musawat (Equality) Party began a campaign for Azebaijan’s independence,28 while in Central Asia, the basmachi movement was revitalised. The left-wing Muslim radical minority was particularly enthusiastic about the February Revolution. Like their Russian colleagues, they regarded it as the prologue to a fundamental social and political transformation of Russia. Thus, when the Bolsheviks challenged the authority of the Provisional Government many Muslim radicals either joined them or introduced elements of Marxism into their own political programmes. In April 1917, for example, under the leadership of Mulannur Vahitov, Tatar Marxists formed the Muslim Socialist Committee. This organization was to become the Muslim centre of Bolshevism in the Volga-Urals. On the whole, however, the national aspirations of the majority of Russia’s Tatar-dominated Muslim elite did not transcend the Russian political context. They saw their national and cultural self-realization in the context of all-Russian democratic reforms. In this respect their political agenda differed considerably from the national aspirations of other non-Russian peoples of the Russian empire, such as the Poles and Finns, who sought political and territorial independence from Russia (Aida 1996: 91).

Soviet Muslims The Bolshevik revolution of October 1917 shattered the foundations of Russia’s state and society. The Bolsheviks’ promise of land, peace and social justice appealed to the bulk of Russia’s poor and desperate peoples, including its eighteen million Muslims. At the same time, Muslims felt

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threatened by the Bolsheviks’ atheism, as well as their rejection of private property and their social and gender egalitarianism. The Bolsheviks and Russia’s Muslims: the birth of Muslim communism The majority of the Muslim educated class viewed the October 1917 revolution with suspicion, or even overt hostility. Thus, most Islamic traditionalists refused to recognize the legitimacy of Bolshevik power and secretly or openly opposed it. They advocated the restoration of the monarchy, which they regarded as the only viable guarantor of stability and inter-ethnic and inter-confessional peace in Russia (Alishev 1994: 201; Bennigsen and Quelquejay 1967: 3). The jadids were divided in their attitudes towards the Bolsheviks. The moderate liberals who had defined pre-revolutionary Islamic political and cultural discourse opposed the Bolsheviks. Their representatives, who before the revolution had expressed their preference for a unitary Russia and ethno-cultural autonomy for its Muslim population, rejected the Bolshevik programme of political self-determination for Russia’s non-Russians. Some joined the White movement, which united various counter-revolutionary forces. Others emigrated from Russia or withdrew from politics and confined themselves to professional life under the new regime (Sultan-Galiev 1984: 31). A few representatives of the Muslim liberal intelligentsia sought to collaborate with the Bolshevik regime. Thus, Sadri Maksudi on behalf of the above-mentioned Milli Mejlis negotiated with the Bolsheviks a form of ethno-cultural autonomy for the Turko-Tatar Muslims of the Volga-Urals. In November 1917, he formed an autonomous government in Ufa, but two months later this was disbanded by the Bolsheviks under the pretext of fighting bourgeois nationalism. In early 1919 Zaki Validi, the leader of Bashkir nationalists, allied with the Bolsheviks against the counter-revolutionary forces of Admiral Kolchak.29 He headed the Bashkir Military Revolutionary Committee, the Bashrevkom, which established itself as a viable autonomous government on the territory of the former Ufimskaia gubernia (province). In March 1919 this government proclaimed the Bashkir Autonomous Republic. However, its activity was soon paralyzed due to intrigues and machinations by local Russian and Tatar communists who were pressing either for a unitarist Russia, or a wider regional formation in the form of the Tatar-Bashkir republic, to be dominated by the Tatars. This resulted in the collapse of the Bashrevkom and its replacement by a Moscow-driven administration. Subsequently, Zaki Validi was accused of bourgeois nationalism and was forced to emigrate to Turkey. A similar fate was shared by other nationalist leaders from the Young Bukharans and Young Khivians, the Azeri Musawat Party, the Kazak Party of Alash Orda and the Crimean Tatar Party of Milli Firka (Aida 1996: 110; Landa 2000b: 122–35).

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While the majority of the old Islamic nationalist elite rejected the revolution, the Bolsheviks promoted new revolutionary Muslim leaders who were entrusted with the difficult task of securing the support of the Muslim population for the new regime. This was particularly important against the background of international hostility, Western military intervention and White resistance within the country. Lenin, Stalin and other Bolshevik leaders regarded Russia’s Muslims as potential allies of the revolution, which claimed to defend the interests of all economically dispossessed and socially deprived peoples. In addition to promises to withdraw from the devastating First World War and to redistribute land and wealth, the Bolsheviks offered the country’s Muslim population a commitment to ensuring equality of all ethnic groups in Russia and their right to self-determination. The Bolsheviks portrayed the Russian empire as ‘a prison of peoples’ and skilfully exposed the great Russian chauvinistic policies of the previous regime and of the leaders of the counter-revolutionary White movement, who preached Russian national exclusiveness, Orthodoxy and monarchism. The Bolsheviks emphasized the supra-national, internationalist nature of communist ideology, which arguably was reflected in their multi-ethnic make-up. This message was particularly appealing to the Tatar revolutionaries who constituted the core of the Muslim communists who became agents of Bolshevik influence in the Muslim regions of the former Russian empire (Bennigsen and Wimbush 1979: 87). The first leaders of the Muslim communists were Mulannur Vahitov and Mir Sultan-Galiev, both Tatars. They sincerely believed that Bolshevism was the only solution to the dire socio-economic and national problems of Russia. On the other hand, they recognized the vital need to adjust the Bolshevik programme to the specific needs of Russia’s Muslims. They concluded that Russia’s Muslims should have a separate Islamic Communist Party and special Muslim units within the Russian army, as well as their own representatives in the local administration. Vahitov and Sultan-Galiev were directly involved in the creation of the Communist Party’s first documents on ethnic and Islamic questions, which proclaimed the equality and sovereignty of all peoples of Russia, irrespective of their ethnic and religious origins; the right of Russia’s peoples to free self-determination up to and including secession and the formation of independent states; the abolition of all ethnic and ethno-religious privileges and restrictions; and the free development of the ethnic minorities living on the territory of Russia (Vasiliev 1993: 1–2). In December 1917 the Bolsheviks formed the Commissariat (Ministry) of Nationalities, the Narkomnats, which was headed by Josef Stalin. One of its principal departments was the Muskom (the Muslim Committee) under Vahitov and Sultan-Galiev. After the death of Mulannur Vahitov in 1918, Mir Sultan-Galiev became the undisputed ideologist of the Muslim Communists. In doctrinal terms, Muslim communism presented a fusion of Bolshevism and left-wing jadidism. Thus, Muslim Communists fully

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subscribed to the socio-economic platform of the Bolsheviks, although they maintained allegiance to the jadidist programme on ethnic, religious and cultural issues. In particular, Sultan-Galiev opposed the atheism of the Bolsheviks and believed in the productive compatibility of Islam and socialism on the basis of a number of allegedly common characteristics: social justice, communalism, the priority of group over individual interests, concern for the poor and denunciation of slavery and usury. Like most jadids, Muslim Communists perceived the Tatars as the natural leaders of the various Muslim peoples of Russia, and regarded Kazan as the Islamic capital of Russia and the centre for the export of communism into the Islamic East. However, the pro-Tatar drive of Muslim Communists alienated many non-Tatar Muslim reformers (Landa 1995: 226). In spite of its limitations, Muslim Communism had a profound impact on the Islamic radical movement in Russia and abroad. Of particular importance was the Muslim Communists’ desire to strike a strategic alliance between Bolshevik Russia and oppressed Muslims of Western colonies; a view shared by Leon Trotskii and greeted with enthusiasm by some left-wing Muslims abroad.30 However, Lenin, Stalin and the majority of the Bolshevik establishment continued to regard the working class of the West as the main strategic partner of communist Russia. On the whole, Muslim Communists played an essential role in the Bolsheviks’ initially tolerant and flexible policy towards Islam and Russia’s Muslims. In fact, the Bolshevik campaign for the promotion of atheism – triggered by the Government Decree of 1918 on the Separation of the Church from the State and the School from the Church – targeted primarily the Russian Orthodox Church as the symbol of the Russian monarchy. As for Islam and Muslims, the Party leaders and functionaries tended to refrain from overt anti-Islamic actions and statements (Kirov 1957: 128). As a result, the Bolsheviks succeeded in preventing a nationwide, popular anti-Bolshevik Islamic revolt and its incorporation into the White movement. Moreover, the vast majority of Russia’s Muslims remained neutral during the critical period of the Russian civil war and foreign intervention in Russia in 1918–21; an important factor in the survival of the Bolshevik regime. The Stalinist assault on Islam From the mid-1920s the Bolshevik leadership, having consolidated its rule, began to assert greater pressure for change in the spheres of ethnic relations and religion. The new, less tolerant climate was heralded by the death of Lenin in 1924 and the emphasis placed by the new leader – Josef Stalin – on the rapid construction of ‘socialism in one country’. This, to Stalin’s mind, required rigid centralization and unification of the Soviet state and the eradication of political or intellectual dissent from society. Consequently, those who voiced political disagreement with the regime’s vision of socialist state or nation-building became labelled as ‘left’ or ‘right’ extremists, petit bour-

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geois nationalists or religious obscurantists, and were liable to persecution to the point of physical elimination. The Muslim Communists did not escape the growing ideological intolerance. Sultan-Galiev’s views were described as being of a ‘petit bourgeois nationalist’ orientation and referred to as SultanGalievshchina. In 1923 he was removed from his Party and Government posts and, after a sequence of arrests, in 1940 was executed. Among other high-profile victims of Stalin’s dictatorship were the Crimean Tatar leaders Veli Ibragim, Deren-Ayerli and Umer Ibragimov, who were charged with Crimean nationalism, or Veli-Ibragimovshchina (Vert 1992: 223). The initial post-revolutionary, and relatively liberal, approach towards Islam and Muslims was replaced under Stalin’s leadership by an aggressive policy of the suppression of any manifestation of religious or national identity. The practitioners of this new approach were largely professionally incompetent, albeit obedient, Party functionaries who were selected by Stalin on the grounds of their personal loyalty to him. Their notorious leader was E. Iaroslavskii (real name Miney Gubel’man) who was appointed in 1925 by Stalin as Chair of The Union of Militant Fighters against God. This organization conducted its work under the slogan ‘A war against religion is a war for socialism’, and recruited largely poorly educated, unemployed young people who were attracted by its militant slogans and guaranteed subsistence. As a result, by 1927, in Tatarstan alone, Iaroslavskii’s guard had 2,141 members. By 1931 their number had risen to 16,872. In 1928 the Union opened its first branch in Uzbekistan, although it took it almost a decade to establish itself in Tajikistan. The publishing house Atheist was founded under the auspices of the Union and specialised in anti-religious publications. It also produced anti-religious periodicals, such as the newspaper Bezbozhnik (Godless) and the journal Antireligioznik (Anti-religionist) (Malashenko 1998a: 53). In the late 1920s the Communist Party and the Soviet Government issued a number of directives31 which created the ideological framework for the antiIslamic campaign that was to be conducted through the 1930s. In the course of this campaign about 30,000 Muslim clerics perished, almost all mosques, medresses, mektebs and other Islam-related institutions were destroyed, closed or converted into secular public institutions such as schools, publishing houses, social clubs, kindergartens, factories and warehouses. In some instances these religious buildings were turned into wine refineries and drying-out clinics, which was particularly insulting to Muslim religious sentiments. Thousands of mullahs and other Muslim clerics fled to Afghanistan and Iran. The destruction of the mosques was particularly severe in the Caucasus, which remained the most troublesome zone for the Bolsheviks. By 1930 more than half the mosques in Tatarstan had been destroyed; only 980 mosques remained of 2,223 that had been there in 1917.32 Waqf property was sequestered, shariat courts were closed and the network of religious schools, both traditional and jadidist, practically ceased to exist. Only two out of thousands of medresses remained open; the medresse of Mir-i-Arab in

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Bukhara and the medresse of Imam Ismail al-Bukhari in Tashkent. The publication of most Islamic literature and periodicals was halted. In 1928 the official journals Islam and Diianat (Religion) of the Central Spiritual Board in Ufa were banned. The banning of Islamic books was accompanied by highly publicized book burnings (Hiro 1994: 29). As a result of the anti-Islamic campaign, ‘high’ intellectual Islam, which had flowered from the late eighteenth century and persisted until 1917, was virtually destroyed. Consequently, the religious life of ordinary Muslims became confined to ‘parallel’ Islam, dominated by traditionalism and Sufism. Many distinguished Islamic thinkers were arbitrarily charged with anti-Soviet activity and executed, or sent to the Gulag. In 1937 the Bolsheviks eradicated the so-called Chechen-Ingush nationalist centre and executed its actual and alleged leaders. In the Volga-Urals the anti-religious purges destroyed the Sufi network, which had survived even under the Tsarist regime. However, in the mountainous North Caucasus and in the Ferghana valley in Central Asia Sufism, although seriously undermined, maintained its secret existence. The destruction of mosques, medresses and mektebs disrupted the system of Islamic confessional education which, especially in the case of Tatars and Bashkirs, had ensured the generational transfer of the Islamic way of life despite the Orthodoxy-dominated environment. The replacement of the Arabic alphabet first with the Latin (Yanalif) in 1927–31, and subsequently with Cyrillic in 1937–9, dealt another severe blow to Islamic scholarship in the USSR. This double change cut Soviet Muslims off both from their religious and cultural heritage, and from their co-religionists outside the USSR. Muslim children, like all Soviet children, were taught within the compulsory unified Soviet educational system, a central element of which was atheistic communist indoctrination. They were taught a new Soviet version of their history, defined by class struggle, in which national and religious identities were depicted as insignificant and rudimentary. Those national historic figures that did not fit the class-rooted interpretation of the historical development of Russia were erased from school curriculum and textbooks. The names of many pre-revolutionary Muslim intellectuals, who had rejected the Bolshevik revolution, were not mentioned, while those who had co-operated with the Bolshevik regime were glorified as national heroes. In order to promote a unified and Russified version of the history of non-Slavic peoples of the USSR, Moscow created a network of Research Institutes of History, Languages and Literature in every ethnic union and autonomous republic. These Institutes were important elements in promoting an understanding of the role of the ‘Great Russian people’ in ‘civilizing’ and ‘liberating’ their non-Russian ‘younger brothers’. They were also key instruments in the wider Soviet project of fostering national cultures which were ‘national in form and socialist in content’ and forging a new supra-national entity known as the sovetskii narod (the ‘Soviet People’). Between 1922 and 1936 a long process of territorial and administrative

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reorganization was conducted on the territory of what was to emerge as the USSR. Under the new national-administrative hierarchy the Tatars and Bashkirs, who were among the largest and most politically and culturally advanced Muslim communities of the USSR, were assigned ‘second-class nationality’. This meant that they were granted autonomous status within the Russian Federation. Nomadic Turkmen, Kazaks and Kyrgyz, in contrast, were promoted to ‘first-class nationalities’ and were thus entitled to form their own union republics. Central Asia was divided into five such union republics: Kazakstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. The Azeris also were determined to be ‘a first-class nationality’, while Muslims of the North Caucasus were assigned lower status and granted various forms of autonomy within the Russian Federation. The Crimea became the Crimean Autonomous Republic (Krag and Hansen 1996: 25). The delimitation of the Muslim-populated areas was designed to prevent any ethno-territorial consolidation of different Muslim peoples. The borders between the new administrative units, therefore, were drawn across traditional regional, ethno-religious and clan ties. This created a series of anomalies, especially in the multi-ethnic and poly-confessional Caucasus, which promised to create ethnic tension in the future. Within the union republic of Christian Georgia, for example, the Muslim autonomous republics of Adzhariia and Abkhaziia were established. The autonomous republics of ChechenoIngushetiia, Kabardino-Balkariia and Dagestan, meanwhile, were formed within the Russian Federation. Muslims of Karachaevo-Cherkessiia and Adyghea were entitled only to the status of an autonomous oblast’ (region) within the Stavropol’skii and Krasnodarskii krais (provinces) of the Russian Federation, respectively. Moreover, the administrative borders between these units divided some homogeneous ethnic communities on the one hand, while artificially unifying ethnically and linguistically distinct ethnic groups, on the other. Thus, the mountainous people of Kabarda, who were Adyghs, were united with the Balkars – a Turkic people – within the single republic of Kabardino-Balkariia. Similarly, the Turkic people of Karachai, who were linguistically and culturally close to the Balkars, were united not with them, but with the mountainous Cherkess, who were Adyghs. Thus, despite the apparent consolidation of Soviet power in the North Caucasus during this period, the region, especially Chechnia, remained problematic for the Soviet government throughout the 1930s, and the Caucasian war rumbled on until 1940. A central element of Stalinist social engineering was the creation of a loyal national elite. To this end, in the late 1930s, Moscow replaced most regional Party and government leaders – who belonged to the revolutionary generation – with a new generation of administrative personnel. These individuals were generally poorly educated but ideologically committed and thus more disciplined and obedient to Moscow. This cadre shake-up was conducted within the framework of the Communist Party’s policy of korenizatsiia (nativization). The Tatars, who historically had

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dominated the intellectual and political elite of Russia’s Muslims, suffered particularly badly from this policy. However, their best representatives were destroyed during the campaigns against Sultan-Galievshchina and VeliIbragimovshchina and Stalin’s particular distrust of Tatars and Bashkirs meant that top Party and government positions in the Tatar and Bashkir autonomous republics were more likely to be given to Russians than in other Muslim republics of the USSR. Thus, in these autonomous republics, it was not until the mid-1950s that korenizatsiia reached beyond the second and third tiers of government (Martin 1996: 63–150). In Central Asia and the North Caucasus, where clan and ethno-religious loyalties remained prevalent, Moscow’s policy of korenizatsiia was selective and targeted those clans or ethnic groups that had been politically and economically disadvantaged before the October Revolution. This policy was premised on the assumption that, in return for support from the centre, the new appointees would ensure the loyalty of their republics to Moscow. Hence, the Soviet central leadership promoted: representatives of the Greater Horde in Kazakstan; members of the Ferghana, Samarkand, Bukhara and Tashkent clans in Uzbekistan; the representatives of the Charjou tribes in Turkmenistan; representatives of Khodzhent and Kuliab regions in Tajikistan; and in Kyrgyzstan, members of the northern tribal groups of Osh. In Dagestan, Moscow favoured the Avars, in KabardinoBalkariia, the Kabardinians and in Karachaevo-Cherkessiia, the Cherkess. However, Moscow’s reliance on the traditional social network in the North Caucasus and Central Asia effectively enhanced clan solidarity there and exacerbated the existing social and economic discrepancy between Moscow and republican governments. Consequently, the Soviet system succeeded only in camouflaging continued loyalty to primordial social structures and the republican leadership, though it formally complied with Moscow’s political and ideological requirements, treated the centre as an alien entity that was secondary to the interests of the local community (Ro’i 2000: 550–606). The impact of Stalinism for the bulk of the Muslim population is as difficult to evaluate as it is for the rest of the Soviet population, and just as profoundly ambivalent. Soviet Muslims suffered immensely from the brutal process of kollektivizatsia (collectivization of agricultural land) and from the enemy-seeking hysteria that characterized the politics of the time. However, the Muslim population of the USSR also benefited from social and economic modernization including the introduction of universal, modern systems of education and health care. The precise correlation between gains and losses of Sovietization for Soviet Muslims, therefore, differs for each Muslim community, if not each family and individual. The Soviet umma during and after the Great Patriotic War The Second World War, which became the Great Patriotic War of the Soviet people against German aggression (1941–5), presented a serious challenge to

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Russian–Muslim relations within the USSR. Hitler regarded Soviet Muslims as a potential fifth column within Soviet society and they were promised political independence if they agreed to collaborate with the invaders. Stalin responded to such German propaganda by promoting a supra-national Soviet patriotism and appealing to the religious feelings of the poly-confessional population of the USSR. This was accompanied by a relaxation in the Government’s national and religious policies and Islamic clerics, as well as leaders of the Russian Orthodox Church, were co-opted into the Soviet establishment in order to harness the patriotic sentiments of believers. The new religious policy included the dissolution of the infamous Union of Atheists, a deceleration of the purges against the Muslim intelligentsia and the relaxation of the prohibition of some religious activities and practices. In 1943 Gabdrahman Rasulev, the Muftii of Ufa, reached agreement with Stalin on the institutionalization of Islam in the Soviet Union. There followed the formation of three Muftiiats, in addition to the one in Ufa that administered the Sunni Muslims in the European part of the USSR. Among the new Muftiiats were the Muftiiat of the North Caucasus, based in the city of Buinaks in Dagestan, which was to administer the Sunni Muslims of the Caucasus, and a new Muftiiat based in Baku to oversee the Shi’a Muslims of the Caucasus. The third, and most influential, new Muftiiat was established in Tashkent and administered the Sunni Muslim population of Central Asia and Kazakstan. The famous medresse of Mir-i-Arab was reopened in Bukhara. In May 1944, Stalin formed a special department within the Soviet Government, the Council for the Affairs of Religious Cults (CARC), invested with the task of liaising between the Soviet State and the Muslim community, and the following year the government began to allow greater financial independence to various Muslim organizations (Ro’i 2000: 11–55). The patriotic propaganda together with the pro-Islamic concessions of Stalin’s government largely succeeded in their aims; the loyalty of the bulk of Soviet Muslims was strengthened and any rapprochement with the Germans prevented. The Muftiiats played an important propagandist role and called for a jihad against German aggression. They also organized the collection of money and aid for the Red Army, which enabled the formation of an entire tank column. During the war many thousands of ordinary Muslims fought side by side with their non-Muslim compatriots. Indeed, despite the historically difficult relations between Russia and the North Caucasus, the latter produced the largest number of heroes of the USSR per capita of the population (Hiro 1994: 33). Nevertheless, some Muslim nationalists in the North Caucasus and Crimea responded positively to German propaganda, and in these individual cases the political disloyalty provoked a disproportionately harsh reaction from Moscow. In 1944 all ethnic Chechens, Ingush, Balkars, Karachais, Khamshils, Kurds, Meskhetian Turks, Greeks, Bulgarians, Germans and Crimean Tatars were arbitrarily, and collectively, accused of collaboration with the Germans and overnight deported to Siberia, Kazakstan and Central Asia. Many of the deportees

48 Galina Yemelianova did not survive the journey, or died of hunger and disease upon arrival. As a result, the Chechen population alone was reduced by almost one-third. The forceful resettlement of whole ethnic groups was accompanied by the redrawing of administrative borders, which further aggravated already problematic relations between neighbouring peoples, especially in the North Caucasus. In March 1944 the Checheno-Ingush Autonomous Republic was liquidated and its territory allocated to the adjacent autonomies and regions of the Russian Federation (Flemming 1998; Avtorkhanov 1992). In June 1945 the Crimean Tatar Autonomous Republic was transformed into the Crimean oblast’ of the Russian Federation (and, subsequently, in 1954, transferred to the jurisdiction of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic by Khrushchev). The mass deportations and administrative change strained the relationship between Stalin’s regime and individual Muslim peoples, although they did not seriously damage everyday social relations between Muslims and other peoples of the Soviet Union. Indeed, Islamic faith was not the key factor for the Stalinist repression; among the deportees were non-Muslim peoples, such as the Volga Germans. Moreover, the deportations did not evoke strong feelings of Islamic solidarity in the Islamic umma of the USSR over and above the solidarity between peoples of various ethnic and religious backgrounds who had been unfairly persecuted by the regime. Moreover numerous cases of personal involvement by representatives of certain Muslim ethnic groups in instigating the deportation of rival Muslim ethnic groups have come to light. Thus, according to reliable sources, some Kabarda Party and government functionaries facilitated the deportation of Balkars, while some Dagestani apparatchiks aided the deportation of Akkin Chechens from Aukhovskii raion (district) of Dagestan.33 Some Muslim ethnic groups benefited directly from the deportations of their Muslim neighbours. In the aftermath of the deportation of Chechens and Ingush, for example, six raions of Checheno-Ingushetiia were transferred to Dagestan. In Dagestan the land and property of the Akkin Chechens from Aukhovskii raion was distributed among Laks and Avars and the district was renamed Novolakskii raion. In the 1950s, most of the deported Muslims were rehabilitated and the autonomous republic of Checheno-Ingushetiia was restored, although some of its territory remained within the borders of the neighbouring autonomies of Northern Ossetiia and Dagestan. The deportation of individual Islamic peoples of the USSR, did not seriously damage relations between the Soviet state and its Muslim subjects as a whole, not least because the deportations were conducted without the knowledge of the wider Muslim public. At the same time, the hardships of war and the country-wide conscription helped erode existing divisions between the largely Russian European part of the USSR and its Islamic periphery. The war accelerated interaction between Muslims and Russians, as well as other ethnic groups in the country. Hundreds of thousands of Soviet Muslims fought side by side with Russians, Ukrainians and other

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non-Muslims and the transfer of hundreds of factories from the frontline zone to the Muslim periphery boosted the industrial development of the latter (Hiro 1994: 33–4). The war thus had a powerful unifying impact on the whole Soviet population and, it could be argued, after the Second World War, the Soviet identity of a number of Muslim peoples of the USSR took precedence over their religious and ethnic solidarity with their brethren abroad. Soviet Islam in the post-Stalin ‘thaw’ Stalin died on 5 March 1953. The need of the Soviet system to periodically ‘cleanse’ itself from internal and external ‘enemies’ of the Soviet people survived him, however. By the mid-1950s, Soviet society was once again engulfed in enemy-seeking hysteria that targeted free-thinking Muslims, Jews and other non-Russians, as well as ‘misguided Russians’. The Soviet leadership feared that any religious revival among the Soviet people, such as had occurred during the war, could potentially challenge official communist ideology, and thus the Communist Party adopted a series of resolutions that sought to eradicate religiosity completely among the Soviet people and to ‘emancipate’ various national cultures from religion. As part of this new policy, tough restrictions on the social, educational and cultural activities of religious institutions and societies were introduced. Muslims were prohibited from opening new mosques, medresses and mektebs. Moreover, the Soviet authorities, like their Tsarist predecessors, encouraged the incorporation of pre-Islamic customs into ‘socialist national cultures’, and the removal from these cultures of their Islamic components (Ro’i 2000: 203–5). In parallel with the propaganda assault on popular Islam, the Soviet authorities continued to foster official Soviet Islam controlled by the Muftiis. In 1948, the Soviet government recognized the leading role of the Sredne-Aziatskoe Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man (Spiritual Board of Muslims of Central Asia, Tashkent, hereafter referred to as the SADUM) in the Soviet umma. The other three Muftiiats in Ufa, Baku and Buinaksk were subordinated to it, and it was given the exclusive right to grant permission for the opening of new mosques. The SADUM administered higher Islamic education, provided by the qadimist medresse of Mir-i-Arab in Bukhara and the medresse of Imam Ismail al-Bukhari in Tashkent. All four Muftiiats controlled officially registered mullahs and Imams. By the mid-1950s there were about 400 registered mosques in the country. The Muftiiats were infiltrated by KGB agents and were controlled by the government Council for the Affairs of Religious Cults. Indeed, many representatives of Islamic officialdom regarded their religious careers as a means of acquiring the material and social benefits of the Soviet system (Ro’i 2000: 60–1; Landa 1995: 239). The postwar shift of the centre of Soviet Islamic officialdom from Ufa to Tashkent and its further institutionalization widened the gap between official Islam and its unofficial, popular counterpart. While the former was

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integrated within the Soviet political establishment, the latter became the dominant form of Islam regulating the everyday life of Muslim communities, especially in rural areas. Nonetheless, at the informal level, links between official and unofficial Islam were never severed. The ability of Islam to function without a religious infrastructure and clerics meant that it, albeit in its popular form, survived the Soviet period more successfully than did Orthodox Christianity. The Bolsheviks’ destruction of mosques and the Muslim clergy did not undermine the Islamic faith and way of life among Muslims of the USSR, particularly in the rural parts of Central Asia and the North Caucasus. However, the official suppression, as well as the lengthy isolation of Soviet Muslims from their co-religionists abroad, did act to exaggerate the specific characteristics of Soviet Islam, which was overloaded with pre-Islamic and adat beliefs and norms. In some Muslim-populated regions of the USSR, for example, the pantheon of spirits, sprites, goblins, animals, heroes, princes and princesses as well as old ‘sages’ and poet-lyrical singers remained important parts of the belief system. Their tombs were places of great veneration and miracles, destinations for pilgrimage and seasonal reunions. The religious practice of adepts of various forms of Soviet popular Islam differed significantly from the basic requirements of Islam. Due to official restrictions, the majority of Soviet Muslims could not observe all five pillars of Islam: shahada (affirmation of faith); salat (five daily prayers); hajj (religious pilgrimage), zakat (almsgiving) and saum (fasting). Only the shahada was universally followed. About 30 per cent of Soviet Muslims conducted daily prayers and fasted during the month of Ramadan. The majority of Soviet Muslims continued to observe sunnet (circumcision) and to follow Islamic norms for weddings, divorces and funerals. During the fasting period, and other Islamic festivals, many Soviet Muslims, especially in rural parts of Central Asia, tended to avoid public places and complied with Muslim dietary norms. Regular prayers were observed by a relatively small number of believers, however; mainly elderly people in the rural areas who prayed either at home or in disguised local mosques. The hajj was practically impossible for the vast majority of Soviet Muslims (Ro’i 2000: 468–508). The centres of popular Islam were Sufi shrines and underground mosques, which were disguised as clubs, chaikhanes (tea-rooms), bakeries or other non-religious public places. Inside they had a disguised qibla (direction towards Mecca) and a mihrab (a niche in the wall directed towards Mecca). In the eastern part of the North Caucasus and the Ferghana Valley in Central Asia practically every village had at least one unofficial mosque and, in general, the number of unofficial mosques greatly exceeded the number of registered ones. For example, in the 1970s in Checheno-Ingushetiia, alongside five official mosques there functioned 292 unofficial ones. In Central Asia 230 registered mosques co-existed with at least 1,800 unofficial mosques. Unofficial mosques, as well as Sufi Islamic shrines, were guarded by mullahs, pirs, sheikhs, ishans and khojas (reputed descendants of the

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Arab conquerors of Central Asia) who conducted the major Islamic family rituals such as marriages, divorces, name-givings to the newly born, circumcisions, funerals and so on. A special position among rural Muslim women was accorded to highly respected older women: abystais, bibiotuns or otynchis. In the rural areas of the Volga-Urals there were also itinerant mullahs who were not attached to a particular mosque, but were venerated for their allegedly virtuous life and the ability to conduct essential Islamic rituals and to resolve disputes. Some of them were Sufis. Most of these unofficial Islamic authorities were self-educated and often knew only the basics of Islam. Nevertheless, they often commanded higher moral authority than the representatives of official Islam (Rorlich 1991: 188). In spite of decades of purges, which had destroyed the bulk of the Islamic intellectual elite, underground centres of ‘high’ Islam were maintained in the mountains of the North Caucasus and in the Ferghana Valley. The Institutes of Philosophy, History, Literature and Oriental Studies, as well as departments of the Academies and Universities in the Soviet Muslim republics, also acted as repositories of Islamic heritage and secured transmission of the Islamic intellectual tradition. The specialists who worked there collected and analyzed medieval Islamic texts and produced scholarly works on Islamic history and philosophy. The obligatory atheistic formulae of those works did not affect their scholarly significance. Some academics in these institutions came from respected ulema dynasties and outshone registered and unofficial mullahs, sheikhs and ishans in their knowledge of Arabic, medieval sources and the classical Islamic sciences. Furthermore, they continued to secretly fulfil many functions of the ulema (Niyazi 1999: 185). Muslims in late Soviet period In the mid-1960s, Islam acquired new momentum, triggered by the Communist Party’s assessment of Soviet reality as ‘mature socialism’, which allegedly was immune from any anti-communist ideologies of a religious or nationalist nature. It was assumed that Islam, and its clerics, had been fully integrated within the Soviet system and had therefore ceased to constitute a danger to the communist regime. The SADUM and other Muftiiats were allowed greater freedom in educational and publishing matters. However, collaboration between the Soviet regime and the Islamic establishment concealed its continuing internal tensions derived from an irreconcilable conflict between atheism and Islam. Despite their public displays of loyalty and conformity, official Islamic clerics retained their primary allegiance to Islam. Significantly, they had never been accused of shirk (heresy), kufr (non-belief), or even bid’a (sinful innovation) by Muslim spiritual authorities abroad. The registered Islamic clerics thus maintained their relatively high position in the unofficial traditional hierarchy, which either had precedence over, or coincided with, the official Party and Soviet hierarchy. Thus, in the Ferghana Valley and in many parts of the North Caucasus the Soviet

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and Communist Party structures converged with traditional social networks and hierarchies and produced a specific Sovietized version of Islamic traditionalism. Communist and Soviet camouflage simply disguised the traditional mechanism for the distribution of power, which was based on an unwritten contract between traditional leaders, who continued to regard Islam and adat as essential individual and social moral regulators (Ro’i 2000: 551–2). The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan following the Marxist coup of 1978 was portrayed as evidence of harmonious relations between the Soviet regime and the Islamic periphery of the USSR. However, compared to the Great Patriotic War, when most Soviet Islamic authorities and ordinary Muslims supported the Soviet authorities, their reaction towards the Soviet involvement in Afghanistan was negative. This was evident in the passivity and inefficiency in combat of a substantial number of Soviet Muslim soldiers involved in Afghanistan; some Soviet Muslims, especially those from Central Asia, changed sides to join the mujahedin (Islamic fighters) from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Algeria, Egypt, Yemen, Sudan and other Islamic countries fighting the Soviet troops. The war in Afghanistan thus catalysed the Soviet umma into greater political engagement. The Soviet government responded to the rise in religious and political activity among Soviet Muslims by tightening its control over them. In the early 1980s the Communist Party adopted documents34 which encouraged the country’s leading organs to reinforce atheistic propaganda targeting the Islamic community and to buttress efforts against violation of the legislation on religion by either government officials or clerics. The ascendance to power in 1985 of the reform-minded Mikhail Gorbachev did not alter the tough official stance on Islam. Furthermore, the liberalization of Soviet society under perestroika took place in parallel with an escalation of the anti-Islamic campaign, which was aimed primarily against secret, parallel Islam. A number of Communist Party and Komsomol members were accused of secret Islamic religiosity and prosecuted. This resulted in the authorities taking measures towards the further Russification of personnel in administration and education in the Muslim regions of the USSR (Ro’i 2000: 155–83). The USSR’s military disaster, followed by the withdrawal of its troops from Afghanistan in 1989, revealed the weaknesses of the Soviet army and state to the world at large. At home, the Soviet state had already embarked on a path of internal implosion as Gorbachev’s attempt at controlled transfer of power from the Communist Party to elected parliamentary bodies made plain to all, bar the Soviet leader himself, the logical consequences of the removal of the Party’s ‘monopoly on truth’. In the course of the accompanying ‘spontaneous democratization’ there emerged a group of so-called ‘young Imams’, graduates of Central Asian medresses, who criticized the ‘old Imams’ for their passivity, theological ambivalence, low moral standards and conformity with the Soviet establishment. They began a

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campaign for the restoration of the Islamic infrastructure on the pre-revolutionary scale, and for a wider involvement of Soviet Muslims in social and political life. Among the leaders of these ‘young Imams’ were Muftiis Talgat Tadjuddinov and Muhammad Sadiq Muhammad Yusuf. Talgat Tadjuddinov had become the head of the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Evropeiskoi Chasti Rossii i Sibiri (the Spiritual Board of Muslims of European Russia and Siberia, hereafter referred to as the DUMES) in Ufa in 1980, while Muhammad Sadiq Yusuf was appointed to lead the SADUM in Tashkent in 1989. The ailing Soviet authorities were forced to give in to the pressure from the ‘young Imams’. This state of affairs was reflected in a series of concessions made in 1989 including permitting: the formation of several dozen new mosques in various Muslim regions of the USSR; the reprinting of the Russian translation of the Koran of 1963; the return to the SADUM of an invaluable original copy of the Koran which had been confiscated by Tsarist troops during the conquest of Central Asia in the nineteenth century; and the distribution of 1.5 million copies of the Koran, freely supplied by the Saudi government among Soviet Muslims (Atkin 1992: 59). In September 1990 the USSR’s Supreme Soviet (the Parliament) adopted a new liberal law on religion. This law prohibited persecution on religious grounds, guaranteed freedom of conscience and allowed various forms of religious activities. The law stimulated an Islamic revival and the number of people who confessed their Islamic faith rose overnight; from 10–12 per cent to over 50 percent. A third of those who identified themselves as Muslims were young people. Soviet Muslims began to enjoy the legal right to observe Islamic devotions, including hajj, to openly celebrate Islamic holidays and to conduct Islamic marriage and funeral ceremonies, as well as those marking the ritual of sunnet, the celebration of Kurban-Bayram (the feast of sacrifice), the fasting during the month of Ramadan and the feast following it. Islamic regions of the USSR witnessed an Islamic building boom. New mosques, medresses, Islamic colleges, universities and academies were constructed and a network of Arabic courses opened. By 1990 there were already 1,330 registered mosques in the USSR and 94 mosques in Russia. The number of medresse students rose to several hundred. In 1990 an Islamic University was opened in Dushanbe, Tajikistan headed by qazikolon (chief Islamic cleric) Akbar Kahharov. Islamic programmes appeared on television and radio. The Islamic renaissance was accompanied by democratization and decentralization of the Islamic administration. In the summer of 1991 Kazak and Kyrgyz ‘young Imams’ split from the Uzbek-dominated SADUM and established separate Kazak and Kyrgyz Muftiiats. An important feature of the Islamic revival was the emergence of Islamic political organizations and parties. The most influential among them was the Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia (the Islamic Renaissance Party, hereafter referred to as the IPV), which was formed in June 1990 in Astrakhan. In August 1990 a branch of the IPV was established in Tajikistan. The Party

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emphasized its peaceful character and advocated a gradual re-Islamization of historically Muslim regions of the USSR, the promotion of Islamic family ethics and the protection of the environment. In political terms, therefore, the IPV was loyal to the existing Soviet regime and did not seek the establishment of an Islamic state. By contrast, the Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia Turkestana (the Islamic Democratic Party of Turkestan, hereafter referred to as the IDPT), which was formed in August 1990 in Uzbekistan, adhered to political radicalism. It overtly challenged the existing communist regime and sought the secession of a unified Islamic state of Central Asia from the USSR. The IDPT’s leader was Dadakhan Hassanov, an Uzbek musician. Among other Islamic radicals were Islamic fundamentalists, called salafiyin (proponents of a pure Islam of the ancestors) and Wahhabis, who had strong external connections with co-religionists in Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, Pakistan and other neighbouring Islamic countries.35 Both advocated a full-fledged Islamization of Central Asian society and the restoration of the Islamic Caliphate there. The Wahhabis challenged the teachings of local ulema and insisted on independent judgement in matters of religion. They called for a ‘purification’ of Islam from degrading accretions and a return to the true Islam of Prophet Muhammad and the righteous Caliphs (Rahman 1968: 243).

Islam after the end of communism As a result of the disintegration of the Soviet state in December 1991, the 70 million Muslims – about a quarter of the total population – of the USSR found themselves in separate political entities represented by the newly independent states of Russia, Azerbaijan, Kazakstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, as well as other former Soviet republics with Muslim minorities. Russia’s Muslims, who numbered about fifteen million, became instantly segregated from their more numerous co-religionists in Central Asia and the Transcaucasus and transformed into Russia’s main religious minority. Nevertheless, during the first years of Boris Yeltsin’s presidency Russia’s Muslim enclaves in the Volga-Urals and the North Caucasus continued to enjoy the Islamic renaissance that had begun in the late 1980s. Its most noticeable indicators were the emergence of new mosques and medresses, the increase in the number of hajjees to Mecca and Medina and the Islamic publishing boom. Post-atheistic Islamic renaissance In the 1980s there were only 179 functioning mosques in Russia. These were affiliated either to the DUMES, based in Ufa, or the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Severnogo Kavkaza (the Spiritual Board of Muslims of the North Caucasus, hereafter referred to as the DUMSK) in Makhachkala (since 1974). By 1998 there were already over 5,500 registered mosques in

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Russia, of which about 2,000 were in Chechnia, 1,670 were in Dagestan, around 1,000 were in Tatarstan and 400 were in Ingushetiia. The rapid increase in the number of mosques was accompanied by a similar rise in the number of Islamic clergy. Thus, in Tatarstan, where there were only thirty Muslim religious figures in the late 1980s, a decade later there were about 5,000 Muslim clerics of various ranks. Similarly, in the 1980s in Russia there was only one medresse at the level of secondary Islamic education in Ufa and no higher Islamic schools at all. Russia’s Muslim clerics received higher religious education in the medresses of Bukhara and Tashkent. By 1998 there were 106 religious schools and fifty-one registered religious centres and societies providing basic Islamic education. In Dagestan alone, nine Islamic institutes, including three Islamic universities, twenty-five medresses, 670 mektebs and eleven Islamic cultural and charity centres were opened. Over 200,000 Dagestanis, or almost one Dagestani in five, was involved in some form of Islamic education including about 1,500 Dagestanis studying in various Islamic institutes and universities abroad (in Turkey, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Syria and Egypt). Apart from special Islamic schools the study of Islam and the shariat has been increasingly introduced into the curriculum of comprehensive schools in densely Muslim-populated regions of Russia. The hajj, which used to be a luxury restricted to just a handful of carefully screened individuals, became accessible for ordinary Muslims. Each year about 20,000 Russian Muslims undertake a hajj, over half of whom come from Dagestan. The hajj has enhanced the contacts between Russia’s Muslims and their foreign co-religionists. Russia witnessed the mushrooming of Islamic publications and periodicals, as well as the proliferation of Islamic literature and audio and video materials produced in Turkey, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Great Britain and other foreign countries. The publishing houses of Santlada and Badr in Moscow and the Iman Publishers in Kazan have become Russia’s leading specialized Islamic publishing houses.36 Political liberalization also brought with it a relaxation of border controls and thus opened Russia’s Muslim regions to foreign Islamic activities. A number of foreign Islamic foundations and organizations opened offices in Russia. The main official provider of such assistance, which came under the banner of da’awa (summon to Islam), was King Fahd of Saudi Arabia, who regularly subsidized an annual hajj of Russia’s Muslims. He also sponsored dozens of scholarships for those who wanted to study in Islamic universities and colleges in Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Jordan, Syria, Libya, Kuwait, the UAE and Malaysia, and subsidized the free distribution of Korans and other Islamic literature in various Islamic communities of Russia. Alongside the construction and staffing of mosques and medresses, foreign Islamic sponsors invested heavily in the proselytising conducted by Islamic missionaries and the organization of various Islamic training camps and courses.37 Yet another ambiguous consequence of Gorbachev’s democratization was the emergence and proliferation of a number of Islamic political parties

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and organizations and the engagement of Islam with politics in Russia. Some of those organizations claimed to represent Muslims from across the whole of Russia, others confined their activities to a particular region, an autonomous republic, or even a single city, town or village. Those with nationwide status were, for example, the IPV, the Islamic public movement Nur (Light), the Soiuz Musul’man Rossii (Union of Muslims of Russia, hereafter referred to as the SMR), the Islamskii Kul’turnii Tsentr (the Islamic Cultural Centre, hereafter referred to as the IKTs) and the movement Refah (Prosperity). Among more or less significant regional Islamic organizations were: the Islamic public movement Musul’mane Rossii (Muslims of Russia), which had some following in the Middle Volga primarily in Saratov and Penza regions; the party of Ittifaq (Union) and the movement Musul’mane Tatarstana (Muslims of Tatarstan), both in Tatarstan; the Islamic organization Islamiyya and the Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia Dagestana (the Islamic Democratic Party, hereafter referred to as the IDP); the Islamskaia Partiia Dagestana (the Islamic Party of Dagestan, hereafter referred to as the IPD), all based in Makhachkala, and the Chechen parties Islamskaia Natsiia (Islamic Nation) and Islamskii Put’ (Islamic Path).38 Despite the claims of their leaders to represent Russia’s entire umma, most of these parities and movements were de facto relatively closed associations of intellectuals, or political adventurers. So far, none of them, with the exception of Chechen Islamic organizations, has managed to attract a wide Islamic public and their activity has coincided largely with federal or regional elections. Their political programmes have lacked clarity and tended towards abstract theorization, utopian aspirations and doctrinal confusion.

Conclusion Islam has played an important, albeit indirect, role in shaping Russian history. Today the indigenous nature of Islam in Russia is one of the more tangible cultural factors binding Russian society to ‘the East’ and differentiating it from western European societies. Until the seventeenth century Russia’s social development was determined by its Asian, Genghizid legacy, an important component of which was Islam. Russia’s Westernization ‘from above’ in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, although ensuring the country’s technological and military advance, did not seriously undermine the traditional, Eurasian, make-up of Russian society. The Bolshevik revolution of 1917 had a more profound impact on Russian society and culture. This was because the Bolsheviks were finally able to bridge the gap between rulers and ruled and successfully mobilize large sections of society, including its Muslim part, which had hitherto been disengaged from the state. The Bolshevik theory, and partial implementation, of Muslim Communism, which emphasized the affinity between the umma and communism, played a significant role in the advance of Bolshevism in the Muslim regions of the

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former Soviet empire. Even the kolkhoz system was accommodated within traditional social networks of rural Muslim communities. Thus despite the anti-religious campaigns and persecution of Muslim clerics and thinkers from the late 1920s onwards, the Muslim regions at large hung on to the Soviet and Communist Party structures longer than other parts of the former USSR. The collapse of communism and the break-up of the USSR separated the 15 million Muslims in Russia from their more numerous co-religionists in Central Asia and had a twofold impact on the Russian umma. On the positive side, it facilitated the Islamic and Islamic-national revival that had begun under the late Gorbachev government. At the same time, however, Moscow’s effective political and economic withdrawal from Russia’s Muslim periphery encouraged the greater sovereignization of the latter and its increasing engagement with the Islamic East. This had significant positive benefits for the development of Islam. Russia’s Muslims experienced an unprecedented Islamic revival including extensive construction of mosques and other Islamic institutions, an Islamic publishing boom, the opportunity to openly observe Islamic devotion, including hajj, and to celebrate Islamic holidays and conduct and participate in major Islamic festivals. But Russia’s Islamic enclaves were also subjected to intense political, ideological and economic activities on the part of the official and non-official representatives of Turkey and Iran, as well as Saudi Arabia, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Among the implications of such foreign involvement was the proliferation of non-traditional forms of Islam, especially those of a fundamentalist type. The advance of Islamic fundamentalism, known as Salafism and Wahhabism, aggravated the situation within local Muslim communities, dividing them along doctrinal lines – the proponents of local traditional Islam versus advocates of Salafism. In Dagestan and Chechnia, the conflict between Islamic traditionalists and fundamentalists escalated into military confrontation. In the mid-1990s the Kremlin changed its regional policy and began to pursue the restoration of a de facto unitarist Russian state and the administrative and military suppression of regional irredentism of a nationalist and religious nature. Moscow’s new approach manifested itself in two Russian–Chechen wars. The latter have been accompanied by growing official and popular Islamophobia in Russia, which has threatened to undermine the lengthy traditions of positive co-habitation between Russians and Muslims. The Russian leadership thus has yet to generate a coherent national and religious policy capable of shaping a framework for Russia’s future development as an ethnically and confessionally pluralistic state.

Notes 1 For a fuller elaboration of the arguments set out in this chapter, see Yemelianova (2002).

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2 The literature on the relationship between Islam and the West is too extensive to list fully. Some of the key texts on the subject include: Hitti (1962); Daniel (1975); Said (1978); Mayer (1991); Hourani (1991); Lewis (1993); Halliday (1996); Munoz (1999). 3 Here the term ‘proto-Russians’ is applied to the Eastern Slavic tribes of Poliane, Severiane, Viatichi, Radimichi, Dragovichi, Il’men and Krivichi, which in the eleventh–thirteenth centuries made up the core of the Russian ethnic group that subsequently evolved into the Russian nation (Kluchevskii 1956: 143). 4 The Russian Eurasianist thinkers Trubetskoi and Berdaiev identified the eastern neighbours of proto-Russians as Turans and divided them into five groups: Finno-Ugric people (Ests, Karels, Finns, Lopars, Mordva, Cheremis, Permian Finns, Ugors, Meria, Muroma and Meshera); Samoeds; Turkic people comprising Turks, Tatars, Mesheriaks, Teptiars, Balkars, Kumyks, Bashkirs, Kyrgyz-Kaisaks, Kara-Kyrgyz, Turkmen, Uzbeks, Altais, Yakuts, Chuvash, Khazars, Bulgars, Kipchaks, Uyghurs; Mongols; and Manjurs (Trubetskoi 1997: 9, 25). 5 Zoroastrianism is a monotheistic religion founded by Zoroaster (Zarathustra) in the sixth century BC . It is based on the belief in the final victory of absolute virtue over its antipode, absolute evil. Nestorianism is an early Christian doctrine, named after Nestorius, patriarch of Constantinople (AD 428–31). It states that Jesus Christ was born human and became the son of God later in his life. Manichaeism is a dualistic religious system founded by Manes (AD 216–70) according to which the basis for existence lies in the struggle between virtue and evil, light and darkness. 6 The etymology of the name ‘Rus’ remains unclear. Some scholars consider ‘Rus’ to be the original name of one of the Eastern Slavic tribes living along the banks of the river ‘Rus’ in the vicinity of Kiev long before the arrival of the Varangians. Other researchers argue that ‘Rus’ was the name of the Varangian military and civil aristocracy. For a more detailed discussion of this see Kluchevskii (1956: 143, 152); Tikhomirov (1947: 62). 7 The Khanate of Kasimov is named after Kasim ben Ulug Muhammad, a rebellious son of the Khan of the Golden Horde who, in 1446, joined the Moscow kniaz Vasilii II (1425–62) against his father. Vasilii II rewarded him with land and the town of Gorodets-Mesherskii on the Oka river. The town was renamed Kasimov and became the capital of the Kasimov Khanate. 8 Scholars are divided over the origins of the term sufism, or at-tasawwuf. Some derive it from the Arab word safawa (to be pure), some from the Greek word sophia (wisdom), and yet others from the Arab word suf (coarse wool) used to make the gowns of ascetic-hermits. Sufism represents the mystical side of Islam and developed parallel to mainstream Islam. Sufis believe that Sufism is a higher form of Islam. For a more detailed discussion of Sufism, see Yemelianova (2001). 9 In the seventeenth century a small group of Ossetians, known as the Digors, converted to Islam (Bennigsen and Wimbush 1985: 159). 10 For a more detailed discussion of Sufism in Dagestan, see Chapter 3. 11 The Mujaddidi branch of the Naqshbandiyya derives from Sheikh Ahmad Sirhindi al-Mujaddid (died in 1624). 12 For a more detailed discussion of Kunta-Haji, see Akaev (1994). 13 Since in 1991 Kazakstan and Central Asia, which comprised the republics of Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kyrgyzstan and Turkmenistan, acquired political independence from Russia, its detailed analysis has not been included in this book. For more on Central Asian history see Olcott (1987: 3–27); Allworth (1994: 10); Bennigsen and Lemercier-Quelquejay (1967: 7).

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14 Among noted Tatar jadids were the Islamic reformers Musa Bigi, Ziauddin Kamali, Ubaidulla Bubi, Jarullah Bigi, Rizaeddin Fahreddin, Galimjan Galeev and Zaki Kadiri. 15 For a more detailed discussion of jadidism, see Iskhakov (1996: 22), Lazzerini (1973) and Rorlich (1986: 49). 16 Among them were Ismail Gasprinskii, Yusuf Akchura, Sayid Alkin, Burgan Sharaf, Hadi and Sadri Maksudi and Jemal Validi. 17 On jadidism in Central Asia see Khalid (1998). 18 The Konstitutsionno-Demokraticheskaia Partiia (Kadet Party, or ConstitutionalDemocratic Party, 1905–17) was the major political party of the Russian liberal opposition. It opposed violence and favoured a peaceful liberalization and democratization of the Russian state under a constitutional monarchy. 19 The Ittifaq Party represented the Muslim (mainly Tatar) intellectual and financial elite, who, like the Kadets, favoured a liberal transformation of the Russian empire into a modern, democratic, civic nation. 20 In the first Duma (April–July 1906) Muslims gained 25 seats; in the second Duma (February–June 1907) 35 seats; in the third Duma (1907–8) ten seats; and the fourth Duma (November 1912–February 1917) seven seats. Among the most eloquent Muslim Duma Deputies were Sadri Maksudi, Yusuf Akchura, Hadi Maksudi, S. Alkin, F. Tukhtarov, Sh. Muhammediarov, Abdurreshid Mehdi, Shahaidar Sirtlanov, I. Akhtiamov, A. Topchibashev, K. Khasanov and the Dagestanis Magomed Dalgat, Ahmed Bey Tsalikov and Zubair Temirkhanov (Gosudarstvennaia Duma 1910: 1992–3 ). 21 Among these periodicals were Yulduz (Star), Vatan Hadimi (Servant of the Motherland), Idil’ (Volga), Iktisad (Economist), Kazan Mukhbire (Kazan Messenger), Shuro (Council), Vakt (Times), Yalt-Yurt (Lightening), Chukuch (Hammer), Magarif (Knowledge), Din va Adab (Religion and Ethics), Bayan-ulKhaqq (Exposition of Truth), Din va Maghishat (Religion and Life), al-Jarida al-Dagestaniyya (Dagestani Newspaper), al-Islah (Reform), Tudjor (Dawn) and Bukhara-yi Sharif (Bukhara the Noble). 22 The Trudoviki demanded the free distribution of land and abolition of all forms of discrimination on ethnic and confessional grounds, especially in relation to the Muslims of Turkestan. 23 Organisations that might be classified as Islamic socialist include the Al-Islah (Reform) Party, Brek (Union) Party and Tangchi (Dawn) Party, all based in Kazan, and the Popular Islamic Party Gummet (Energy), based in Baku. 24 For a more detailed discussion of the basmachi movement, see Sokol (1954); d’Encausse (1994); and Kappeler (1997). 25 Among the key federalists were Rasul-Zade, Zaki Velidi Togan, Hadi Maksudi, Fatih Kerimi and Ali Merdan Topchubashi. The leader of the unitarists was Ahmed Bey Tsalikov. 26 For a more detailed discussion of these parties, see Olcott (1987: 129), Kendirbaeva (1998: 248–66) and Becker (1968, chaps 14–17). 27 More on this movement can be found in Fisher (1978). 28 For more on this issue, see Mutafian (1994). 29 For more detail, see Togan (1994) and Landa (2000b). 30 The ideas of Muslim Communism shaped the activity of the Eastern Bureau of the Communist International (the Comintern), the international communist agency, established by the Bolsheviks in 1919 for the world wide promotion of communism. The latter regarded Red Russia’s Muslims as the vanguard of the coming pan-Islamic revolution which would liberate the Dar-ul-Islam (the World of Islam) from the Western Dar- ul-Harb (the World of War) (Bennigsen and Lemercier-Quelquejay 1967: x). 31 For more details see Ro’i (2000: 10–11).

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32 Relatively speaking, Tatarstan fared well; in Kabardino-Balkariia and Adygheia not a single mosque was left. 33 This information comes from interviews with intelligentsia representatives of deported ethnic groups, who asked to remain anonymous. The interviews were conducted between 1997 and 2001 in Makhachkala, Nal’chik, Ufa and Moscow. 34 Among them were the Communist Party Central Committee’s resolutions on ‘Measures to Counteract Attempts by the Adversary to Use the “Islamic Factor” for Ends Hostile to the Soviet Union’, adopted in 1981, and ‘Measures for the Ideological Isolation of the Reactionary Sector of the Muslim Clergy’, passed in 1983. 35 The application of term ‘Wahhabis’ to various Islamists in the former USSR is theoretically incorrect since Wahhabism was a historical phenomenon of mideighteenth-century Arabia. It represented a political and religious movement within the Hanbali madhhab of Sunni Islam which was founded by Muhammad ben Abd al-Wahhab. The latter advocated strict monotheism (tawhid) and renounced the worshipping of saints and sacred places and called for Islam to be purged of its later accretions. Wahhabism is the state religion of Saudi Arabia. Wahhabism in the post-Soviet context is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 3. 36 In the late 1990s the lengthy list of Islamic periodicals contained, for example, the newspapers Tawhid (Unity), As-Salam (Peace), Nur-ul-Islam (Light of Islam), Islamskii Vestnik (Islamic News), Islamiskie Novosti (Islamic News), Islam Minbire (Tribune of Islam), Musul’manskaia Gazeta (The Muslim Newspaper), Persona (Personality), Mezhdunarodnaia Musulmanskaia Gazeta (The International Islamic Newspaper), Altyn Urda (The Golden Horde), Islam Nuri (Light of Islam), Iman (Faith), As-Salam (Peace), Islamskii Poriadok (Islamic Order), Put’ Islama (Path of Islam), Znamia Islama (Banner of Islam), Zov Predkov (Call of the Ancestors) and Khalif (Caliph). Islamic journals included Musul’mane (Muslims, Moscow), Iman Nuri (Light of Faith, Kazan) and Islamskii Mir (Islamic World, Kazan). 37 Among other official benefactors of Russia’s umma were the University of Imam Muhammad ben Saud; the Islamic Development Bank; the Organisation of Islamic Conference; the Islamic Fund for Co-operation; the World Islamic League, the World Association of Islamic Youth and the World Centre of Islamic Sciences of Iran. Non-official Islamic assistance, which was even more impressive, was conducted by the Committee of Muslims of Asia in Kuwait; the Iranian World Organisation Madaris; the Islamic Charities of Al-Waqf-alIslamii; Taiba and Ibrahim al-Ibrahim of Saudi Arabia; the International Islamic Charities of Ibrahim Hayri, Igatha, Zamzam and the UAE Islamic Charity Organisation Al-Khairiyya (Osmanov 1999). 38 These organizations are discussed in detail in Chapter 3.

2

Islam and power Galina Yemelianova

In this chapter the post-Soviet Islamic revival is explored within its local political context in the republics of Tatarstan and Dagestan. The chapter explores the character and form of interaction between Islam and the political authorities in both republics. It examines the role of the Muslim elite in political decision making, the degree to which Islam influences legislative and executive activities in the republics and the impact on public consciousness of the official re-institution of Islamic holidays and rituals into social life. It also raises more abstract questions about the ethno-political implications of the formation of an Islamized national identity for a multi-ethnic society, Islam’s impact on the formation of official national identity and external relations and the use of Islam in establishing a national ‘mythology’ integral to national self-assertion.

Chukotka Koryakia

Karelia Neneisia

Moscow Mari El Chuvashia Adygea KarachayCherkessia

Mordovia Tatarstan Kalmykia

KabardinoBalkaria North Ossetia Ingushetia Chechnya

Taymyria Yakutia (Sakha)

Komi Yamalia Evenkia

Permyakia Udmurtia Khantia-Mansia Bashkortostan

Buryatia Khakassia

Dagestan

Boundary representation is not necessarily authoritative

Ust’-Orda

Aga (Aginskiy Buryat)

Birobijan (Yevrey)

GomoAltay Tuva

Birobijan is the only autonomous oblast in Russia a Chukotka Autonomous Okrug may now be independent of Magadan Oblast

Figure 2.1 Russia’s autonomous republics Source: map available online at http://www.caspian.net/dagestan.html

Autonomous republic Autonomous okrug

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Islam has been mobilized by opposition political and non-political organizations and movements in the republics also. In this chapter, we outline the ethnic and social make-up of a range of key political and non-political opposition forces. We consider the opposition’s perceptions of Islam and its role in national and regional development. The correlation between the Islamic and ethnic aspirations of ‘ethno-political parties’, especially in multi-ethnic Dagestan, is of particular interest here. We conclude by assessing the actual impact that the opposition, Islamic or otherwise, has had on the political make-up and process in the two republics.

Islam and the political authorities in Tatarstan For 450 years, the Volga Tatars have existed within a Russian Orthodox political and cultural environment. Consequently, any national vision or project for post-Soviet Tatarstan harboured by the political establishment has had to be based, by necessity, in the realpolitik of a bi-ethnic population, a high level of urbanization and secularization and considerable socio-cultural Russification of even the Tatar half of its population. However, this very context – the lengthy cohabitation within a single political structure premised upon a Russian and Orthodox ‘norm’ – has meant that Islam has become the primary indicator of Tatar-ness; for much of the population, indeed, the two have become practically synonymous. Ipso facto the analysis which follows of the relationship between the Tatarstan establishment and Islam in post-Soviet Tatarstan is inseparable from the question of the political project of the formation of Tatar national identity. Islam in pre-Soviet Tatarstan The present-day Volga Tatars are the descendants of the Volga Bulgars who have professed Sunni Islam, of the most tolerant and flexible Hanafi madhhab, since the tenth century AD . Through the centuries of the subsequent development of Tatar ethno-cultural identity, Islam remained an organic component of that identity. However, from the sixteenth century – or more precisely from the Russian conquest of Kazan in 1552 – the evolution of Tatar society and Tatar Islam has been heavily influenced by Russian Orthodoxy. The impact of this has been to undermine the development of urban ‘high’ Islam, allowing a rurally based, unsophisticated popular Islam to become dominant in Tatarstan. Tatar villages, which maintained their integrity by living according to Islamic tradition, shariat and adat (customary law), became the main repositories of the Tatar cultural, ethical and spiritual distinctiveness crystallized in Islam. As a result, for Tatars, the terms ‘Islamic’ and ‘Tatar’ have become synonymous. The suppression of Islam within imperial Russia between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries had a devastating impact on the Tatar elite. During that period the social, economic and political promotion of Tatars

Islam and power 63

UDMURTIYA MARIJ-EL Kukmor

TATARSTAN

Kama

a

Kazan

Nizhnekamsk a Volg a

lg Vo

Buinsk

Naberezhnye Chelny

Chistopol Almetevsk Leninogorsk

ULYANOVSK Land over 200 metres

Bugulma

OR 40 km

SAMARA

BASHKORTOSTAN

Zelenodolsk

atk Vy

CHUVASHIYA

EN

BE

RG

Figure 2.2 Contemporary Tatarstan Source: The Territories of the Russian Federation, Europa Publications, First Edition, 1999

Demographics: Tatarstan has a population of 3.76 million (1996) living on a territory constituting 68,000 square kilometres. 74 per cent of the population is resident in urban areas. Tatars make up 48 per cent of the Tatarstan population; but this accounts for only just over a quarter (26 per cent) of the total Tatar population of the Russian Federation and the Commonwealth of Independent States (which has a total population of 7 million Tatars). Russians constitute 44 per cent of the population of Tatarstan. Politics: Tatarstan is divided administratively into thirty-nine raions (districts) and eighteen cities. According to the Constitution of Tatarstan (1994) it is a sovereign, democratic, secular state. The head of the state – President – is elected on the basis of universal, direct and equal suffrage by secret ballot for a term of 5 years. The supreme representative, legislative and monitoring state power is the State Council which is elected for a period of 5 years. The main executive body is the Cabinet of Ministers which is subordinate to the President of the Republic. Tatar and Russian language have equal status as state languages in Tatarstan (Mukhametshin and Izmailov 1997: 241–78). Economics: Tatarstan is one of the most economically advanced autonomous republics of the Russian Federation. Its major industries are oil and gas refining, chemicals, petrochemicals, aircraft building, machine building, car manufacturing, light industry and food processing.

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was conditional upon their renunciation of Islam. This divided the Tatar elite into those who subscribed to Russian Orthodox norms and values – retaining only symbolic adherence to Islam – and those who remained intrinsically Muslims in spite of their outward conformity to the dominant non-Muslim political culture. The Tatar Muslim elite was given a new lease of life, however, following the liberal religious reforms implemented by Tsarina Catherine the Great, which legalized Islam and allowed the participation of the Tatar Muslims in the Russian economic and political establishment. In 1763 Tatar merchants were given permission to trade throughout the Russian empire, and a Tatar chamber of commerce was opened in Kazan. Tatar merchants quickly came to monopolize trade between St Petersburg, Moscow, other cities of central Russia and cities in Kazakstan, Central Asia, Iran, Afghanistan and China. Tatars also instigated the Islamic publishing and building boom, triggered by Catherine the Great’s Law on Religious Tolerance of 1773. In 1800 the first Muslim publishing house opened in Kazan and began to distribute Islamic literature to Muslim people across the Russian empire (Ashmarin 1901: 55–8). New medresses were opened in the cities of Kazan, Ufa and Orenburg and in the Tatar villages of Kashgar, Satysh, Menger, Saba, Tunter, Kursa and Izhbodia. In the late eighteenth century the Tatar elite began to play the leading economic and spiritual role among the Muslims of Eurasia and to act as intermediaries in Russian–Muslim relations. The Tatars’ geographical and occupational mobility, as well as their remarkable cultural and linguistic adaptability, facilitated their dispersal throughout the Russian empire. From the middle of the nineteenth century, Tatar entrepreneurs were among the first generation of Russia’s bourgeoisie and Tatar capitalist development facilitated the emergence of the Tatar national ideology of jadidism (Iskhakov 1997b: 10–12). The cultural goal of the latter was to restore the dynamic tradition of Tatar Islam and to reconcile it with modern technological and social challenges associated with Europe. The political aspirations of most Tatar jadids were to a great extent congruent with those of the Russian liberal opposition. They were in favour of future Tatar development within a modernized, democratized and poly-ethnic Russia. This was reflected in the common political programme of the Muslim (predominantly Tatar) Duma faction, mainly represented by the Ittifaq (Union) Party and the Konstitutsionno-Demokraticheskaia Partiia (the Constitutional Democratic Party, hereafter referred to as the Kadets). The views of the Tatar liberal majority were opposed by some Tatar nationalists, however, who called for Tatars to secede from Russia and to reintegrate into the Muslim Turkic world, embodied in the Ottoman empire. Among the advocates of political independence and cultural rapprochement with the Turkic world were Yusuf Akchura, Gayaz Iskhaki and Galimjan Idrisi (Yemelianova 1997: 543–72). This strand of Tatar nationalist discourse often prioritised the Turkic – or specifically Tatar or Bulgar –

Islam and power 65 rather than the Islamic dimension of Tatar national identity; in this line of thinking, Islam was purely an element of Tatar-Turkic nationalism. By the turn of the twentieth century the Tatar intellectual elite also included a small group of Tatar socialists who emphasized the social dimension of Islam as a religion of social justice and communal solidarity (Khasanov 1965: 313–19). Tatar Islam under Soviet rule The Bolshevik revolution of October 1917 shattered the social composition and ideological outlook of the Tatar elite. The majority of Tatar liberals, refusing to collaborate with the communist regime, either emigrated or withdrew from politics. A few Tatar and Bashkir liberal politicians collaborated with the Bolsheviks, enticed by the promise of national self-determination. However, this collaboration was short-lived. In May 1920 a new administrative unit – the Tatar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic – was formed, the borders of which coincided with present-day Tatarstan. As a result of this territorial delimitation almost two-thirds of Tatars found themselves outside their titular ethnic republic; most were residents in the neighbouring Bashkir Republic (present-day Bashkortostan) or elsewhere in the Volga-Urals. Tatar Bolsheviks, such as the Muslim Communists Mulannur Vahitov and Mir Sultan-Galiev, were given top Party and government jobs following the October Revolution. However, after Lenin’s death in 1924, the new regime turned against Tatar and other Muslim Communists, who were charged with petit bourgeois nationalism and persecuted. Under Stalin, Tatars – along with the rest of the Soviet people – were subjected to arbitrary social, national and territorial engineering. Enforced collectivization, industrialization and cadre purges caused immense suffering. The anti-religion campaign and propaganda of atheism had particular resonance in Tatarstan as did the cultural revolution, which imposed a double script change, first from Arabic to Latin in 1927 and later from Latin to Cyrillic in 1937. The inner Russian location of Tatarstan, as well as its oil and other natural resources predetermined the particularly intensive industrialization and militarization of its economy. Among the consequences of the latter were advanced urbanization, the further destruction of Tatar national and religious traditions rooted in rural life, the secularization of the Tatars and massive Russian and other non-Muslim immigration. Until Stalin’s death, Russians and other Slavs had tended to occupy the key political, economic, military and academic positions in Tatarstan, as well in other non-Russian territories of the Soviet Union. From 1953, however, the Khrushchev ‘thaw’ saw ethnic Tatars being allowed to play leading roles in the republic’s Party and government structures, albeit alongside their powerful Russian deputies. That period witnessed the formation of the first generation of Tatar Communist Party and Soviet nomenklatura. This new loyal elite embraced the rules and ethics of the Party and displayed unconditional subordination

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to Moscow. Most of them were secular-minded executives of the Party’s line, indistinguishable from their counterparts across the Soviet Union. They enthusiastically took up the anti-Islamic campaign based on the Communist Party Central Committee’s resolutions of 1954 on ‘The Major Drawbacks in Scientific-Atheistic Propaganda’ and ‘Programme for Constructing Communist Society’, which were adopted at the XXII Congress of the CPSU in 1961 (Sultanbekov et al. 1998: 314–22; Boreev 1997; Khaplephamitov 1998; Saphin 1997). By the end of the Soviet period, Islam in Tatarstan had been reduced to a purely ritual form; what four centuries of Tsarism had failed to do was achieved in just seventy years of Soviet rule. However, Tatar aspirations for the revival of their nationhood and Islamic cultural tradition were never wholly eradicated. Despite apparently strict control by Party and KGB officials, the Kazan Institute of Language, Literature and History, as well as some other Tatar academic institutions, had remained sanctuaries of Tatar national thinking and were able to find a new role for themselves as the Soviet Union began its process of ‘restructuring’ (Bukharaev 2000: 319; Izmailov 1997: 116–18). Perestroika and the Tatar national awakening Gorbachev’s project of perestroika (1986–91) had an invigorating effect on the Tatar intelligentsia who saw ‘restructuring’ as providing a favourable context for a Tatar national revival. In 1988 a group of Tatar intellectuals formed the Vsetatarskii Obshestvennii Tsentr (All-Tatar Public Centre, hereafter referred to as VTOTs), which began the campaign to upgrade Tatarstan’s status from an autonomous to a union republic. An integral part of Tatarstan’s sovereignization was the formation of its own Islamic administration, the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Respubliki Tatarstana (Spiritual Board of Muslims of the Republic of Tatarstan, hereafter referred to as DUMRT) separate from the all-Russian Federal Islamic administration, the DUMES, based in Ufa. During the early stages of the development of the Tatar national movement – from 1989 to 1994 – it maintained positive, amicable relations with the official authorities (Mukhametshin 2000: 55–6). Indeed, from 1991 the national movement – including VTOTs, Ittifaq (Union), Milli Mejlis (National Assembly) and Azatlyk (Freedom) – was given carte blanche by President Shaimiev to promote a separatist line, as he sought to secure his own political survival. Shaimiev had miscalculated the political situation and backed the anti-Gorbachev coup d’etat in 1991. The subsequent failure of the coup threatened inevitable repercussions for Shaimiev, who resorted to manipulating the national movement in his own republic as a warning to Moscow of what might happen if they sought to replace him. This national reassertion was evident in the stance taken by Tatarstan in the renegotiation of federal relations within Russia following the collapse of the Soviet Union at the end of 1991. Although not declaring immediate secession of the republic from Russia – the stance taken by Chechnia’s

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President Dzhokar Dudaev – Shaimiev joined Dudaev in refusing to sign the Federal Treaty of 1992. Shaimiev proposed a fundamental reform of ‘centre–periphery’ relations within Russia according to which the unitary de facto structure of the Russian Federation would be replaced by a looser ‘asymmetrical’ federation, facilitating the preservation of a politically integral and yet ethnically and culturally diverse state (Mukhametshin 1997: 197–202; Walker 1995: 79–113). In effect, President Shaimiev’s proposal revived the early twentieth century jadid plan for Russia’s federalization in an end-of-century format; it became widely known as ‘the Tatarstan model’ (Bukharaev 1999: xiii–xv). In February 1994 the ‘Tatarstan model’ was legally enshrined in a powersharing treaty between Kazan and Moscow that ensured Tatarstan’s special status within the Russian Federation.1 The treaty allowed the Tatarstan leadership greater economic and political freedom. In particular, it gave Tatarstan control over taxes on the sale of alcohol, oil and gas in the republic and the right to transfer the taxes levied on the military-industrial complex from the federal to the Tatarstan budget. Although Moscow and Kazan annually negotiated the division of proceeds from value-added tax (VAT), Kazan usually retained about half of the VAT revenues whereas other autonomous republics and regions of Russia retained only a quarter (Khakimov 1996: 60–75). Tatarstan also acquired the right to form direct economic and trade links with countries abroad; it did so with Turkey, Iran, Germany, France, Holland, Great Britain, the United States, Australia, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Bulgaria, Poland and Lithuania (Mukhametshin 1997: 197–202). Outside the formal framework, this treaty reflected a personal agreement between President Yeltsin and President Shaimiev by which the former undertook not to interfere in the internal affairs of Tatarstan, while the latter gave formal recognition of Moscow’s supremacy and support for Yeltsin and his policies. The Tatarstan government insists that the economic benefits acquired through the treaty permitted it to implement a ‘softer’ economic transition to the market than that conducted by Moscow. Initially at least, the economic, financial and political upheavals that had rocked Moscow and many of the other Russian regions were softened and delayed. However, from 1997 the economic situation in Tatarstan deviated little from that found elsewhere in Russia.2 In the political sphere, the ‘Tatarstan model’ implied the formation of a stable political system combining viable structures left over from the former Soviet system with some liberal and democratic institutions. Central to the stability of this system has been political pluralism and a genuine division of legislative, executive and juridical powers. In terms of relations with Moscow the ‘Tatarstan model’ sought a gradual devolution of Tatarstan from the Russian Federation. Such devolution was necessary, according to the spin doctors of Tatarstan nation-building, because of the inadequate representation of citizens of the Russian Federation of non-Russian ethnic origin in federal political institutions. The formation of alternative,

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autonomous political structures in Tatarstan, it was suggested, might also help safeguard the republic from the destructive influences of wider Russian political and economic disorder; indeed such structures were seen as potentially providing a model for other regions of Russia and ultimately for Russia as a whole. Government officials in Tatarstan often used the example of Scotland as a model for gradual and civilized secession from the United Kingdom with simultaneous strengthening of direct ties with Europe.3 The emergence of Shaimiev’s regime The bilateral treaty has enabled President Shaimiev de facto to form an authoritarian, oligarchic regime far removed from established models of democracy and market economy. This regime has been forged on the basis of an alliance between the former Communist Party and government nomenklatura and the Tatar nouveaux riches. Corruption and nepotism is as characteristic of Kazan as it is of Moscow, and key positions in the economy and administration have been distributed among relatives or close associates of the Shaimiev family.4 In most important respects the Shaimiev regime has increasingly resembled its distant historical prototype – the Kazan Khanate – as President Shaimiev replaced the Party loyalties of the Soviet period with enhanced clan and regional loyalties (Litvin 1998). The presidential team and the government have been packed with people from the oil-rich eastern and southern provinces and many new appointees came from the president’s native district, Aktanyshskii raion. This is part of a wider ruralization of the Tatarstan ruling class – by 1998, 90 per cent of the Tatarstan political elite had a village background – which has been an integral part of the overall process of Tatarization. The Tatar rural nomenklatura, which spoke Tatar and was culturally less Russified than urban Tatar functionaries, was viewed by the Shaimiev regime as the bearer of Tatar nationhood. Tatar village culture, based on obedience and loyalty to the boss, was also conducive to the strengthening of Shaimiev’s autocratic rule. The ‘nomenklatura revolution’, as this political reorganization has been termed, has created a Shaimiev-loyal elite. Shaimiev – himself referred to in unofficial circles as baba-devlet (father-state) – was believed to be grooming his nephew Il’shat Fardiev as a potential successor in order to secure the positions of the ruling clan into the future (Litvin 1998). Parliamentary democracy in Tatarstan has remained weak. During the parliamentary elections of 1995, Shaimiev mobilized the state apparatus and interior forces to prevent ‘undesirable’ individuals winning a seat in the State Council (Tatarstan Parliament). At Shaimiev’s behest the new Parliament curtailed much of its political power in favour of the President. He acquired the right to appoint deputies to the State Council and new registration rules favoured parties and organizations loyal to the President. As a result, in 1995 the State Council consisted of mayors, heads of raion administrations, other representatives of executive power and members of the President’s

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party. In July 1999 the State Council adopted new amendments to the Constitution and the Election Law, which further strengthened presidential control over parliament. The law abolished the party list system and legitimized the election of raion administration heads as State Council deputies; effectively this provided further opportunity for manipulating the poll and preventing the election of opposition parliamentary candidates. By 1999 the Tatarstan leadership had amended the 1992 Constitution five times (Zaznaev 1999: 221). The Constitution has proved an ineffective mechanism for curbing the extension of executive power in the republic. The bilateral treaty allowed Shaimiev to circumvent restrictions on his power set out in the Constitution of the Russian Federation. Single-candidate elections for the presidency were prohibited in the Russian Constitution, for example, but the amended Tatarstan Constitution made possible such elections. As a result, in the elections of 1996, Shaimiev was the only candidate for the presidency. If necessary, however, Shaimiev was prepared to ignore, or violate, even the amended Tatarstan Constitution. Thus, provisions (Article 108) in the Constitution allowing a President to be re-elected no more than twice and excluding candidates over 65 years of age, were abolished and replaced by a concept of unlimited, life-long presidency. In violation of Article 139 of the Tatarstan Constitution, the Constitutional Court of the Republic of Tatarstan had never been formed (Konstitutsiia Respubliki Tatarstan, 1995). Since the 1995 elections, the government, and all representatives of executive power have been appointed personally by the President, without parliamentary ratification, and he has sacked unwanted ministers and mayors.5 In violation of the Constitution, ‘The Law on People’s Power’ and Russia’s law on ‘The Main Guarantees of the Voting Rights of the Citizens of the Russian Federation,’ the heads of local raion administrations and mayors of cities were nominated by the President. These district leaders, in turn, appointed the chair and members of the local election commission (izbirkom) and the commissions were instructed to register only suitable candidates and to prevent observers from checking the voting list or counting the votes (Zaznaev 1999: 219–25). The institution of genuine political pluralism has fared little better. Although, for propaganda reasons, the Shaimiev regime has allowed a number of parties and movements to exist, it enjoys the support of only a tiny proportion of the population. In reality the party spectrum has been dominated by the party of power – Edinstvo i Progress (Unity and Progress) – led by Rafael Khakimov and Alexei Kolesnik and voicing the views of government and President. During the parliamentary campaign of 1999, Khakimov formed yet another pro-government movement – Tatarstan-Novii Vek (Tatarstan-New Age) – which acted as the Tatarstan branch of the allRussian bloc Otechestvo-Vsia Rossiia (The Fatherland-All Russia), headed by former Russian prime minister Evgenii Primakov and the powerful mayor of Moscow, Iurii Luzhkov. The third force in the political spectrum has been

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Rafael Khakimov, Director of the Institute of History, Tatarstan Academy of Sciences and personal advisor of President Shaimiev, Kazan, Tatarstan. 2 September 1997. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

the symbolic opposition grouping known as Narodno-Patrioticheskii Soiuz (Popular Patriotic Union) which, paradoxically, united communists6, democrats, Tatar and Russian nationalists. The Tatar nationalists in this Soiuz have been represented by the moderate VTOTs under the leadership of Fandas Safiullin and the Tatar Republican Party of the RT, headed by Muhammad Sabirov. Finally, the bloc Ravnopravie i Zakonnost’ (Equality and Lawfulness), headed by Igor Grachev, united parties and organizations of liberal, human rights and moderate orientation including the movements Soglasie (Concord) and Grazhdane Rossiiskoi Federatsii (Citizens of the Russian Federation), as well as a number of other social democratic groups politically close to the all-Russian democratic bloc Yabloko. Shaimiev and Tatar nationalists From 1994 the Tatarstan leadership distanced itself from the Tatar nationalists and, indeed, sought to remove those Tatar radical nationalists who

Islam and power 71 viewed the bilateral Treaty as a betrayal of the national interests of the Tatar people. These Tatar nationalists had urged the government to insist upon a more radical draft of the Treaty, originally proposed by Khakimov and Safiullin. In particular, they complained that the Treaty signed ignored the interests of 1.5 million Tatars in Bashkortostan and of the wider Tatar diaspora. They continued to press for the full independence of Tatarstan and for Turkic-Muslim unity in the Volga-Urals. They criticized Shaimiev for slowing down the struggle for independence and for his compliance with Moscow’s demands. Moreover, they refused to support the proclaimed ideal of Tatarstan as a civic nation of ‘Tatarstanis’ (citizens of Tatarstan regardless of ethnic origin). Reshat Amirkhanov, a prominent figure in the Tatar national party Ittifaq, for example, argued that the ethno-cultural factor was more important than the civic factor in the constitution of Tatarstan (Amirkhanov 1997). Consequently, Tatar nationalists from Ittifaq, Milli Mejlis and the radical wing of VTOTs branded Shaimiev as a traitor, or Shakh Gali.7 In order to undermine the Tatar nationalist opposition, the Shaimiev leadership applied the imperial tactic of ‘divide and rule’. It selected what it considered to be the most intelligent representatives of the Tatar national movement and co-opted them into the political establishment. For example, the former leader of VTOTs, Rafael Khakimov, was elevated to the post of Presidential advisor and Director of the Institute of History. As such, he became the major ideologist of the ‘soft’ and painless Tatarization of Tatarstan and its withdrawal from the Russian political, juridical and economic orbit. Khakimov also promoted the concept of ‘Euro Islam’ as an ideological framework for Tatarstan’s gradual deviation from Russia’s ‘unique path’ to pursue its own rapprochement with western Europe. Another VTOTs activist and former colonel of the Soviet Army, Fandas Safiullin, was ‘elected’ as a deputy of the State Council. Yet another prominent figure of the Tatar national movement Nail Khasnutdinov was appointed to the post of Chair of the Tatarstan national radio and television company. Khakimov, Safiullin, Khasnutdinov and other beneficiaries of the co-option into the ruling regime, however, were stigmatized by their former colleagues as traitors to the Tatar national cause (Jemal-efendi 1997). A second strategy adopted by the government was the incorporation of some of the ideas floated in nationalist organizations into its own agenda. The government thus appropriated nationalist policies in the areas of language, education (the creation of Tatar gymnasiums, Higher Schools, the Academy of Sciences of Tatarstan and a Tatar University) and especially religion (the restoration of old and the construction of new mosques, the opening of an Islamic University, Islamic colleges and medresses). Other important borrowings from the ideological programme of the Tatar national movement were the introduction of Tatarstan citizenship and the switch from Cyrillic to Latin alphabet for the Tatar language. In April 1997 Tatarstan’s Academy of Sciences recommended the change to the Latin

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alphabet and, in July 1999, the State Council adopted a Law on introducing a Latin-based alphabet for the Tatar language. This was designed as a step towards the gradual withdrawal of Tatarstan from the Russian informational and cultural space and its closer integration with Europe. In August 2000, the Tatarstan government authorized some schools to start using Latin letters instead of Cyrillic, although comprehensive Latinization was scheduled for 1 September 2011 (Faroukshin 2000).8 In November 1997, the Tatar Parliament voted to postpone issuing new federal Russian passports in protest at the omission of the holder’s nationality. Addressing parliamentary deputies, President Shaimiev said that the Russian passports issued to citizens of Tatarstan should mention Tatarstan’s statehood and state language of Tatarstan and also make provision for dual (Tatarstan and Russian) citizenship for the republic’s inhabitants (Sergeev 1998). A third tactic for the neutralization of Tatar national organizations was their duplication with puppet institutions set up by the authorities, followed by the labelling of the former as ‘radical’. Thus, the Shaimiev Government sponsored the formation of a tame All-Tatar World Congress in opposition to Milli Mejlis. Those Tatar nationalists who remained in dispute with the government were subjected to an official policy of isolation. They were refused official financial and political support. Tatar periodicals critical of the regime faced the threat of closure and were subject to tough controls; the newspapers Kazanskii Telegraph (Kazan Telegraph), Suverenitet (Sovereignty), Kris and Altyn Urda (Golden Horde) were all closed by the authorities under a variety of pretexts. Albert Ishkuvatov, the editor-in-chief of Kris, was arrested. The closure of Altyn Urda in 1998, in particular, had a devastating impact on the whole Tatar national movement since it had played a crucial consolidating role within it. The leader of Ittifaq, Fauzia Bayramova, the ‘Tatar iron lady’, was ‘assisted’ by the authorities to lose the local elections in Naberezhnie Chelny in 1997 to the president of Ak Bars Bank, Talgat Abdullin. Ittifaq, Milli Mejlis and VTOTs were asked to leave their comfortable premises in Kazan city centre, which they had been granted in recognition of their efforts at the dawn of the Tatar national movement. Legal proceedings were initiated against individual members of Ittifaq and Milli Mejlis. National political organizations that included the demand for independence in their political programmes were refused registration under the pretext that their activity might endanger the political stability of the republic. The Shaimiev Government has also pursued a policy of depoliticizing the Tatar mass media. Parliamentary deputy Fandas Safiullin, denouncing what he called ‘the anti-democratic degeneration of the present regime’, pointed out that there had been consistent exclusion of ideologically sensitive programmes on Tatar history from Tatarstan television and radio. According to him, this had resulted in the media presenting nothing more than Tatar village folklore (dancing, singing, and festivals, gardening and so on) (Safiullin 1998). All of this has had an inevitably demoralizing impact on the

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Tatar nationalists, who reacted by forming paradoxical alliances against the main enemy, the Shaimiev Government. For example, Fauzia Bayramova forged alliances with, on the one hand, the very communists who advocated the restoration of the ‘evil empire’, and on the other, the Islamists.9 Shaimiev’s ‘controlled’ Islamic nationalism The Shaimiev Government has integrated the ideas of moderate Tatar nationalism into its politics and national ideology, while simultaneously distancing itself from ‘radical’ nationalists. As part of this strategy, the official separation between religion and the state, as stipulated in the Constitution of 1992, has been accompanied by a policy of allowing an indirect role to be played by Islam in Tatarstan politics. President Shaimiev, as a former Communist Party apparatchik, has viewed Islam mainly as a symbol of Tatar national distinctiveness; like President Yeltsin’s approach to Orthodoxy, Shaimiev has seen religion as an attribute of statehood.

Gabdulla Galiullin, ex-Muftii of DUMRT and leader of the Omet party, Kazan, Tatarstan. 7 September 1998. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

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Consequently, the Tatarstan authorities favoured the secession in 1992 of the Tatarstan Muslim clerics from the Federal Islamic centre in Ufa and the formation of a separate Tatarstan Islamic Spiritual Board, the DUMRT, based in Kazan. The latter has been perceived as an indispensable attribute of Tatarstan’s sovereignty. The first Muftii of the independent Tatarstan Muftiiat was 38-year old Gabdulla-hazret Galiullin, the former Imam-khatib (Chief Imam) of the Nurulla mosque in Kazan. The Tatarstan authorities did not hesitate to recognize the legitimacy of the new Muftiiat and its leader, although the emergence of the DUMRT caused a split in Tatarstan’s umma (Islamic community) since the Ufa Muftii Talgat Tadjuddinov did not recognize the self-proclaimed Muftii of Tatarstan and nominated Gabdulkhamit Zinatullin, and later Farid-hazret, as his representatives there.

Rashida Abystay, the influential spiritual leader of Muslim Tatars, Kazan, Tatarstan. 16 July 1998. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

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Until 1995 the Shaimiev government was favourably disposed towards the new Muftiiat and its close relations with the Tatar nationalist movement. It was expected that the DUMRT would secure the transfer of the Islamic central administration from Ufa to Kazan (Mukhametshin 2000: 18). However, the radicalization of Muftii Galiullin and his unwillingness to be just a tool of the authorities caused conflict between the government and the DUMRT. As a result, the government obstructed the religious and political activity of the uncooperative Muftii Galiullin and encouraged a propaganda campaign to discredit him. In February 1998 Tatarstan officials orchestrated the unifying congress of Tatarstan Muslims and promoted Gusman Iskhakov – coincidentally the son of Rashida Abystay, the spiritual teacher of Sakine Shaimieva, the president’s wife10 – as the ‘right’ and obedient Muftii of Tatarstan.11 Since then, the government has provided indirect support to Muftii Iskhakov’s policy aimed at making Kazan the Islamic capital of Eurasia, centralizing Tatarstan’s Islamic communities, and withdrawing Tatarstan’s Muslim community from the jurisdiction of Ufa, under Muftii Talgat Tadjuddinov. In July 1999 the authorities adopted a new law on ‘The Freedom of Consciousness and Religious Formations’, which recognized the DUMRT as the only legitimate Islamic organization in the republic. In contrast to Gabdulla Galiullin, the new Muftii appears to have accepted his role as court Muftii and has refrained from any public criticism of government policies. This formal display of loyalty has allowed him to enhance his personal power. Thus, with official blessing, he has introduced new registration rules for Islamic communities and has placed his relatives and associates in the major muhtasibats (local Islamic administrations) of Tatarstan. Claiming the backing of President Shaimiev, he has tried even to supplant the Ufa-subordinate Islamic authorities in Perm and some other cities of the Volga-Urals (Osmanov 1999). Alongside close relations with the Muftiiat, the Tatarstan authorities have been promoting the introduction of Islamic symbols into official state architecture, monuments and design. The government has allowed mosques, medresses and other Islamic institutions to be restored and built at a faster rate than Russian Orthodox institutions.12 The Suyumbike tower of the Kazan Kremlin has been turned into a symbol of Tatar resistance to the Russian conquest in the sixteenth century. The strengthening of the symbolic role of Islam has been accompanied by some attempts to revive its ideological role. To this end the leading Tatar official theoretician on national and Islamic issues, Rafael Khakimov, has advocated the restoration of Tatar reformist Islam – jadidism – as a viable basis for the Tatar national idea. His concept of ‘Euro Islam’ seeks to establish a synthesis of Tatar jadidism and postmodernism capable of resolving the conflict between formally Muslim Tatarstan and allegedly Islamophobic Europe (Khakimov 1997). There is as yet no evidence that the concept of Euro Islam has transcended purely academic discussion. However, the ideological dimension of Islam has been evident in published historical studies, and some new history textbooks

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present a preferential interpretation of Islam in comparison with Orthodoxy; Alishev’s history textbook published in 1994, for example, has a strong Islamic nationalist, not to mention anti-Russian, subtext and the final chapter is entitled ‘The struggle [against Russia] continues’ (Davletshin et al. 1994: 265). Non-establishment approaches to Islam Outside the official mainstream approach to Islam, a few Tatar intellectuals and politicians have opposed jadidism and advocated the revival of qadimist Islam. The main theoreticians of neo-qadimism are the two historians, and brothers, Reshat Amirkhanov and Ravil Amirkhanov. They have accused jadids of giving in to European cultural pressure and have advocated the profound reintegration of qadimist Islam into the fabric of society. In parliament the leading campaigner for the thorough re-Islamization of the Tatars has been Fanavil Shaimardanov. He has initiated parliamentary discussion of such issues as: the creation of Islamic schools, hospitals, maternity wards, food stores and cafes, as well as the provision of spaces for prayer in places of work and recreation; the formation of Muslim units in the Russian army; the prohibition of alcohol sales during Islamic holidays; and a ban on the use of Islamic symbols on alcohol labels and travel tickets.13 In general such initiatives have had a marginal impact on government policies, although during the Chechen incursion into Dagestan in August 1999, President Shaimiev succumbed to the demand of the DUMRT and prohibited Tatarstan’s soldiers from fighting against Muslims of the North Caucasus. Significantly, the position of Tatarstan’s intellectual elite on the role of Islam and Islamized nationalism in the process of post-Soviet national revival has differed considerably from official policies. In general, the intelligentsia has been frustrated by the non-intellectual composition of the present political leadership, by its inability to formulate sound national and religious policies and its neglect of the intelligentsia itself. However, the ethnic origin of intelligentsia representatives has affected their positions on the role of Islam and nationalism in the formation of a national ideology in post-communist Tatarstan. The majority of Tatar-speaking Tatar intellectuals have stressed the importance of Islam for the national self-identification of Tatars; the Islamic faith is considered as central to Tatarness as Orthodox Christianity is to Russian-ness. This is reflected in their support for a gradual strengthening of Islamic ethics and morality in family life and the incorporation of Islamic social norms into public life, particularly with regard to gender and generational relations, communalism, charity and care for the disadvantaged, dress codes, and attitudes to alcohol, drugs and crime (Boreev 1997; Guliamov 1997; Halim 1997; Khaplephamitov 1998; Minullin 1998; Safin 1997). The full dissemination of the views and ideas of the Tatar intelligentsia has been hindered, however, by strict government control of the mass media. An attempt by a group of

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Tatar intellectuals to circumvent this obstruction and raise the public profile of Islam by joining the Golyamlar Shurasi (Council of Islamic Scholars) in March 1995, however, was thwarted by the subsequent conflict between the head of the Council, Muftii Galiullin, and the Tatarstan authorities. Representatives of the Russian and Russian-speaking intelligentsia, who made up the bulk of the non-Muslim intelligentsia, have been less enthusiastic about the introduction of religious norms into public life. Many of them have been sceptical about the possibility of the reintegration of religion into the fabric of society on a pre-Soviet scale (Beliaev 1998; Litvin 1998; Mal’tsev 1998; Mukhanov 1997; Sagitova 1997; Salagaev 1998; Terentiev 1998). They were convinced of the irreversibility of secularism and thus viewed religion as a purely private matter for the individual. At the same time, many Russian intellectuals have been concerned by the accelerated revival of Islam compared to Orthodox Christianity. They expressed concerns that further Islamization might strain inter-ethnic relations in the republic and accelerate Russian emigration. Under the pretext of restoring the linguistic balance in the republic, Russians have found themselves levered out of administrative, educational and cultural structures.14 Official explanations of the issue suggest that the Russians’ inadequacy derives from their own inability to speak the Tatar language. The fact that Russianspeaking Tatars were exempted from any Tatar language requirement casts doubt on the plausibility of such an argument, however. On the whole, the impact of Islam on Tatarstan’s political establishment has been more symbolic than profound. In its symbolic capacity it has constituted an integral part of the policy of Tatarization. Islam has been regarded as a vital component of Tatarness, but Tatarstan society has remained overwhelmingly secular. As for the religious Islamic revival, it has been weak and has had only a marginal impact on political and public life.

Islam and the opposition in Tatarstan The opposition movement in Tatarstan has centred on an emergent national movement. Perestroika first invigorated a section of the Tatar intelligentsia, out of which, in 1988, was formed the VTOTS, which sought to awaken the national consciousness of Tatars and to promote their interests in all spheres of public life (Mukhametshin and Izmailov 1997: 15). Between 1990 and 1992 several other Tatar national organizations emerged: Ittifaq (Union), the Tatar party of national independence; Milli Mejlis, the Tatar National Assembly; the popular movement Suverenitet (Sovereignty); the Union of Tatar Youth, Azatlyk (Freedom); the Youth Centre of Tatar Culture, Iman (Faith); the Tatar National Society of Sh. Marjani; and the Party of National Independence, Namus. However, even at the peak of the Tatar national movement it was supported by less than 10 per cent of even the Tatar half of Tatarstan’s population (Mukhametshin and Islaev 1998: 183).

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The Tatar national idea before the Bolshevik Revolution Today’s leading ideologists of the Tatar national movement, Rafael Khakimov and Damir Iskhakov, were keen to root the emergent movement in Tatar history; they regarded themselves as the successors of the jadids, the Tatar Islamic reformers of the late nineteenth century. In tune with jadidism, they regarded Islam as a key component of Tatar national distinctiveness alongside Turkism and Tatarism. It is interesting that among the jadids themselves there was no unanimity on the correlation between all three essentials of Tatar identity. The nineteenth-century Tatar Islamic reformers Musa Jarulla Bigi, Rizaeddin Fahreddin, Galimjan Barudi, Ziyauddin Kamali, Zaki Kadiri and Abdulla Bubi prioritized its Islamic component. They believed that Tatars professed a distinct Tatar Islam that reflected the particular geographical and historical circumstances of the Volga Tatars, compared to the rest of Dar-ul-Islam (World of Islam). However, other Tatar intellectuals, such as Ismail Gasprinskii, Yusuf Akchura, the brothers Hadi and Sadri Maksudi, Sayid Giray Alkin and Gayaz Iskhaki emphasized the Turkic component of their national identity and viewed Islam as a feature of Turkism. They sought the cultural and linguistic rapprochement of all the Turkic peoples of Russia and the restoration of their historic cultural links with the rest of the Turkic world. Galimjan Ibragimov, Jemal Validov and a number of other Tatar thinkers stressed the centrality of the Tatar (Bulgar) element of the national identity of the Volga Tatars and viewed Islam and Turkism as elements of Tatarism. They even suggested that the ethnonym Tatar should be extended to embrace all Russia’s Muslim Turkic peoples (Bashkir, Kyrgyz, Kazakh and others) (Yemelianova 1997: 543–72). Until the Bolshevik revolution in October 1917 the Turkic-Tatar perception of national identity dominated Tatar intellectual and political life. It was given stimulus by the relative political liberalization in the aftermath of the bourgeois-democratic revolution in 1905. The October 1905 Manifesto, which lifted the ban on the national press, gave a strong impetus to the process of Tatar national awakening. The proliferation of Tatar periodicals created a larger audience for ideas of nationhood and identity among the intelligentsia and commercial and business classes (Amirkhanov 1978: 62–77). In 1905, reform-minded Tatar intellectuals founded the Ittifaq Party, which was behind the first Muslim faction in the Russian Duma (parliament). The programme of Ittifaq included demands for unification of all Muslim peoples of Russia; the constitutional reform of the Russian monarchy, including the proportional representation of all ethnic groups in parliament; the legal equality of the Muslim and Russian peoples of Russia; freedom of the press, assembly and religious persuasion and the formation of local Muslim administrations or mahalli mejlis (local councils) (Bigi 1917: 177). On the whole, the political goals of Ittifaq were close to those of the Kadets; both parties represented the liberal opposition and adhered to peaceful, parliamentary methods of political struggle.

Islam and power 79 In the Duma, Tatar deputies played an active part in debates about the general democratization of the Russian empire and the particular problems of its Tatar and other Muslim subjects. Their main slogan was ‘Tatar national self-realization and prosperity through comprehensive democratization and modernization of Russia’. The Tatar politicians spoke passionately in favour of the parliamentary evolution of despotic Russia into a democratic, multi-ethnic, modern state where Tatars, as well as other Muslims, could enjoy equal political and juridical rights and maintain and develop their national culture and religion (Yemelianova 1999: 470). The brilliant Tatar politician Sadri Maksudi, who took the floor in the Second and Third Dumas more than a hundred times, stressed the reciprocal advantages of Russia’s democratization for the Tatars and the Tatars’ national development for the democratic transformation of Russia. Until 1917 he was an enthusiastic proponent of a multi-ethnic Russia and opposed its division along ethnic lines. Thus, during his parliamentary trip to England in 1909 he favourably contrasted the political and social position of the Russian Muslims with that of the Muslims of the British empire. He particularly remarked on their participation in civic and parliamentary elections, on the existence of their parliamentary faction, and on their right to act as jurymen and to enter government service (Validov 1923: 45; Maksudi 1995: 148–53). Among specific national and religious concerns raised by Tatar Duma deputies were the demands for increased participation of Tatars and other Muslims in central and local government and for greater autonomy in religious, educational and cultural matters. Tatar deputies insisted on the legislative right of Russia’s Muslims to elect their Muftii themselves instead of him being appointed by the Ministry of the Interior. They also demanded acknowledgement of the juridical powers of imams in dealing with property issues according to shariat and sought the reinstitution of the waqf (endowment) property. The deputies argued for the right of shakirds (students) of medresses to defer their military service until their graduation. This right was also advocated for mullahs, as was their exemption from taxes and their promotion to nobility after twenty years of service. The recognition of Friday as an official holiday for Muslim civil servants, traders, workers and others was also demanded. Tatar deputies asked for state guarantees and financial support for educational reform, based on usul-ul-jadid and Tatar literary and standardized language, which would ensure equal opportunities for Tatar children. At the same time they opposed the interference of the Centre in the curriculum of Tatar schools (Yemelianova 1999: 470–1). Pro-jadid Volga Tatar intellectuals were among the main organizers of the three all-Russian Muslim congresses in 1905–06 which discussed the interrelationship of Russian democratization and Tatar national development. Its concentrated agenda was expressed in a draft of the resolution of the first Muslim congress (1905), Eslahat Esaslari (Basics for Reform), which was written by Musa Bigi and which included the demand for the establishment of a democratic regime in Russia; the legal, political and social equality of

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Russia’s Muslims; the organization of local Muslim Assemblies and Muslim congresses; and the reconciliation of Shi’ites and Sunnis and their mutual religious tolerance (Bennigsen-Broxup 1987b: 9). The overwhelming majority of Tatar jadids did not perceive of a future Tatar development outside the Russian state and saw the solution of their problems in allRussian democratic reforms. In this respect the national agenda of the Tatars differed considerably from the national aspirations of Poles and Finns, who sought political and territorial independence from Russia. It is significant that during the First World War, in which Russia confronted Muslim Turkey, most representatives of the Tatar elite remained loyal to the Russian state. At the extraordinary Muslim Congress in St Petersburg the Tatar elite, on behalf of Russia’s Muslims, confirmed their allegiance to the Russian monarch in spite of pressure from pan-Turkists. In August 1914 the Tatar Duma deputies G. Enikeev and B. Akhtiamov published a declaration of loyalty in the newspaper of the Muslim Duma faction, Millet (Nation). Meanwhile, Terjuman (Interpreter), the influential newspaper of Ismail Gasprinskii, described the position of the Muslim Duma faction as ‘friendly opposition’, and evaluated its loyalty to the Tsar and Russia as greater than that shown by the oppositional national Russian and Polish factions (Nafigov 1964: 50–3). Tatar national development after 1917 The majority of reform-minded Tatar politicians and intellectuals supported the bourgeois-democratic revolution in February 1917. They welcomed the Provisional Government and its liberal legislation regarding the nonRussian population, especially the decree establishing legal and political equality of all peoples of Russia. In May 1917, representatives of the Tatar and Bashkir intellectual and economic elite, Zaki Validi Togan, Ayaz Iskhaki, Hadi Maksudi and Fatih Kerimi, were among the organizers of the First All-Russian Muslim Congress. Under pressure from the Tatar majority, the Congress adopted a resolution in favour of the democratic restructuring of the Russian empire into a federation of national-territorial autonomous republics. It is worth noting that many representatives of other Muslim regions opposed the resolution and advocated the preservation of a unitary Russia (Bennigsen-Broxup 1985: 11–12). The Congress formed the Milli Shura (the National Council), which was to regulate the political and cultural life of Russia’s Muslims. The Second All-Russian Muslim Congress, which took place in Kazan in July 1917, was de facto a Tatar Congress since it was boycotted by the representatives of other Muslim peoples of Russia. The Congress made another step towards Russia’s federalization and proclaimed the extraterritorial national-cultural autonomy of Muslims of central Russia and Siberia. The Congress formed the administrative bodies of this autonomy represented by the Milli Mejlis (the National Assembly) and the Islamic Spiritual Board. Simultaneously, the Muslim Military

Islam and power 81 Congress, which was also dominated by Tatars, created the Harbi Shura (the Military Council). The Provisional Government granted permission to the Harbi Shura to form separate Muslim units within the Russian army (Zenkovskii 1967:159). Most Tatar liberal intellectuals rejected the Bolshevik revolution and either emigrated or withdrew from public life. In emigration, the political views of Sadri Maksudi, Gayaz Iskhaki, Yusuf Akchura, Abdurashid Ibragim and other Tatar jadids became radicalized and acquired a strong anti-Russian (anti-Soviet) and pan-Turkic dimension. Only a small group of jadid left-wingers joined the Bolsheviks and participated enthusiastically in the revolutionary reorganization of Tatar society on a socialist basis. The Tatar Marxists M. Vahitov and M. Sultan-Galiev generated the theory of Muslim Communism which they perceived as a creative adaptation of jadidism to the new social and political realities of communist Russia. Thus, they shared the Bolshevik positions on major socio-economic and political issues, although they categorically rejected atheism. Furthermore, Muslim Communists believed in the superiority of Islamic spirituality and ethics over atheism and regarded Islam as a religion of social justice and communalism. However, under Stalin, Muslim Communism was treated with suspicion and in the mid-1920s a campaign was unleashed against it, as a result of which many Tatar intellectuals were executed or purged. Overall, the Soviet period dealt a devastating blow to Tatar national development. Among its tragic consequences was the rupture of Tatar intellectual and cultural traditions due to the physical liquidation by the Bolsheviks of the key representatives of the intellectual elite and a double script change: first from Arabic to Latin (in 1927) and subsequently from Latin to Cyrillic (in 1937). The introduction of Cyrillic isolated the Soviet Tatars from their literary heritage and from the intellectual debate being conducted by Tatars in emigration. Objective research into Tatar history and Tatar–Russian relations, in particular, was prohibited. Instead, Tatar historians were encouraged to glorify the achievements of Soviet Tatarstan, the vanguard role of the Tatar working class under the guidance of the Communist Party, and the new supra-national historical entity ‘the Soviet people’. The study of Tatar national history was curtailed and limited to archaeology, folklore and other non-political spheres. Still, despite decades of purges and ideological indoctrination, a considerable number of Tatar intellectuals did not give up the hope of national revival and the restoration of Tatar statehood. Perestroika and the Tatar national opposition Gorbachev’s policy of openness (glasnost’) and economic and political restructuring (perestroika) provided the opportunity for this group of Tatar intellectuals to re-emerge and raise again the question of Tatar national rights. In their quest, they compensated for their theoretical weaknesses and absence

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of substantiated historical knowledge by a strong emotional charge and a populist appeal to the ‘Tatar golden age’, which, it was suggested, had been halted by the Russian conquest in 1552. For example, the Tatar Party of Ittifaq presented itself as the party of Tatar national independence and the successor to the Ittifaq Party which had existed in the early twentieth century (‘Ittifaq’Khalyk Partiyase 1993: 8). However, as noted above, the original Ittifaq had advocated the national cultural autonomy of Tatars within a democratic federal Russia and had never raised the issue of political independence. Between 1988 and 1990 there was no clear vision of the relationship between the national movement and Islam among Tatar national leaders. Their major goals were further democratization of the Soviet state and society and the decentralization of its political system; these were considered preconditions for the Tatar national revival and the eventual restoration of Tatar statehood. The initial programmes of VTOTs, the Tatar National Society of Sh. Marjani and other Tatar national organizations, which were adopted in 1988, did not include sections on Islam although they mentioned the role of religious organizations in the preservation of universal values, social norms and ethics (Mukhametshin 2000: 55–6). During this period the Tatar nationalists referred to Islam only in the context of the increasing public activity of the Ufa-based Islamic official administration, the DUMES. Thus, in 1989, Tatar national activists participated enthusiastically in the organization of the popular celebration of the 1100th anniversary of the Islamization of the Volga Bulgars and the 200th anniversary of the DUMES. The political aspirations of the Tatar opposition at that time often coincided with the pragmatic interests of the Tatarstan political establishment. As a result, the authorities turned a blind eye to the activities of Tatar nationalists in the republic. Furthermore, the government indirectly supported the anti-Moscow campaign, which was instigated by the Tatar nationalists, as leverage in the re-negotiation of its status with the weakened centre. On 30 August 1990, the Tatarstan leadership under Mintimir Shaimiev adopted a declaration of Tatarstan’s state sovereignty. The authorities welcomed the initiative of the Tatar opposition to move the DUMES from Ufa to Kazan since the Muftiiat was regarded as an indispensable attribute of political independence. Between 1990 and 1992, the Tatar nationalists tried to persuade Ufa Muftii Talgat Tadjuddinov to join their ranks. At this time Tatar national leaders and the local official mass media presented Muftii Tadjuddinov as ‘a great Tatar’ (Mukhametshin 2000: 10). The final refusal of Talgat Tadjuddinov to comply with the nationalist demands caused a rapid deterioration in the relationship between the Ufa Muftii and the leaders of the Tatar national movement. Muftii Tadjuddinov was stigmatised by Kazan as Moscow’s puppet and accused of corruption and anti-democratism. In the summer of 1992, the Tatar nationalists adopted a new stance on the issue of the Muftiiat and began campaigning for the creation of an independent Muftiiat of Tatarstan, based in Kazan. On 23 August 1992 they

Islam and power 83 backed a group of Tatar Imams who, at their gathering in Naberezhnie Chelny, announced their secession from the DUMES and the establishment of the Spiritual Board of the Muslims of the Republic of Tatarstan (the DUMRT) under the leadership of Muftii Gabdulla Galliullin. Although until mid-1992 most representatives of the Tatar national movement approached the Islamic question exclusively in the context of the politics of the Muftiiat, there were a small number of Tatar activists who sought a more active role for Islam in Tatar society. For example, the members of Iman in their programme, which was adopted in 1990, regarded the revival of the Islamic faith as an essential condition of the restoration of Tatar statehood. Iman’s functionaries viewed the present crisis of morality and the widespread crime in Tatarstan as direct consequences of the Tatars’ stateless existence. In 1991, Iman even appealed to the Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC) to recognize the political independence of Tatarstan and

Jalil-efendi, one of the leaders of the Milli Mejlis and husband of Fauzia Bayramova, leader of Ittifaq, Naberezhnie Chelney, Tatarstan. 5 August 1997. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

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to accept it into the OIC. In 1991, Iman acquired its own publishing house, headed by deputy Muftii Valiulla Yakubov. Alongside a variety of Islamic literature, Iman began to produce four Islamic periodical journals: Iman (1991), Vera (1994), Iman Nuri (1993) and Yakyn (1994) (Mukhametshin 2000: 57; Baltanov 1994: 81). The impact of the 1994 bilateral treaty The deterioration in relations between the ruling regime of President Shaimiev and the Tatar nationalists, which began in late 1992 and culminated in 1994, introduced significant changes in the political programme of the nationalist opposition. In February 1992, Tatar nationalists held the Kurultay (the All-Tatar Congress) in Kazan. At this Congress the Milli Mejlis was formed as an alternative national parliament of the seven million Tatars living both inside and outside Tatarstan. The declared objectives of the Milli Mejlis were the self-determination of the Tatars as a single, united nation, the raising of the status of the Tatar language, and the development of Tatar culture and Islam. Aydar Halim and other leaders of the Milli Mejlis accused President Shaimiev of a ‘soft dictatorship’ and complacency towards Moscow’s chauvinistic policies. They called upon all Tatars to unite around the Milli Mejlis and to begin a mass political movement for Shaimiev’s removal from office (Boton Tatar Kurultayi’nin Declaratsiyasi 1992). There was also a substantial shift in the nationalists’ approach towards Islam. They began to view the survival of the Tatar nation as inextricably linked to the strengthening of Islam. This was reflected in the adoption of such propaganda slogans as ‘the independence of the state depends on its nation and the independence of the nation depends on its iman (Islamic faith) (‘Ittifaq’ Tatar Milli Beysizlik Firkasi Programasi 1993). Following the signing of the bilateral treaty between Moscow and Kazan in February 1994, the Tatar national movement became divided into a moderate majority and a radical minority. Most members of VTOTs adopted the moderate line and accepted the treaty as a fait accompli. The moderate nationalists – whose leading representative was Rafael Khakimov, the President’s advisor – shared the official view on Islam as a symbol of Tatar nationhood and perceived the Muftiiat as a constituent part of the ruling regime. They therefore opposed any unsanctioned movements of Muftii Galiullin and supported the authorities, which replaced him in 1998 with the more co-operative Muftii Iskhakov. The leader of the VTOTs’ moderate faction, Fandas Safiullin, who was ‘elected’ as a deputy of the State Council, became an official critic of the ‘indefinite status’ of Tatarstan. During the parliamentary elections in December 1999, the authorities removed Fandas Safiullin from Tatar politics by promoting him into Russian State Duma as a deputy. The moderate nationalists Rashid Yagfarov and Farid Urazaev participated in the formation of pro-government Tatar national organizations that sought to neutralize their radical equivalents.

Islam and power 85 The key role in this process belonged to an All-Tatar World Congress under the leadership of academician Indus Tagirov. The declared aim of the Tatar Congress was to co-ordinate Tatar activities all over the world. Formally, the Congress focused on cultural issues, such as the creation of Tatar national schools, the organization of national festivals and sabantuys (Tatar national holidays), in particular in the areas where Tatars live. But under Tagirov’s direction, the real agenda of the Congress has been to facilitate the transformation of Russia-Tatarstan asymmetrical relations into a confederation. This has led some analysts to compare the role of the World Tatar Congress in the promotion of Tatarstan political independence to that of the World Jewish Congress in the creation of Israel (Tagirov 1998). The Tatar radical minority, mainly represented by members of Ittifaq, the Milli Mejlis and the radical wing of VTOTs, viewed the 1994 Treaty as a betrayal by the regime. They denounced Shaimiev’s regime as anti-national and began to oppose it. In return, the authorities subjected them to a policy of isolation and neutralization. This had a demoralising impact on the nationalist hard-liners, reflected in an intensification of their internal squabbles over leadership, scarce resources and the search for new political and ideological allies. For example, the leader of Ittifaq, Fauzia Bayramova, moved to extreme radicalism and forged a paradoxical alliance with her former bitter enemies – the communists. At the same time the radicals strengthened the Islamic dimension of their propaganda and joined forces with Islamists advocating pure, or Wahhabi, Islam. In November 1998, members of Ittifaq took part in the formation of a new opposition political movement, Omet (Hope), under the leadership of the defiant ex-Muftii of Tatarstan, Gabdulla Galiullin. Some less extremist members of Ittifaq and the Milli Mejlis distanced themselves from Bayramova and there was an obvious cooling of relations between Bayramova and the chairman of the Milli Mejlis, Aydar Halim. At the Ittifaq congress in December 1997 the party was split, with almost half of its members deserting Bayramova. The Naberezhnie Chelny branch of Ittifaq split into two factions, headed respectively by Damir Galeev and Rafail Khaplekhamitov. Similar processes occurred in Ittifaq branches in Nizhnekamsk, Al’metievsk and Elabuga. VTOTs, which had been stripped by the authorities of its best members, was reduced to a position of sanctioned opposition to the regime, which gave it licence to criticise the government for insufficient nationalism and anti-democratism. Until the end of 1999 its main spokesman remained Fandas Safiullin, a parliamentary deputy. VTOTs was always ready to play the ‘tough nationalist opposition’ to the regime if the latter needed to secure its stakes in its dealings with Moscow. Thus, some ‘controlled’ nationalist resurgence occurred in 1998 when the bilateral treaty was close to an end, and in 2000 when President Putin began to dismantle the ‘Tatarstan model’ and to restore the strong vertical relations between the centre and the periphery. At that point, Zaki Zaynullin and other activists of VTOTs staged pickets in front of the

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government building on Freedom Square, at which supporters raised placards with such slogans as ‘Shame to the Government of Tatarstan’, ‘Tatarstan does not have sovereignty’ and ‘The Tatar language should be the only state language of Tatarstan’.15 The fragmentation and marginalization of the Tatar national movement was accompanied by its further Islamization. In January 1996 the Milli Mejlis adopted the Tatar Kanuni (Tatar Constitution) which described Islam as the way of life of present and future generations of Tatars. The Kanun linked the restoration of the morality and ethics of Tatar society with the revival of the shariat and jadidism. The Milli Mejlis appealed to the authorities to ban the sale of alcoholic drinks during the Islamic holiday of Ramadan. In July 1996 the Milli Mejlis issued the Gaile Kodeksi (Family Law), which stated that the life of Tatar families should be regulated by the relevant suras (chapters) of the Koran. Islam was viewed as an effective medium to protect the nation from the destructive influences of JewishChristian civilization (Khaplekhamitov 1998). In 1997 the position of extreme nationalists on jadidism underwent a radical transformation. Since the legacy of Tatar Islam of both jadidist and qadimist nature had been monopolised by pro-government Tatar national ideologists, the radical nationalists turned to salafi (original, pure) Islam, also known as Wahhabism. At the fourth congress of Ittifaq in December 1997, Fauzia Bayramova denounced jadidism, Sufism and Euro Islam as capitulation to Russian cultural domination with its attendant Russification of Tatars and erosion of their national traditions. She also announced her allegiance to Wahhabism and declared a jihad (Islamic holy war) against the Russian kafirs (non-believers). The final goal of this jihad was the creation of an Islamic state in Tatarstan (Mukhametshin 2000: 76–7). The spectre of Islamic opposition Alongside the purely Tatar nationalist parties, a number of Islamic and Islamic-nationalist movements and organizations, which incorporated Islam into their agendas, emerged in post-Soviet Tatarstan. In June 1996, Muftii Galiullin and a group of Tatar national radicals from Ittifaq and the Milli Mejlis formed the public movement Musul’mane Tatarstana (Muslims of Tatarstan). The proclaimed objectives of this movement were ‘the national revival of all Muslim peoples of Russia, the preservation of their national languages, culture and traditions and the promotion of their political and economic interests’. Its avowed goal was the creation of a Muslim faction in Tatarstan’s parliament. Thus, according to Gabdulla Galiullin, the Musul’mane Tatarstana sought to win one-third of seats in the next parliament. Galiullin and his handful of supporters were critical of the existing atheistic regime and advocated a comprehensive integration of Islam into Tatarstan’s political and social make-up. Galiullin emphasized the inseparability of Islam, the Tatar nation and the Tatar state (Ustav i Programma

Islam and power 87 Respublikanskogo Obshestvenno-Politicheskogo Dvizheniia ‘Musul’mane Rossii’ 1996; Galiullin 1999a). Despite its impressive declarations and self-presentation the Musul’mane Tatarstana, like other opposition organizations, has failed to become a genuinely popular and viable political movement. Its activity was soon reduced to lobbying for the personal political ambitions of Gabdulla Galiullin and his entourage. As a result, after the removal of Gabdulla Galliullin from the post of Muftii in 1998, the Musul’mane Tatarstana lost its raison d’être. The official persecution had a radicalizing impact on the exMuftii. In November 1998 he formed the above-mentioned opposition movement Omet (Hope) which declared war on ‘the corrupt and antipopular regime of President Shaimiev’. Compared to the Musul’mane Tatarstana, the membership of which was based on confessional and ethnic principles, Omet called for the consolidation of all opposition forces irrespective of religion, nationality and ideology behind a broad socio-economic democratic programme. It is significant that in his anti-Shaimiev fervour, Gabdulla Galiullin made a complete political U-turn and began to seek alliances with communists and pro-Moscow democratic forces (Galiullin 1999a). Tatarstan’s opposition has also included a number of small, purely Islamic parties and organizations, which have had a symbolic and shortlived existence. Among them were the Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia Tatarstana (the Islamic Democratic Party of Tatarstan, IDPT, 1991) and Tatarstan’s branch of the Vserossiiskaia Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia (the All-Russian Islamic Party of Renaissance, RIPV, 1991). The attempts of various opposition forces to play the Islamic card in Tatarstan have failed, so far. In contrast to the North Caucasus, Islam in Tatarstan has not provided a mobilizing framework for opposition to the ruling regime. On the whole, that regime has secured its relative stability and undermined the chances of various opposition forces within Tatarstan to present a serious threat to it in the foreseeable future. In the hypothetical case of political and socio-economic destabilization in Tatarstan, the challenge to the present regime is more likely to come from the Moscow-based Mishar-dominated Tatar clan. Among the older representatives of this clan are Fikryat Tabiev, the former first secretary of the Communist Party of Tatarstan, and Gumer Usmanov, the secretary of the last Secretariat of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the USSR. The younger members of this clan include Rafgat Altynbayev, the former mayor of Naberezhnie Chelny, Iskander Galimov, the former Minister of the Interior, and some other younger representatives of Tatarstan’s Tatar politicians who have recently been ‘deported’ by President Shaimiev to Moscow.

Islam and the political authorities in Dagestan In Dagestan the impact of Islam on the policy-making process has been significantly greater than in Tatarstan. One reason for this is the substantially

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higher level of religiosity of the population; another has been the much deeper economic crisis, aggravated by Dagestan’s close proximity to warstricken and intensively Islamicized Chechnia. Dagestan is a mountainous country populated by over thirty different ethnic groups, each of which has its own culture, history and language. Dagestan’s peoples belong to three major ethno-linguistic families: the Nakh-Dagestani branch of the Caucasian language family, the Turkic group of the Altay language family, and the Indo-European family. The largest ethnic groups are the Avars (constituting 27.5 per cent of the population), the Dargins (15.5 per cent), the Kumyks (13 per cent) and the Lezgins (11.5 per cent). According to Dagestan’s Constitution of 1994, fourteen ethnic groups (the Avars, Dargins, Kumyks, Lezgins, Russians, Laks, Tabasarans, Azeris, Chechens, Nogais, Tats, Rutuls, Aguls and Tsakhurs) have the right of legislative initiative and are equally represented in the State Council (Ware and Kisriev 2001: 114). As a society, post-Soviet Dagestan combines modern and primordial patriarchal features. Among the latter are the still relatively strong communal, ethno-clan and religious ties, which supersede individual rights and values. Historically, Dagestani society has been organized around clans, also known as tukhums. Around the thirteenth to fourteenth centuries, however, a socio-political formation – the jamaat (community) – emerged, which united several tukhums. Jamaats were headed by councils of elders representing the constituent tukhums. Inter-tukhum and inter-jamaat relations were regulated by adat, which structured the economic, political and socio-cultural norms that distinguished Dagestan as a coherent sociocultural entity. Members of a jamaat adopted a local lingua franca for communication and developed common civil and political interests that held over individual ethnic and clan solidarities. Jamaats were self-sufficient formations with a great degree of independence; political stability in Dagestan was determined by the balance of power between various jamaats (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 109). The social and cultural evolution of Dagestan has been inextricably linked to Islam. Islam was brought to Dagestan by Arab conquerors in the seventh century, and by the sixteenth century Islam had become the religion of the majority of Dagestanis (although Christianity, Judaism and other beliefs continued to be professed also). Most Dagestanis adopted the Shafii madhhab of Sunni Islam, although the Nogais of northern Dagestan opted for the Hanafi madhhab. From the sixteenth century a Shi’ite community existed in Derbend. Islamization enhanced the process of state formation on the plains of Dagestan. By the sixteenth century a number of feudal quasistates – Kazi-Kumukh, Khunzakh, Tarki, Kaytag and Tabasaran – had emerged. Their rulers – shamkhals, nutsals and beks – enthusiastically embraced the Islamic religion, which they regarded as a powerful medium for supra-tribal and supra-ethnic unification of the peoples of Dagestan. In this sense Islam was an important tool for politically subordinating the jamaats to the emergent Islamised feudal rulers; a fact reflected in the way

Islam and power 89 KALMYKIYA STAVROPOL KRAI

DAGESTAN Caspian Sea Terek

Sulak

CHECHNYA

Khasavyurt

Makhachkala Kaspiisk Buinaksk

Derbent

GEORGIA

ur m

Sa

Land over 200 metres 40 km

AZERBAIJAN

Figure 2.3 Contemporary Dagestan Source: The Territories of the Russian Federation, Europa Publications, first edition, 1999.

Demographics: `Dagestan’ (in Avar) means ‘a country of mountains’. Its territory is 50, 300 square kilometres and its population is 1.95 million (1995). The majority – 56.4 per cent – of its population is rural. More than thirty different ethnic groups live in the republic.

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Politics: Administratively, Dagestan is divided into 42 raions. The Constitution of Dagestan (1994) declares it to be a democratic, secular republic within the Russian Federation. The republic’s political system is based on the principle of ethnic parity. The fourteen largest ethnic groups – Avars, Dargins, Kumyks, Lezgins, Russians, Laks, Tabasarans, Azeris, Chechens, Nogais, Tats, Rutuls, Aguls and Tsakhurs – have the right of legislative initiative and are equally represented in the chief legislative and executive structures. The chief legislative and executive bodies of Dagestan have a collegial form. The supreme legislative body is the 121-member People’s Assembly (Parliament), which is partially elected on the principle of general suffrage and partially filled by appointments made at district level. Its functions are primarily legislative and budgetary. This chamber forms one half of the 242 member Constitutional Assembly. The other half of the Constitutional Assembly comprises delegates elected from the municipalities and districts, using the same ethnic ratio as in the People’s Assembly. The Constitutional Assembly considers constitutional amendments and elects members of the State Council. The State Council is the supreme executive power and is elected for a period of 5 years. The Cabinet of Ministers is an institutionally distinct executive body subordinate to the State Council. The state language of Dagestan is Russian (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 11). Economics: Dagestan is one of the least economically developed autonomous republics of the Russian Federation. It is strongly dependent on Federal subsidies (which constitute 80–95 per cent of the republic’s budget) and supplies. It is a largely agrarian republic, specializing in sheep breeding, fishing, fruit growing, and the related production of wine and brandy.

the Islamic clerics – alimi (ulema16), qadis, imams and dibirs (imams) – became integrated into the ruling stratum. Between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries, Dagestan was one of the world centres of Islamic learning and scholarship, on the one hand, and of Islamic territorial expansion, on the other. In this period Dagestan was known as the bahr al-ulum (the sea of Islamic knowledge). Dagestani ulema Ali-haji al-Kumukhi, Muhammad al-Kudutlya, Abu Bakr al-Aymaki, Tayid al-Kurakhi, Muhammad al-Akusha, and other representatives of high Islam, enjoyed recognition in the wider Islamic world (Zargishev1999: 35). The Dagestani feudal rulers often collaborated, as they spread Islam among their non-Muslim neighbours in Chechnia, Kabarda and Cherkessiia (Shikhsaidov 1969: 188–90). However, their individual political and strategic interests often outweighed their Islamic solidarity and from the late sixteenth century some Dagestani rulers often chose to ally themselves with the Russian Orthodox Tsars against Islamic Iran and Turkey, as well as rival leaders within Dagestan. Such collaboration paved the way for the first Russian (Cossack) settlements on the banks of the river Terek in northern Dagestan and the Turkmanchai Treaty, signed in the aftermath of the Russian-Iranian war of 1826–8, effectively legitimized Russia’s presence in the region (Bartol’d 1963: 675).

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The role of Sufism in Dagestani politics St Petersburg’s increasing political and military expansion in the North Caucasus, and Dagestan in particular, met fierce resistance from the local population. A number of mountain peoples of Dagestan and Chechnia took part in the gazawat (Islamic holy war) against the Russian Orthodox intrusion, for which Sufi Islam provided the organizational and ideological framework. The first Sufis had appeared in Dagestan as early as the eleventh century, having arrived from the Black Sea region of eastern Anatolia and later on from Central Asia. Dagestan’s social organization, as well as its mountainous landscape, provided fertile ground for the proliferation of Sufism, which historically had developed as an anti-establishment form of Islam. By the eighteenth century, the bulk of Dagestanis had adopted Sufi Islam of the Naqshbandi, Kadiri and Yasawi tariqas (orders). Sufism, which absorbed various local pre-Islamic beliefs and practices, became deeply integrated into the traditional community system, lending it a spiritual substance. This process of engagement generated a specific regional form of Sufism, known as tariqatism.17 Tariqatism developed both theosophical and popular forms. Among early Dagestani Sufi thinkers was Muhammad Abu Bakr ad-Derbendi who wrote the famous eleventh-century Sufi treatise Reykhan al-Khakaik va Bustan al-Dakaik (The Bouquet of Truth and the Garden of Subtleties). However, it was the ideas of the luminary of Islamic mysticism Abu Khamid al-Ghazali (1059–1111) that had a particular influence on the further development of Sufi theosophy in Dagestan. In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, Sufi thinking in Dagestan reached its height; it was at this point that Dagestan acquired its fame as ‘a country of sheikhs’. Unlike mainstream Sufis – who were concerned with internal self-perfection – tariqatists were politically engaged. In the Middle Ages Sufi sheikhs led popular protest movements against a number of Dagestani feudal rulers and official Islamic clergy. These movements often employed the call for ‘the restoration of purity of the shariat’ as a mobilizing slogan. The Russian military invasion of mountainous Dagestan and other parts of the North Caucasus in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries further strengthened the political and military dimensions of tariqatism. The Naqshbandi sheikhs and their disciples appealed across ethnic and clan boundaries and thus united Dagestani and Chechen mountain peoples in a gazawat against both the Russian invaders and the local feudal leaders, who opposed the proliferation of shariat to replace adat norms. Between 1824 and 1859, the Dagestani Naqshbandi Imam Shamyl formed an independent Islamic state (Imamat) based on the shariat on the territory of present-day Dagestan, Chechnia and Ingushetiia (Bennigsen-Broxup 1992: 34; Smirnov 1963: 136–79). In the 1860s, the Russians finally defeated the Islamic resistance and asserted their formal suzerainty over Dagestan. The Russian victory had a devastating impact on the tariqatists. Thousands were deported to Siberia,

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and hundreds of thousands were forced to flee to the Ottoman empire. Those Sufis who survived were forced either to move to other tariqas, which had not been associated with the recent gazawat, or to hide in the mountains. Employing the principle of ‘divide and rule’, the Russian authorities offered substantial concessions to those representatives of Dagestani Islamic officialdom who agreed to collaborate with them. They also adopted a policy of institutionalizing adat, integrating it within the Russian imperial juridical system as an effective deterrent against the ‘anti-Russian’ shariat. By 1868 a network of oral adat courts had been established across Dagestan (Leontovich 1882: 4–6). Despite this, shariat courts continued to exist and held their supremacy over the adat courts. Thus, on the whole, until the beginning of the twentieth century Dagestani society was regulated by the norms of traditional (qadimist) Islam and had been only marginally affected by the ideas of jadidism, which had proliferated so rapidly in contemporary Tatarstan. Dagestani society between the world wars The Russian revolutions of February and October 1917 triggered a renewed political activity among Dagestani Muslim leaders. Some of them, including Sheikh-ul-Islam (the highest Islamic authority in Dagestan) Ali-Gadji Akushinskii, supported the Bolsheviks, while many others fiercely resisted them (Daniialov 1988: 52–60). Anti-Soviet resistance peaked in 1920 when the Sufi leaders N. Gotsinskii and Said-bey, the grandson of Imam Shamyl, led a mass rebellion calling for political independence for the North Caucasus and the creation of an Islamic state. In 1921 the Red Army defeated the Islamic rebels and the whole of the North Caucasus was brought under the Soviet regime and subjected to a new administrative division.18 In Dagestan, as in other non-Russian regions of Russia, the Bolsheviks promoted a new type of local elite, dominated by non-indigenous, mainly Russian, Party activists. Parallel to the imposition of immigrants in the top positions in the Dagestani political establishment, Moscow pursued a policy of korenizatsiia (nativization) aimed at the cultivation of middle- and low-level indigenous Party and Soviet functionaries. To ensure maximum loyalty, the candidates were recruited from poor and disadvantaged social and ethnic groups. Thus, the Bolsheviks favoured the Avars and the mountain peoples whilst sidelining the Kumyks and other peoples of the plains. Until the mid-1920s the Bolsheviks pursued a relatively tolerant and considerate policy towards Islam, and Muslims. They tolerated the shariat courts and the Islamic confessional education in Dagestan and refrained from anti-Islamic policies and propaganda. As a result, the Bolsheviks secured passive acceptance from the majority of Dagestanis during the first critical years after the revolution. An important role in the success of the Bolshevik policy in Dagestan was played by a group of influential local

Islam and power 93 clerics, known as the ‘Red sheikhs’, who became enthusiastic propagators of the ‘advantages’ of the Soviet system for Muslims. However, as soon as the Soviet regime had stabilized, Bolshevik policy towards Islam, and Muslims, hardened. At this point waqf was liquidated, the shariat courts abolished, and mosques and medresses demolished or appropriated for secular use. The Sufis and Islamic clerics were executed, persecuted or sent into exile. Most Islamic books were destroyed and the Sufi tradition was subjected to various distortions and accretions from popular oral myths and fantasies (Baymurzaev 1984: 88). Nevertheless, Islam, mainly in its popular form, survived. The peculiarly secretive nature of Sufi Islam facilitated the continuity of the Islamic faith and culture in spite of decades of Soviet atheism. Sufis were forced deep underground, but some managed to return to public life – albeit in a disguised, non-religious way – and even to infiltrate the Communist and Soviet administration of Dagestan. Indeed, in rural areas – where the bulk of the population was concentrated – Soviet rule failed to engender fundamental change in everyday life. Although their titles changed, the rural administration remained largely the same; even the agrarian reform (collectivization) of the early 1930s was managed in such a way that kolkhozes and sovkhozes were created from groups formed along clan and religious lines. During the Second World War, the Stalinist leadership once again relaxed its position towards Islam in order to prevent an alliance between the Soviet Muslims and the German invaders. In 1944 it sanctioned the formation of the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Severnogo Kavkaza (the Spiritual Board of the Muslims of the North Caucasus, hereafter referred to as the DUMSK) in the Dagestani city of Buinaksk, the leading positions in which were occupied by the Dagestani (Avar) Islamic elite. From 1944 until 1989 the DUMSK administered the Muslims of Dagestan, Checheno-Ingushetiia and other Islamic autonomies of the Russian Federation. The DUMSK was integrated within the Soviet political system and, publicly, its leadership subscribed to the official Soviet position on Sufism – that it was a form of religious obscurantism – and suppressed any Sufi-related activity. However, in practice many members of the DUMSK either retained a secret Sufi affiliation or maintained reverence for Sufism. Soviet Dagestan In Dagestan the scale of Soviet industrialization, urbanization and subsequent secularization was significantly lower than in Tatarstan. As a result of the policy of korenizatsiia, the postwar political establishment of Dagestan consisted largely of first generation indigenous Communist Party and Soviet nomenklatura. Its representatives, paradoxically, combined wholehearted dedication to communist ideals, including the denunciation of nationalism and religion, with discreet loyalty to the traditional clan and Sufi network. Indeed, this kind of social and ideological duality was characteristic of all

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spheres of Dagestani society. In many respects, Dagestan remained a traditional rural society and, in contrast with Tatarstan, Islam remained a key social regulator. Distant mountain villages remained havens of traditional Islamic learning; and since they primarily used Arabic language, the script changes imposed by the Soviet regime had less severe cultural consequences in Dagestan than in Tatarstan. Still, one should not underrate the destructive impact on Dagestan of Soviet social and ethnic engineering. Soviet administrative delimitation and national policy undermined the traditional mechanisms of social and political self-regulation based on the balancing of power between different jamaats and tukhums. Moreover, it had physically divided the Chechens, Nogais, Lezgins, Cossacks and some other Dagestani peoples across administrative and republican borders. The policy of wholesale ethnic deportations in 1943–4 dealt another severe blow to ethno-political stability in Dagestan. In 1944, for example, the Chechen-Akkins of Aukhovskii (Novolakskii) raion of Dagestan were deported to Central Asia and their land and property were transferred to neighbouring peoples, primarily Laks. When the Chechen-Akkins returned to Dagestan in the 1950s, there was inevitably tension between them and the Laks. Another ethnic time-bomb in Dagestan was created by Moscow’s persistent resettlement between the 1920s and 1950s of mountain ethnic groups on the Caspian lowlands. This policy aggravated existing territorial and ethnic tensions between mountain peoples and lowlanders, especially between Avars and Dargins on the one hand, and Kumyks, Cossacks and Russians on the other (Migratsiia Naseleniia Respubliki Dagestan, 1996. Statisticheskii Sbornik 1997). Yet another serious ethnic problem was generated by the Soviet policy of the ‘consolidation’ of the thirty or more ethnic groups in the republic into several larger nationalities.19 As a result, the Avars formally became the largest ethnic group, constituting 27.5 per cent of the total population (Osnovnie Natsionalnosti Respubliki Dagestan. Statisticheskii Sbornik 1995: 1–2.). Numerical superiority, together with Moscow’s backing, enhanced the Avars’ political, economic and cultural domination in Dagestan. On the whole, under the Soviet regime, Islamic Dagestan underwent a substantial social and cultural mutation that produced a peculiar synthesis of primordial community, clan and tariqa-related structures and norms, on the one hand, and a Sovietized version of a modern socio-economic and ethical system, on the other. An important medium of Dagestan’s cultural and technological modernization was the massive influx of Russians into the republic.20 The peak of Russian immigration was in the 1930s–1950s when Dagestan was subjected to partial industrialization primarily to meet the needs of the military-industrial complex. By 1959 the Russians, who were mainly professionals and industrial workers, already constituted 20 per cent of the Dagestan population. The intensive Russian immigration, as well as the proliferation of the Russian language as a language of education and a lingua franca in this linguistically heterogeneous society, accounted for the

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substantial Russification of the Dagestanis. Apart from bringing professional training, the communally and ethnically disengaged Russians played a useful stabilising role in multi-ethnic Dagestan. However, from the middle of the 1970s Dagestan’s Russian population began to decline and out-migration accelerated massively following the collapse of the USSR. Thus, by the late 1990s, Russians accounted for only about 6 per cent of the total population of the republic (Otchet Goskomstata Respubliki Dagestan za 1998 1999: 23). Perestroika: Dagestan’s worst nightmare Perestroika was greeted quite differently in Dagestan than it had been in Tatarstan. Both the elite and the mass of Dagestan’s population had become accustomed to the Soviet system and feared radical change. The population had benefited from comprehensive free education, medical services and social welfare under the Soviet system, all of which were inaccessible for Muslims in the Islamic heartland. Moreover, under the Soviet centralised economic system Dagestan had enjoyed substantial economic and financial subsidies from the centre, which had led to a radical improvement in the living standards of Dagestanis. So, on the eve of perestroika the majority of Dagestanis were among the most ardent supporters of the existing Soviet system and expressed none of the enthusiasm for Gorbachev’s ‘thaw’ found among the Tatars of Tatarstan. On the contrary, Dagestanis were devastated by the break-up of the USSR and subsequent de-Sovietization, and most perceived it as a catastrophic event in Dagestani history. In response, Dagestanis sought to preserve the Soviet political system as long as possible; and indeed most of its key elements persisted in Dagestan until 1995, much longer than anywhere else in Russia. The Communists, moreover, remained the most popular party in Dagestan right through to the late 1990s.21 Dagestan, like all the North Caucasus, suffered much more than Tatarstan from the disintegration of the Soviet Union and the general postSoviet disorder. It was particularly badly hit by the breakdown of the Soviet economic system and the fall in federal subsidies. This brought about a rapid decrease in supplies from the centre, and the paralysis of the Soviet-era military-industrial plants, which provided employment for much of the population of the republic. Since 1994 the situation has also been aggravated by the war in neighbouring Chechnia. Among its worst consequences have been the spread of military and terrorist activities to the territory of Dagestan; the proliferation of a culture of violence and lawlessness; lengthy periods of economic blockade; a massive influx of Chechen refugees; and the advance of Islamic radicalism. All these factors contributed to mass impoverishment, desolation and frustration, which, in turn, has created a fertile breeding ground for extremism of a nationalist and religious nature. During the ‘parade of sovereignties’ of the early 1990s the Dagestani leadership, which was largely represented by elderly members of the

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Communist Party and the Soviet nomenklatura, did not respond toYeltsin’s call ‘to take as much sovereignty as you can handle’. On the contrary, the Dagestani authorities consistently affirmed their allegiance to the centre. Unlike the leaders of Tatarstan, the Dagestani government had no hesitation in signing the Federal Treaty in 1992. However, Moscow’s initial indifference towards Dagestan, as well as to other economically unprofitable, peripheral Russian regions, forced them to seek new alliances in order to safeguard the status quo. In the context of deep social and economic crisis, including the disintegration of the Party-based social network, traditional clan and ethnic solidarities re-emerged as the only viable form of social cohesion. But this had dangerous implications for a republic dependent upon complex ethno-political balancing for any chance of stability. Avar dominance, which in the past had been secured by Moscow, was shaken and challenged by the leaders of the other large ethnic groups. This was especially true of the Dargins, who had been increasingly assertive in the decade preceding perestroika. The Dargin political offensive was accompanied by increased activism among the Kumyks, Nogais, Lezgins and Laks, who had felt disadvantaged during the Soviet period as well, and who wished to claim their share of political power. In 1994, the Dargin elite achieved a long-standing goal when it succeeded in securing the appointment of its own representative, Magomedali Magomedov, to the post of Chairman of the State Council of the Republic of Dagestan. Under Magomedali Magomedov’s guidance the balance of power began to shift in favour of the Dargins. Among the most influential Dargins were the Finance Minister, Gamid Gamidov and the mayor of Makhachkala, Sayid Amirov. The State Council turned de facto into the main organ of political and economic power in the republic. The battered Avar elite attempted a counter-offensive by orchestrating an opposition movement against the ‘anti-democratic and corrupt’ ruling regime. The major forces of the opposition were the Avar national front of Imam Shamyl under the leadership of Gadji Makhachev and the Lak national movement Kazi-Kumukh, headed by Magomed Khachilaev. Both organizations strongly resembled ethnic mafias, complete with their own armed militias. Their leaders were key players in the Dagestani black economy, which overshadowed its official equivalent. Gadji Makhachev was in charge of the oil industry, while Magomed Khachilaev controlled the caviar and fishing industries. The position of the Kazi-Kumukh was strengthened as a result of its close links with the Soiuz Musul’man Rossii (Union of Muslims of Russia, hereafter referred to as the SMR) headed by Nadirshakh Khachilaev, the younger brother of Magomed.22 As part of the counter-offensive, an attempt was made to restore Avar control over the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Dagestana (Spiritual Board of Muslims of Dagestan, hereafter referred to as the DUMD). In the Soviet period, Avar clerics dominated Islamic officialdom in Dagestan, and the whole region. However, following the disintegration of the centralised

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Islamic administration of the North Caucasus in 1989 and the emergence of the autonomous Muftiiats, the Avars were pushed aside by the Islamic clerics of the other large ethnic groups. In 1989 the Kumyks promoted their candidate sheikh Muhammad Mukhtar Babatov to the post of Dagestani Muftii. Several months later Babatov was replaced by Abdulla Aligadjiev, a protégé of the Dargin ulema, only to have him replaced by a Kumyk – Bagauddin Isayev – once again in January 1990. From late 1990 the representatives of the younger generation of the Avar clergy, the so-called ‘young Imams’, began a steady comeback. In order to avoid association with the old, Sovietera Islamic establishment, they stressed their allegiance to the traditional tariqatist Islam and, for purely tactical reasons, established co-operation with the Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia (Islamic Democratic Party, hereafter referred to as the IDP), led by Abdurashid Saidov.23 In February 1992, the Avar ‘young Imams’ succeeded in organizing the ‘election’ of their representative Sayid Ahmed Darbishgadjiyev as the new Muftii of the Spiritual Board of Muslims of Dagestan. However, the restoration of Avar religious dominance was opposed by Islamic clerics from the Kumyk, Dargin, Lak, Nogai and some other ethnic groups, who attempted to form separate ethnic Islamic administrations. In order to strengthen their claims to religious supremacy the Avar elite mobilized a trans-ethnic Sufi interest group. It began to promote the Naqshbandi sheikh Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii, an Avar, to the rank of ‘the supreme Sheikh of Dagestan’ (Yemelianova 1999: 619; Zargishev 2000). The authority of the next Dagestani Muftii, Magomed Darbishev, also an Avar, rested on having received the blessing of Sheikh Sayid-efendi. Darbishev’s successors, Seyid Muhammad Abubakarov (an Avar, 1996–8) and Ahmad-haji Abdulaev (an Avar, 1998–) were also protéges of Sayidefendi. During the period of their administration Sayid-efendi’s murids (disciples), especially those from Gumbetovskii raion, the homeland of Sayid-efendi, were appointed to the top posts within the DUMD; in unofficial circles the DUMD came to be known as ‘the Muftiiat of Gumbet’. Among Sayid-efendi’s high profile murids was, for example, Khasmuhammad-haji, the head of the Council of the Dagestani Imams. In 1994 the Dagestani government recognized the DUMD as the only legitimate supreme Islamic authority in Dagestan and pronounced the rival Kumyk, Dargin, Lak and Nogai Islamic administrations to be selfappointed and illegitimate. Alongside the DUMD the resurgent Avar elite also relied on the Islamskaia Partiia Dagestana (Islamic Party of Dagestan, hereafter referred to as the IPD), under the leadership of Surokat Asiyatilov, which had emerged in 1992 as a result of the break-up of the IDP. The post-Soviet Dagestani elite By the mid-1990s the process of formation of the post-Soviet Dagestani political establishment was more or less complete. The newer ‘democratic’

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elite was now represented by an alliance, or merger of the old, atheistic Party apparatchiks, who preserved their jobs – although under new ‘democratic’ labels – and the nouveaux riches involved in various semi-criminal and criminal businesses (Rezonans 1998). The merger of the old nomenklatura and mafia occurred along ethnic lines producing a specific Dagestani phenomenon: ethnic parties.24 The Dargin and Avar ethnic parties occupied the top positions while the Kumyk and Lezgin parties dominated the second-most important positions. Thus, Hizri Shikhsaidov, a Kumyk, occupied the post of prime minister. Until May 1998 the Lak ethnic party, headed by the Khachilaev clan, pressed for its share of power. In terms of corruption and incompetence the Dagestani regime followed the general post-Soviet pattern. It failed to curb an increase in crime or to safeguard the population from the economic and social hardships of the ‘transition’ period. Like Chechnia, Dagestan has been overwhelmed by a wave of terrorism, including political assassinations and kidnappings in return for ransoms. Among its victims were the Finance Minister, G. Gamidov; the leader of the Kumyk national council, B. Aldzhanbekov; the former Trade Minister B. Khadzhiev; the People’s Assembly deputy M. Sulaymanov and the Dagestan Muftii A. Abubakarov. The mayor of Makhachkala, Sayid Amirov, has survived over ten assassination attempts (Vzryv na Kladbishche 1998). Having fulfilled the ambitions of the leaders of the ethnic parties, the national movements lost their raison d’être. By 1995 most of them had lost popular support and were torn apart by internal squabbles. Some of them formally parted ways, while others simply ceased to exist. Some leaders of national movements, like the Avar national leader Gadji Makhachev, were co-opted into the political establishment and therefore lost their interest in informal political activities; others turned towards radicalism and began to search for alliances with anti-establishment forces outside the ethnic framework. The establishment’s position on the role of Islam The failure of ethno-nationalists to generate a viable opposition to the corrupt and ineffective government encouraged popular Islamic protest. This was channelled largely into the fundamentalist movement, known as Wahhabism. The popularity of Wahhabism grew rapidly and, by 1999, about 7–9 per cent of Dagestani Muslims had Wahhabi sympathies.25 On several occasions during the 1990s, Wahhabi leaders demonstrated their ability to mobilize their followers for the struggle against the injustice and lawlessness they associated with the ruling regime. The response of the Dagestani authorities, who desperately needed internal and external threats in order to justify their political indispensability, was to pursue a ruthless ideological, political and administrative suppression of Wahhabism. In December 1997 the People’s Assembly banned the activities of the Wahhabis

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on the territory of Dagestan. Many Wahhabi leaders were arrested, their offices were demolished and their periodicals were closed.26 The Dagestan pro-government mass media launched an anti-Wahhabi propaganda campaign, presenting Wahhabis as foreign, mainly Saudi and British mercenaries (Ramazanov 1997). The resolute anti-Wahhabi position of the official authorities of Dagestan has been reinforced by the Chechen and Moscow factors. The Dagestani authorities feared that the proliferation of Wahhabism would aid Chechen radicals in their plan to unite Chechnia and Dagestan in a single Islamic state, ruled by Wahhabi Chechens. On the other hand, in the conditions of protracted military conflict between Moscow and Chechnia, Dagestan’s official denunciation of Wahhabism has been an important condition for the continuing inflow of federal subsidies to Makhachkala. For example, as a reward for their unambiguous support for Moscow during the abortive Chechen-Wahhabi invasion of Dagestan in August and September 1999 the Dagestani authorities received substantial dividends. In the aftermath of the invasion, Federal financial support for the republic increased by 270 per cent (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 106). Since then the leaders of Dagestan have carefully attuned their rhetoric and actions to the policies of President Putin who interprets Wahhabism, as indeed he does other Islam-related movements, as promoting Islamic extremism and international terrorism. Anti-Wahhabism has provided common ground for collaboration also between the, basically secular, political establishment and the DUMD. The origins of this co-operation lies within the Avar ethnic party (see above); the latter’s high-ranking officials lobbied for the interests of the DUMD in government and parliament while the leaders of the Muftiiat backed Avar politicians during elections. Thus, in 1994, the DUMD supported Mukhu Aliev during the election for chair of the People’s Assembly. At the People’s Assembly elections, the DUMD voiced its support for another noted Avar, the leader of the Islamic Party of Dagestan, Surokat Asiyatilov. However, there were also occasions when the Avar elite, including the leaders of the DUMD, forged close links with some non-Avar politicians who joined the Avar ethnic party for political or tactical reasons. Among the latter were, for example, the head of the national pension fund Sharapuddin Musaev, Kaspiisk mayor Ruslan Gadzhubekov and the People’s Assembly deputy Abakar Akaev. All three of these prominent Dargin politicians belonged to the rival faction to that of Magomedali Magomedov within the Dargin ethnic party. In 1998 they provided substantial financial support to the DUMD. Similarly, some non-Avar Islamic clerics and Sufi sheikhs chose to support the Avar ethnic party. Among such collaborationists were the Naqshbandi sheikhs Arsanali Gamzatov Paraul’skii, a Kumyk, and Abdulwahid Kakamakhinskii, a Dargin. The DUMD declared Arsanali Gamzatov the second spiritual authority in Dagestan, after Sheikh Sayid-efendi, and promoted him to the post of head of the Council of the Dagestani Ulema.

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Some high-ranking representatives of the Islamic clergy have been co-opted into the political establishment. In 1998 Ilyas-haji Ilyasov, the former deputy Imam of the Central mosque in Makhachkala, was appointed as a religious advisor to Khizri Shikhsaidov, the prime minister. Nevertheless, the strategic partnership between the political establishment and Islamic officialdom has suffered from serious friction over some tactical issues. For example, in 1997–8 they disagreed on the forms and methods of combating Wahhabism. An enthusiastic proponent of the DUMD’s agenda was Surokat Asiyatilov, the Parliamentary deputy and the leader of the IPD. He accused the government of insufficient resoluteness in dealing with the Wahhabis and demanded a toughening of the existing Law on Freedom of Conscience, in effect criminalizing any Islamic activity outside the control of the DUMD and institutionalizing the latter’s spiritual monopoly in the republic (Asiyatilov 1997). Muftiiat officials argued that, in Dagestan’s current sitution, the Federal liberal religious legislature would bolster Islamic radicalism. They also insisted on the inclusion of clauses in the new Law on Freedom of Conscience to give them free access to the mass media and control over the election of Imams at all levels and registration of all religious organizations (Makarov 2000a: 17–19). DUMD officials reacted extremely negatively towards the authorities’ dialogue with the Wahhabis, who in the summer of 1998 proclaimed three villages of Buinakskii raion an Islamic territory. The Muftiiat’s officials accused the government of ‘divide and rule’ politics and of a deliberate plan to use the Wahhabis as a counterweight to traditional Islam, embodied in the DUMD. At the Congress of Muslims of the North Caucasus in Groznii in July 1998, Dagestani Islamic clerics warned the leaders of Dagestan of their willingness to resort to their own radical measures in dealing with Wahhabism in the event of continuing official complacency. During that period members of the Islamic officialdom became more critical of the government’s position on the role of Islam in society. In particular, they accused the government of sabotaging their proposals to integrate shariat into the Dagestan legal system, as it had been in the 1920s; to develop an Islamic educational system and create an Islamic University; to increase Islamic broadcasting on television and radio; to introduce a centralized system of collection and distribution of zakat (alms); to institutionalize the celebration of mawlid (chanting of hymns in honour of the celebrated person); and to replace Sunday with Friday as the weekly holiday (Kurbanov 1998). The assassination of Muftii Abubakarov on 21 August 1998 at the Central mosque in Makhachkala caused the most serious collision in relations between the government and the Muftiiat. DUMD officials turned from criticism to direct attack on the government, which they charged with criminal complacency in relation to the Wahhabis. The Islamic clerics called for the immediate resignation of Magomedali Magomedov and a new election of the entire State Council. At the National Congress, which was

Islam and power 101 organized by the DUMD a week after Muftii Abubakarov’s death, the Islamic clerics threatened to organize mass meetings until the authorities met their demands (Makarov 2000a: 20). However, the government did not respond to the DUMD’s outburst. Moreover, it was annoyed by what it saw as its ‘excessive’ interference in the decision-making process. On 1 September 1998 the representatives of the government and the Wahhabi jamaat in the village of Karamakhi reached a compromise agreement. In order to remind the Muftiiat of its actual place in Dagestani politics the authorities targeted some of its influential friends during a new wave of the government campaign against corruption and crime. Among its victims were R. Gadjibekov and Sh. Musaev. The new Muftii, Ahmed-haji Abdullaev, was forced to moderate the political stance of the DUMD and to refrain from overt criticism of the government. During the Chechen-Wahhabi invasion of Dagestan in August and September 1999, the DUMD allied with the authorities against the invaders. The DUMD’s officials rejected the Wahhabis’ claim that the invasion was a jihad and called upon Dagestani Muslims to defend their motherland and the true faith against the invaders. The intelligentsia and Islam As in Tatarstan, the role of the Dagestani intelligentsia in official policy making related to Islam has been weak. Its representatives have been alienated from the ruling regime, which they perceived as corrupt, incompetent and immune to reform. Until 1999 the non-Russian Dagestani intellectuals expressed their vision of Islam and its role in Dagestani society in a number of Islamic periodicals.27 Some perceived Islam as a crucial factor in the moral salvation of a society which had become socially degraded and criminalized. They also linked the possible solution to the current crisis to the emergence of a strong, charismatic Islamic leader. Some Dagestani intellectuals admitted that they would have welcomed the development of an Islamic educational system and the introduction of elements of the shariat into public life as the only viable deterrent to the rise in crime. The attitudes of members of the Dagestani intelligentsia towards Wahhabism varied considerably. Some totally rejected it, others expressed their toleration of it, or even its preference to tariqatism. Some even suggested that Wahhabism, which is based on the harshest Hanbali madhhab of Sunni Islam, appealed to the particular mentality and temper of Dagestanis (Aliev 1998; Alieva 1997; Gadjiev 1997; Saidov 1997; Shikhsaidov 1998). Representatives of the Russian and Russian-speaking intelligentsia were, however, less enthusiastic about the introduction of religious norms into public life. Many of them were sceptical about the possibility of the integration of religion into the fabric of society on the pre-Soviet scale. They were convinced of the irreversibility of secularism and viewed the role of religion as a purely individual issue. At the same time, many Russian intellectuals expressed their concern over the faster pace of the Islamic revival compared with

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Orthodoxy, feared that further Islamic advance would strain inter-ethnic relations in the republic and would further accelerate Russian emigration (Milovanov 1997).

Islam and the opposition in Dagestan The ambivalent and muted public reaction in Dagestan to perestroika had been conditioned by a profound concern that any significant political and economic changes might undermine the republic’s carefully constructed status quo. Consequently the slogans of democracy and de-Sovietization that characterized the late 1980s and early 1990s failed to mobilize a broad, popular opposition. They were welcomed only by a relatively small group of free-thinking intellectuals, and it was this group that constituted the core of the Islamic and ethno-national opposition. The pro-Islam opposition was represented by the Dagestani branch of the Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia (IPV)28 and the Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia (IDP) as well as a number of more minor Islamic organizations. The ethno-nationalist opposition included the aforementioned ethnic organizations, or ‘movements’, such as the Avar national movement of Imam Shamyl; the Kumyk national movement Tenglik; the Lak national movement Kazi-Kumukh; the Dargin national movement Zadesh, the Lezgin national movement Sadval and the Nogai society Birlik. In contrast to the opposition movements in Tatarstan – which evoked historical precedents for their activity – in Dagestan the ethno-national movements were first and foremost concerned with current issues. The Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia The Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia (Islamic Party of Renaissance, hereafter referred to as the IPV) was founded in 1990 in Astrakhan and established branches in Dagestan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan. Its leaders denounced the Soviet–Party regime and the ‘collaborationist’ Islamic establishment and called for the re-Islamization of Muslim-populated areas of the USSR, on the principles of a ‘pure Islam’ free of the ‘filthy’ accretions incurred during the Russian and Soviet periods. The founders of the Dagestani branch of the IPV were the brothers Ilyas and Bagauddin Kebedov. The first amir (chairman) of the party was the late Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev (d.1998), a prominent Dagestani intellectual, theologian and doctor. After the break-up of the USSR in December 1991, the Dagestani branch of the IPV acquired independent status. In 1996 Ahtaev created another Islamic cultural and educational organization, Al-Islamiyya. The IRP and Islamiyya enjoyed some popularity among young educated Avars in Makhachkala and in Gunib raion, where Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev’s native village of Kudali was situated. Both organizations subscribed to the moral and spiritual superiority of Islam and called for its re-integration into

Islam and power 103 the process of technological and economic modernization of Dagestani society. They advocated Dagestan’s gradual Islamization and its transformation into an Islamic state (Makarov 2000a: 32–3). Ahtaev and his followers argued that Russia’s Muslims needed an effective Islamic political party that would promote their specific interests within key political and administrative institutions. The political views of Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev were close to the programme of the infamous Middle Eastern Islamic fundamentalist organization, the Muslim Brotherhood. In terms of Islamic doctrine, Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev considered Sufism as a distortion of and deviation from true Islam and called for the restoration of Islam in its original ‘pure’ form. For this reason, in traditional Islamic circles, dominated as they were by tariqatists, Ahmedqadi Ahtaev was regarded as an ideologist of moderate Wahhabism. Ahtaev himself, however, rejected such a definition, considering himself an Islamic reformer of the salafi type. It is significant that he disagreed with the leader of the radical Dagestani Wahhabis, Bagauddin Kebedov, on key doctrinal and political issues. Perhaps most significantly, Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev believed that Dagestan’s history situated it simultaneously within both Islamic and Russian Orthodox civilizations. He therefore opposed the employment of the concept of takfir (non-belief) and jihad in relation to Russia. Nevertheless, he favoured closer ties between Dagestan and Chechnia and supported, in principle, the idea of the unification of the Caucasus along Islamic principles. Ahmed-qadi argued that a united Islamic North Caucasus would force Moscow to treat the region with more respect and consideration, and grant it wider political and economic autonomy. He also supported the democratic devolution of central power in Russia along confederate lines. The leaders of break-away Chechnia respected Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev greatly and on several occasions he was offered important posts in the Chechen government (Kaiaev 2000; Kurbanov and Kurbanov 1994: 11). Between 1989 and 1991 Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev and his followers took part in the Islamic democratic opposition quasi-movement. This movement also included representatives of traditional and tariqatist Islam, ‘young Imams’ and members of the dissident democratic intelligentsia. The Islamic democrats denounced the existing Soviet system and, in particular, its Muslim component, the Spiritual Board of Muslims of the North Caucasus (DUMSK). The ultimate goal of the Islamic democrats was the economic and political liberalization of Dagestani society, followed by the creation of a democratic Islamic state in Dagestan and throughout the North Caucasus. Their most immediate demand was the resignation of the Soviet-era leadership of the DUMSK under Muftii Gekkiev, who was perceived to be the major obstacle to a genuine Islamic revival in the region, and their replacement by a younger generation of Islamic clerics, the so called ‘young Imams’. The latter, who included both Sufis and salafis, claimed to have had no involvement with the Soviet state or its security services. In 1989, the Islamic democrats achieved their goal; Muftii Gekkiev was charged with

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corruption, collaboration with the KGB and moral laxity, and was forced to resign. After Gekkiev’s resignation, and the subsequent demise of DUMSK, the Islamic democratic opposition itself went into a general decline characterized by sporadic activity. The movement welcomed the bill ‘On Freedom of Religious Persuasions’ that was adopted by the Russian Parliament on 25 October 1990, but pressed for further religious liberalization. In July 1991 representatives of the Islamic democratic opposition organized a demonstration calling for the right to undertake hajj that ended in violent clashes with the Dagestani militia (Malashenko 1998a: 106; Makarov 2000a: 44). The growing significance of the ethnic factor in local politics following the collapse of the Soviet Union, however, had effectively undermined the transethnic Islamic opposition movement. The Islamic administration of the region was divided into seven separate Muftiiats, one in each autonomous republic of the North Caucasus, creating for each republic an indispensable attribute of nationhood, as well as an important source of foreign Islamic assistance. In Dagestan this process was accompanied by a growing alliance between the ‘young Imams,’ mainly tariqatists, and their respective ethnic parties who were struggling for control of the DUMD. The most assertive was the Avar ethnic party, which sought to preserve its traditional domination of the Islamic establishment and in February 1992 the Avars succeeded in organizing the ‘election’ of Said Ahmed Darbishgadjiev, an Avar tariqatist, as the new Muftii of the DUMD. From 1992 the DUMD, dominated by Avar tariqatists, became an integral part of the emergent ruling regime in Dagestan. The now institutionalised ‘young Imams’ moderated their oppositional stance and began to seek rapprochement with the authorities, whilst at the same time withdrawing from their alliance with the IPV and other salafis. As a result Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev and his supporters became increasingly isolated. The DUMD’s officials ignored Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev’s appeal to co-operate in the interests of Islamic revival in Dagestan and regarded him as a dangerous religious and political opponent. Ahmed-qadi and his followers were subjected to a smear campaign in which they were accused of intimidating representatives of tariqatist or other forms of traditional Islam, of having links with foreign Islamists, and of being ‘Wahhabis in disguise’. His supporters in Kudali were also charged with defiling local Sufi tombstones. Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev was not persuaded to withdraw from politics nor Islamic educational work, however. In 1992 he was elected as a deputy to the Dagestani Supreme Soviet and in 1998 he planned to stand for election as head of administration of Gunib raion. In March of that year, at the height of this intensive political campaign, Ahmed-qadi died under mysterious circumstances.29 His sudden death dealt a fatal blow to the representatives of intellectual salafism. Sirajuddin Ramazanov, a relative of Ahmed-qadi’s and the former chief of a transport fleet, was appointed to lead Al-Islamiyya but, unlike his predecessor, Ramazanov soon succumbed

Islam and power 105 to radicalism and allied himself with Bagauddin Kebedov. During the Chechen-Wahhabi incursion into Dagestan in 1999, Ramazanov was appointed as Prime Minister of the future Islamic state of Dagestan. The Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia The Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia (Islamic Democratic Party, hereafter referred to as the IDP) of Dagestan was formed in 1990 by a group of dissident intellectuals. The first leader of the IDP was a professional doctor, Abdurashid Saidov, an Avar who passionately believed in the compatibility of Islam and democracy and the possibility of a genuine democratic transformation of Dagestan, and Russia as a whole. He joined the Islamic democratic opposition of 1989–91, therefore, in the belief that it provided a viable political alternative to the existing Soviet authoritarian regime in Dagestan. The IDP joined forces with Islamists from the IPV within the wider Islamic democratic movement of 1989–91 to mount a serious oppositional force to the Soviet bureaucratic structure, including the DUMSK. From the beginning, however, Saidov’s weak knowledge of Islam created inconsistencies in the political programme of the IDP; the party declared tariqatist Islam to be its spiritual foundation whilst simultaneously expressing tolerance towards other forms of Islam, including Wahhabism. Whereas the IPV under Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev found themselves excluded from the Islamic democratic movement from 1992, the IDP remained an active participant. Indeed, the IDP’s leaders forged close relations with the movement’s third constituency, the Avar ‘young Imams’. The young Avar clerics, who were pressing for the de-criminalization of tariqatism and the restoration of Avar control over the Dagestani Islamic establishment, exploited their special relations with the IDP to enhance their political credibility, which had been seriously compromised by their association with their Soviet-era Avar predecessors (Saidov 2000). Thus, the first post-Soviet Avar Muftii, Sayid Ahmed Darbishgadjiyev of the DUMD, advertised his membership in the IDP. Having achieved their goal, however, the Avar ‘young Imams’ moderated their oppositional stance and began to seek a stable relationship with the authorities in order to cement their control. Following the recognition of the Avar-dominated DUMD as the only legitimate Islamic administration of Dagestan by the Dagestani government in 1994, therefore, the young Avar clerics cooled towards their former allies from the IDP, who remained in opposition to the ruling regime. The ensuing break-up of the Islamic-democratic opposition had a demoralizing impact on the IDP which became engulfed in internal squabbles. In 1994 the party split into the faction of Abdurashid Saidov, who remained faithful to the original goals of the party, and the faction of Surokat Asiyatilov, who expressed willingness to co-operate with the authorities. The irreconcilable position of Abdurashid Saidov cost him his political career.

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He was forced to abandon active politics and to leave for Moscow, where he found a job as a hospital surgeon. Surokat Asiyatilov, also an Avar, a university lecturer and professional wrestler, joined the Avar ethnic party. In order to distance himself from his former pro-democratic party colleagues, he changed the name of the party to the Islamskaia Partiia Dagestana (Islamic Party of Dagestan, the IDP). The IDP established close relations with the DUMD and the Avar national movement of Imam Shamyl under the leadership of Gadji Makhachev. Following Surokat Asiyatilov’s election to the People’s Assembly in 1995, the IDP effectively became a political mouthpiece of the DUMD. It began to promote tariqatist Islam – specifically the Naqshbandi wird of Sheikh Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii – as the only genuine form of Islam, and pressured the authorities to ban any other forms of Islam in Dagestan. Its parliamentary demands also included: the removal of the clauses on the separation of church and state, and of the separation of schools from the church from the Constitution of Dagestan; and the official recognition of Islam as the ‘religion of the democratic majority’. On behalf of the DUMD, the IDP lobbied for a new freedom of conscience bill which would endorse the DUMD’s control over clerical appointments, vesting it with powers to confirm the election of imams at all levels and to monitor the registration of all religious organizations (Ramazanov 1998: 6). Interestingly, the IDP regarded Turkish Islam – itself close to the traditions of Naqshbandi Sufism – as a possible model for the role of Islam in Dagestan.30 The IDP might be described, therefore, as a ‘court opposition’ lacking both the intention and the ability to challenge the existing regime. It failed to secure the passage of its Islamization-related initiatives through Parliament. Furthermore, its association with the Dagestani political establishment, the intrinsic characteristics of which have been authoritarianism, widespread fraud, corruption and nepotism, has limited its political credibility. The opposition within traditional Islam The institutionalization of Avar control of DUMD, as well as the de facto elevation of the Avar Sheikh Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii to the position of official national sheikh of Dagestan, generated opposition among some representatives of traditional Islam. A number of influential Sufi sheikhs and ulema, who either refused or were not allowed to join the ranks of Islamic officialdom, became increasingly critical of the DUMD and the ruling regime in general. They refused to recognize the legitimacy of the DUMD which, since 1992, has been elected not by Muslim Congresses, but by a much smaller circle – the Council of Ulema, which has been made up of supporters of Sheikh Sayid-efendi. They accused the DUMD of corruption, theological incompetence and connections with semi-criminal structures. Clerical opponents also reproached the DUMD’s leaders for their practice of appointing poorly educated village imams simply because they

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were loyal to sheikh Sayid-efendi (Idris-haji 1997; Ilyas-haji 1998; Magomedov 1998; Daniialov 1999: 2). Opponents of Islamic officialdom – including the distinguished sheikh Muhammad Mukhtar, a Kumyk and the influential Dargin alim Abdulla Aligadjiev – disagreed with the DUMD’s portrayal of Wahhabis as kafirs (non-believers). In contrast, they themselves repeatedly expressed their willingness to enter dialogue with the Wahhabis, and, in spring 1998, Wahhabis and traditionalist ulema formed the Islamic Shura (Council) of Dagestan. This Council had forty representatives drawn from Wahhabis and traditionalists from Akhvakhskii, Botlikhskii, Tsumadinskii, Buinakskii, Untsukulskii, Novolakskii, Karabudakhkentskii and Khunzakhskii raions of Dagestan. In September 1998, in Kudali, 585 delegates, representing Dagestani tariqatists, Wahhabis and ulema, participated in the Congress of Muslims of Dagestan, held on the initiative of Al-Islamiyya. The Congress denounced enmity and conflict between the different strands of Islam and adopted a resolution calling for the strengthening of the religious and legal base of the Islamic movement by creating a council of ulema to promote the re-Islamicization of Dagestani society (Kisriev 1999: 43). The doctrinal collisions within the Islamic traditionalist community have had political implications, at the core of which has been conflicting attitudes to Wahhabism. Some of the anti-establishment clerics have not shared the hysterical antagonism of the DUMD towards Wahhabis; indeed they have envisaged possible collaboration between the tariqatists, other Islamic traditionalists, and the Wahhabis, on the basis of their common rejection of the corruption and moral degradation, which had engulfed Dagestani society. Such co-operation took place, for example, in May 1998 when tariqatists and Wahhabis of the village of Kirovaul of Kiziliurtovskii raion formed a joint vigilante brigade and a shariat commission to deal with drug addiction, alcoholism, theft and prostitution. As a result of the Wahhabi-tariqatist cooperation, it was claimed, the incidence of livestock and property theft decreased dramatically, and the moral atmosphere in the village improved (Makarov 2000: 37). The Soiuz Musul’man Rossii, and others Between 1996 and 1998 the Soiuz Musul’man Rossii (Union of Muslims of Russia, hereafter referred to as the SMR) played a notable role in Dagestani politics.31 This was due to the energetic new leader of the Union, Nadirshakh Khachilaev, a Lak from Dagestan, who had replaced the Union’s first chairman, Ahmet Khalitov in 1996. Nadirshakh Khachilaev, a professional wrestler and karate champion, first became involved in politics in 1990 when he, together with his older brother Magomed Khachilaev organized the Lak national movement Kazi-Kumukh. Nadirshakh Khachilaev was subsequently among the founders of the Dagestani civic union Jamaatva-l-Khurriiat (Community and Freedom), although this movement was

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short-lived. Like most new Russian Muslim leaders, Nadirshakh Khachilaev did not know Arabic and had only a superficial knowledge of Islam and the Koran. His attitude to Islam vacillated depending upon his particular emotional state, his audience and political considerations. He revealed, however, a persistent preference for salafi Islam over tariqatism and was clearly sympathetic to the goals of the Chechen Islamists (Khachilaev 1997). In December 1996 Nadirshakh Khachilaev was elected to the Russian Duma, taking the place of the assassinated Dagestani deputy, Gamid Gamidov. In Moscow, Nadirshakh developed close links with the infamous political and religious adventurist Abdel-Wahid Niiazov, the leader of the Islamskii Kul’turnii Tsentr (Islamic Cultural Centre, hereafter referred to as the IKTs), who acquainted him with Moscow’s Islamic establishment and foreign Islamic circles. In spite of his educational and theological gaps, Khachilaev learned quickly and managed to turn the SMR into a viable force in Russian Islamic politics. He became recognized as the leader of Russian Muslims in a number of Islamic and non-Islamic countries. He organized and hosted numerous international Islamic gatherings in Moscow and invited leading Islamic authorities to visit Russia including the famous Naqshbandi sheikh Nazim al-Haqqani, who visited Moscow and Dagestan in 199732 (Osmanov 1997). In the Russian Parliament, Nadirshakh Khachilaev was an enthusiastic proponent of the deeper involvement of Muslims in federal level politics and he lobbied for the formation of an Islamic faction in the Duma. He rapidly acquired a reputation as the most radical Muslim deputy, regularly voicing his criticism of Moscow’s handling of the Chechen crisis. In 1996–7 he was actively involved in Russian–Chechen negotiations and contributed to the exchange of prisoners of war between Moscow and Groznii. Khachilaev introduced a clear Caucasian dimension into Russian Islamic politics, hitherto dominated by Tatars, but his growing federal political profile had important implications for local Dagestani politics. It fuelled the ambitions of the Khachilaev clan, which began to seek more power in the Dargin and Avar-dominated Dagestani political establishment. Among the Khachilaevs’ political gains was the appointment of Magomed Khachilaev to the lucrative post of chair of the Parliamentary Committee. Nadirshakh Khachilaev seriously considered fighting for the top political job of the State Council Chairman during the forthcoming elections in 1999. In late 1997, Nadirshakh Khachilaev intensified his propaganda assault on the Dagestani regime, on the one hand, and demonstrated his growing solidarity with the Chechen rebels, on the other. He even attempted to organize in Dagestan an Islamic political party, Jamaat, which would seek Dagestan’s secession from Russia. However, the political advance of the Khachilaev clan ended in May 1998 when both brothers, together with Gadji Makhachev, the leader of the Avar popular movement, and Mahmud Gadjiev, the chairman of Makhachkala city council, openly challenged the ruling regime in an armed occupation of the Parliament building in

Islam and power 109 Makhachkala. During this occupation – which lasted twelve hours – the rebels installed the green banner of Islam over the Dagestani Parliament. Since then the Khachilaev brothers have been under criminal investigation and, in 1998, were charged with political extremism (Bez Znameni Bez Vlasti 1998). In 2000, Magomed Khachilaev was assassinated by one of his bodyguards. After Nadirshakh’s arrest his party, the SMR, disintegrated and de facto ceased to exist. It was superseded by the new all-Russian political organization Refah (Prosperity) which emerged in October 1999 in order to satisfy the long-lasting ambition of its founder, Abdel Wahid Niiazov, to become a Duma deputy. Unlike the SMR, Refah unambiguously supported Moscow’s policies, including that on Chechnia (Rezolutsiia Refah 2000). In Dagestan, however, representatives of the all-Russian Islamic movement Nur sought to fill the vacuum created by the SMR’s rapid decline, transforming its Dagestani branch into the Partiia Rossiiskikh Musul’man (Party of Russia’s Muslims) in 1998. Other Islamic organizations and parties that emerged in Dagestan failed to have a lasting political impact. One such organization was the religious society Jamaat-ul-Muslimi (Islamic Community) formed in 1989 by Islamists, mainly from the Dargin village of Gubden, and headed by Khasbulat Khasbulatov, himself a Dargin. Between 1989 and 1991, Khasbulatov and his supporters were active participants in the Islamic democratic opposition movement. They called for the introduction of the shariat as the basis for a radical reform of Dagestani society and the subsequent transformation of Dagestan into an Islamic state. In June 1990, Khasbulatov was among the instigators of the crowd’s attack on the government building in Makhachkala. In doctrinal terms the Jamaat was close to the salafis and its activists succeeded in opening a number of salafi mosques in the village of Gubden and in introducing separate education for boys and girls there. In the conditions of the official suppression of salafism of the late 1990s the activity of the Jamaat-ul-Muslimi was practically suspended. A similar fate was shared by other smaller Islamic organizations, such as: the Dagestani Civic Union (Jamaat-va-l-Khurriyat), the popular movement Muhtasibat of Imam Gazi Muhammad, the Union of Islamic Youth, the Supreme Religious Council of the Peoples of the Caucasus, and the regional association of Muslim women, Maslimat. The ethno-national opposition Between 1989 and 1993 virtually every major ethnic group in Dagestan generated at least one national organization or movement that campaigned for that group’s specific national interests. Although all these national movements stressed their purely cultural and educational aims, they were de facto strongly politicised and linked to their respective ethnic mafias and armed formations. The Avar national front of Imam Shamyl, under the leadership of Gadji Makhachev – godfather of the local oil mafia – was created as

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ballast for the Avar counter-offensive against the post-Soviet Dargin political advance. The Kumyk national movement Tenglik channelled Kumyk resentment towards decades of discrimination on the part the Avars and Dargins. Tenglik’s leaders sought administrative autonomy for Kumyks and a restoration of their rights to the plains of the Caspian valley, which since the 1920s and 1930s had been largely populated by Avars and Dargins who had moved down from the mountains. In November 1990, Tenglik leaders declared the Republic of Kumykistan. The political ambitions of Kumyk nationalists transcended Dagestan’s borders and they viewed Tenglik as the nucleus of a wider political structure representing all Turkic peoples of the North Caucasus (Deklaratsiia o Samoopredelenii Kumykskogo Naroda Tuzniu Tangi 1990: 11–13). The national leaders of Dagestan’s other Turkic people, the Nogais, created their own political organization Birlik (Union) which sought a restoration of the administrative unity of the Nogai people, who, since 1957, had been divided between northern Dagestan, Chechnia and Stavropol’skii kraii (Gasanov 1993: 52). In southern Dagestan, Lezgin activists formed the movement of Sadval (Unity), which advocated the unification of the Lezgin community that had been divided between Dagestan and Azerbaijan since 1922. The nationalist leaders of the Akkin Chechens, who populated the border areas between Dagestan and Chechnia, supported the secessionist drive of General Dudaev and, at the same time, pressed their own territorial claims to the lands that had taken from them by their neighbours, mainly Laks, during the deportations of 1944. Thus, the emergence of the Lak popular movement Kazi-Kumukh was to a large extent a reaction to the growing territorial claims of Kumyks and Chechens against the Laks (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 121). In response to the high level of Islamic religiosity and the fashionable appeal of Islam in the post-atheist era, all national organizations and movements in one way or another introduced Islam into their political agenda. The majority of their leaders and members had an atheistic Soviet background and no real interest in Islam, but all of them exploited Islamic rhetoric and symbols in their programmes and propaganda. The most Islamized were the Avar and Lak national movements, due to the special relations of their leaders with specific Islamic organizations. Thus, Gadji Makhachev had powerful connections within the traditionalist Islamic Avar community, including the leaders of the DUMD, while Magomed Khachilaev worked closely with the Dagestani branch of the salafi-oriented SMR, headed by his brother Nadirshakh Khachilaev. As a result, any political action by Avar or Lak nationalists automatically triggered the solidarity of their Islamic allies while Islamic protests often attracted support from representatives of nationalist movements. Such solidarity was expressed, for example, during the disturbances in Makhachkala in May 1998. Between 1991and 1993 the national movements played a vital role in the post-Soviet re-distribution of power and formation of new elites. They

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secured a powerful informal political, economic and military backing for their respective ethnic parties. This period was particularly fraught with violence, mass disturbances, the onslaught of contract killing and hostage taking. The situation was further aggravated by destabilising impulses from the neighbouring breakaway Chechnia. By 1994 the power struggle was more or less over and the new political reality was formalized in the new constitution of Dagestan, adopted that year. The constitution established the main collective executive body – the State Council – which represented fourteen titular ethnic groups and asserted the principle of ethnic proportionality at all levels of the political system. In fact, the new constitution reflected the new balance of power, that is the leading positions of Dargin and Avar ethnic parties, followed by Kumyk and Lezgin ethnic parties. Respective nationalist leaders subsequently either rose to institutional positions, descended into criminality, or became radicalized. The elections in 1997, 1998 and 1999 legitimized the new elites (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 125). By the mid-1990s the national organizations and movements were in decline. Some of them splintered, while others ceased to exist altogether. The Avar popular movement, for example, split into the Front of Shamyl, headed by Gadji Makhachev, and the Union of Avar Jamaat. The Kumyk national movement was divided into the Tenglik, the Vatan (Motherland) and the Kumyk National Council, all of which were infiltrated by FSB (Federal Security Service) agents. Only the Lezgin Sadval has remained loyal to the idea of federalization, but its influence has seriously diminished. 33 In 1996–7 there were attempts to revive, or to re-create, national movements that would campaign for the genuinely national interests of various ethnic groups, especially those which remained, or became, disadvantaged as a result of the post-Soviet redistribution of power. A Co-ordination Council of Popular Movements was formed in January 1996 for this purpose, but it survived only one month. In December of that year an Organizing Committee of the Assembly of the People’s Movements and Political Parties of Dagestan was created. In March 1997, it convened a Conference of the Assembly, but since then has been largely invisible on the political scene. The Dagestani authorities meanwhile have barely concealed their irritation with unsanctioned nationalist activities, which they have begun to regard as a ‘destabilizing political factor’ (Kurbanov 1998). The Wahhabi opposition The formation of the post-Soviet regime in Dagestan has been accompanied by a controlled decline and demoralization of the Islamic-democratic and nationalist opposition that had emerged during perestroika and triggered political change in Dagestan. The new regime has been characterized by deep corruption, professional incompetence and low standards of morality, and by its engagement with the criminal and semi-criminal underworld. It has been dependent on lavish federal subsidies, most of which have been

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siphoned off by powerful individuals, as well as on the profits from the black market oil and fishing business, drug trafficking, financial fraud and other commercially dubious dealings. The comprador nature of the new political elites, and their reliance on a primordial social network, have hindered radical economic and social reform of Dagestani society. Indeed, the new elites have had a vested interest in preserving the status quo, despite the fact that for 70 per cent of Dagestanis the status quo has been associated with deepening poverty, unemployment, social marginalization, moral degradation and rising crime rates (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 126). Since the mid-1990s, social protest against the continuing deterioration in living conditions, economic hardship and social and personal insecurity has been channelled largely into the Islamic fundamentalist movement, known as Wahhabism. By the end of 1997 around 7–9 per cent of Dagestani Muslims had joined the Wahhabi movement. Wahhabi leaders were able to present an oppositional force to the tariqatists – who were deeply rooted in the traditional clan-based social network – because they offered a modern form of social solidarity, yet one based on strict spiritual allegiance to Allah alone (Ispoved Wahhabita 1998). The Wahhabis also provided new converts with considerable economic and social benefits, as well as armed protection against criminals. Although Wahhabism appealed to a relatively small proportion of the population34, it nevertheless presented a potential threat to the ruling elite, which opted for its ruthless political, propaganda and administrative suppression (Jafarov 1998; Kozlov 1998; Mukhidinov 2000: 7; Sayid-efendi 1998). In December 1997, the People’s Assembly issued a ban on the activities of the Wahhabis on the territory of Dagestan. The official crackdown on the Dagestani Wahhabis backfired, however, and succeeded only in fuelling the extremist branch of the Wahhabis and forcing its leaders into closer alliance with Chechen radicals. From early 1998, Dagestani and Chechen Wahhabis have denounced the Dagestani and Chechen governments and pushed for the formation of an Islamic state comprising Chechnia, Ingushetiia, Dagestan, Kabardino-Balkariia and Karachaevo-Cherkessiia. They also declared a Wahhabi jihad against the elected leaders of Chechnia and Dagestan (Bagauddin 1998). In August–September 1999 western Dagestan – Tsumadinskii, Botlikhskii, Novolakskii and Buinakskii raions – were invaded from Chechen territory by Chechen, Dagestani and foreign Islamists of the Islamic Liberation Forces, led by the Jordanian-born Islamic extremist Emir-al-Hattab. In order to curb the Islamist insurgency, the Dagestani authorities sanctioned the formation and arming of popular selfdefense guards and pressed for the strengthening of the involvement of the Russian Federal armed forces in Dagestan and the North Caucasus as a whole. In September 1999 the Dagestani Parliament adopted a new, tougher bill aimed at the complete eradication of Wahhabism in Dagestan (Magomedov 1999). The ongoing official physical and ideological crackdown on Wahhabism,

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which has been portrayed as a foreign and destructive form of Islam, has secured the dominance of traditional Islam, and Sufism in particular. However, given the close interweaving of Sufism with primordial social networks, based on clan solidarity, it is unlikely that it could provide a plausible ideological framework for the future modernization and democratization of Dagestani society. Moreover, the prolongation of the current economic and social disorder on the one hand, and the association of traditional Islam with the semi-criminal and ineffective regime on the other, may increase the attractiveness of the salafi solution to the crisis for the future generation of Dagestani leaders (Yemelianova 2001 682).

Notes 1 The power-sharing arrangements under this Treaty were detailed in twelve cooperation agreements (see Khakimov 1996: 86–92; Mukhametshin and Izmailov 1997: 241). 2 By 1997, the average price of consumer goods was in fact higher than in the Voronezh, Gor’kii, Saratov, Samara and Moscow regions and industry appeared to be in irreversible decay. The KamAZ car manufacturing plant and Tatenergo (Tatar Energy Company), which for decades had been symbols of Tatarstan’s industrial strength, were close to bankruptcy and unemployment, wage arrears and subsidiary informal employment were commonplace. As elsewhere in Russia, public sphere workers – engineers, doctors, teachers, academics and military officers – were affected particularly badly. By 1998 Tatarstan had slipped below the top twenty regions in Russia in terms of social welfare and the republic was witnessing protest actions by many thousands of public sector workers. Thus, despite statistics issued by the Presidential statistical centre that suggest Tatarstan has remained the most economically and socially successful sub-region of Russia, in reality its population has not been shielded from the negative economic trends across post-Soviet Russia (Shuvalov 1997; Yemelianova 2000: 42–3). 3 A key figure in the articulation of the government’s vision of Tatarstan nationhood is Rafael Khakimov, personal advisor of President Shaimiev on political issues, the director of the Institute of History of Tatarstan Academy of Sciences and the former leader of the VTOTs. Khakimov himself has been deeply influenced by the ideas of Damir Iskhakov, a leading academic at the Institute of History (see Khakim 1993 and Iskhakov 1995: 46–58). 4 Although there has been no evidence of personal corruption involving the President, during Shaimiev’s presidency, his two sons Airat and Radik have become among the richest people in the republic owing to their positions in the oil industry and trade. At the time of the research, Shaimiev’s nephew, Il’shat Fardiev, had been appointed as chairman of the Tatenergo, one of the most lucrative jobs in Tatarstan. 5 In June 1998 Shaimiev sacked the Interior Minister for opposing the election of Farid Mukhametshin as parliamentary chairman. The powerful mayor of Naberezhnie Chelny (Tatarstan’s second largest city), Rafgat Altynbaev, was subsequently removed from office also for attempting to challenge Farid Mukhametshin. 6 In the aftermath of the break-up of the USSR, the Communist Party of Tatarstan split. One branch, headed by Alexander Salii, affiliated to the Communist Party of the Russian Federation under the leadership of Ziuganov while the other, led by Mashkov and Sadikov, declared its independence from the

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Ziuganov Party. The independent communist party advocated restoration of the USSR – with an upgraded status for Tatarstan as a union republic – rejected Russian sovereignty and allied with extreme nationalists calling for the secession of Tatarstan from Russia. Shakh Gali was an infamous Kazan Khan who surrendered Kazan to the Russians in the sixteenth century. The question of the Latinization of the Tatar script remains hotly disputed. The policy of the Tatarstan government has been criticized by the Bashkortostan Academy of Sciences President and State Duma deputy, Robert Nigmatulin, since the introduction of Latin script for the Tatar written language would result in the break of the Tatar language from the Bashkir language as well as from Russian language and culture and would deprive the new generation of the opportunity to read literature that was written in the Tatar language over the last seventy years (‘Another duma deputy speaks out against Latin script for Tatar language’ 2001). A further united political opposition movement was registered in November 1998: Omet (Hope), under the leadership of the ex-Muftii of Tatarstan Gabdulla Galiulla (Galiullin 1999). This is discussed below. Almost all members of the Islamic elite in Tatarstan, and the Volga-Urals more widely, are linked by family ties. The centre of this network is the family of Rashida Abystay. Thus, Muftii Gusman is her son while Muftiis Talgat Tadjuddinov and Gabdulla Galiullin are married to her daughters. Gusman-hazret received his Islamic training in the Islamic University in Libya. By 1996, 106 mosques but only seven churches had been built. Another 148 mosques but only thirty-four churches were under construction (Nabiev 1998: 8). Notes of parliament hearings, provided by Deputy F. Shaimardanov, Kazan, September 1998. In 1990 there was only one Tatar school in Kazan; in 1997 there were already 124 Tatar gymnasiums and in 46 per cent of schools Tatar was the language of instruction. The elite schools in the city were Turkish-Tatar lycees, which used the Turkish curriculum and Turkish and English as the languages of instruction. In 1997 there were two such lycees in Kazan and eight in total across the republic. Personal observation by the author. Dagestanis use the word alimi, which is the Russified plural form or the Arabic alim instead of the usual Arabic plural ulema. The term tariqatism originates from the Arab word tariqa (way) indicating a specific Sufi path towards the comprehension of Allah. In 1920 the Mountain Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic was formed, comprising Chechnia, Ingushetiia, Kabarda, Balkariia and North Ossetiia. However, between 1922 and 1924 new territorial delimitations were made in the process of the formation of the Soviet Union. As part of this process, the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic of Dagestan was formed in 1921 and by 1924, the Mountain Republic had been disbanded and Chechnia, Ingushetiia, Kabardino-Balkariia and North Ossetiia had also become autonomous regions within the Russian Federation. As a result of such consolidation, thirteen ethnic groups of the Ando-Tsez linguistic group (including the Andis, Didoys, Godoberins, Bagulars, Chamalins, Tindins, Akhvakhs, Karatins and Botlikhs) were registered as Avars. Similarly, Kaytaks and Kubachins were registered as Dargins, a large number of small ethnic groups of the Central plateau became Laks, Southern Terkmens turned into Azeris and Northern Terkmens became Kumyks. See Traditsionnoe i Novoe v Sovremennoi Kulture i Bite Dagestanskikh Pereselentsev 1988: 22–3, 32.

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20 Russian settlers – mainly military people, professionals, industrial and railway workers – began to arrive en masse in Dagestan in the aftermath of the Caucasian war. The Stolypin agrarian reform of 1906–11 subsequently facilitated the Russian agrarian colonization of Dagestan, and by 1917 Russians made up about 11 per cent of the total population of Dagestan. 21 During the 1999 elections the Communists received 37.1 per cent of the vote, Unity polled 29 per cent and Fatherland-All Russia received 28.6 per cent (Ware and Kisriev 2001: 118). 22 The Khachilaev clan was politically active until May 1998 when the Khachilaev brothers took part in the armed assault on the Dagestani Parliament. Since then they have been politically marginalized. 23 The IDP was formed in 1990 by Dagestani intellectuals of democratic orientation under the leadership of Abdurashid Saidov. The original programme of the party presented a combination of Islamic and democratic ideals, opposing the rule of the corrupted Party nomenklatura and calling for its replacement by an Islamic-democratic government. In doctrinal terms it favoured tariqatism although it was also tolerant towards Wahhabism (Saidov 2000). 24 The term ‘ethnic party’ was introduced by the Dagestani sociologist Enver Kisriev to describe quasi-party political organizations based on ethnic and clan solidarity. See Kisriev 1998: 39. 25 Although the secrecy of the movement means that it is virtually impossible to obtain accurate figures, the figure generally cited for the proportion of the Dagestani population sympathising with Wahhabism is 5–10 per cent based on public opinion research (Bobrovnikov 2001: 12). 26 The Wahhabi centre Kavkaz in Makhachkala, for example, was demolished and its chairman Muhammad Djangishev was arrested. 27 Among these periodicals were Al-Akhbar al-Islamiyya (Islamic News); At-Tariqa al-Islamiyya (Islamic Path); Znamya Islama (Islamic Banner); As-Salam (Peace); Nurul-Islam (Light of Islam); Islamskii Vestnik (Islamic News) and Khalif (Caliph). 28 The IPV set out to establish a movement that would represent all Muslims in the region. However, soon after its foundation it split into a number of separate parties representing Muslims of different Islamic regions of the former Soviet Union (Ermakov and Mikulskii 1993: 175–6). See more on the IPV in Chapter 1. 29 In Dagestani dissident circles it was widely believed that Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev had been poisoned. 30 The new Central Mosque in Makhachkala, opened in 1996, was built with Turkish financial assistance, and until 1998 a Turkish national was the Imam of the mosque. 31 The SMR was founded in May 1995 in the town of Sibay, Bashkortostan. The first leader of the Soiuz was Ahmet Khalitov, a close associate of the leader of the Liberal Democratic Party of Russia, Vladimir Zhirinovskii. Together with Nur – another all-Russian Islamic organization also formed in 1995 – Soiuz served the political ambitions of its organizers in the run up to the Russian Presidential elections of 1996. However, unlike Nur, Soiuz’s leadership failed to register their organization in time for the election campaign and thus did not take part in the election race. 32 Sheikh Nazim al-Haqqani, an ethnic Turk, was born in 1922, in Larnaca, Cyprus. He is one of the most influential living Naqshbandi sheikhs. His tariqa traces its origins to the Naqshbandiyya in Dagestan. It has branches in many countries, including the USA, Great Britain, Germany, Spain, Lebanon and Dagestan. 33 The leaders of the Dagestan Lezgin nationalists have continued to press for the formation of a single Lezgin state. However, this idea has not found an

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enthusiastic response among the Lezgins of Azerbaijan, whose living standards have been considerably higher than among the Dagestan Lezgins (Aliev 1998). 34 Bobrovnikov notes that although Wahhabis come from all social and economic groups and all ages, the majority are young men aged 20 to 40 (Bobrovnikov 2001: 12).

3

Official and unofficial Islam Dmitrii Makarov and Rafik Mukhametshin

In this chapter, the relationship between Islam and power in post-Soviet Tatarstan and Dagestan is approached from the perspective of the Muslim spiritual elite. The chapter considers the response of Muslim leaders to the religious liberalization and ideological uncertainty of the early post-Soviet period. It outlines the organizational structure of the regional and local Islamic spiritual bodies – in particular, the Islamic Spiritual Boards of Tatarstan and Dagestan – and describes how they interacted both with the Islam recognized by the local population and that found in the world centres of Islamic spiritual authority and learning. The degree of Islamization proposed for Tatarstan and Dagestan by their respective spiritual authorities is compared and contrasted, as are official views on what the role of the state in this process should be. The political and spiritual influence of prominent Muftiis and Imams is discussed and the social and political implications of the extensive construction of mosques, Islamic schools and cultural centres, the development of a broad network of Arabic study groups and the mushrooming of Islamic mass media are assessed. The chapter also discusses the challenges presented to ‘official’ Islam by the rise of Islamic fundamentalism, and ‘unofficial Islams’ in general. We explore the relationship between the state, Islamic officialdom and the Islamic opposition and then look more specifically at the activities, and propaganda, of various Islamic and national-Islamic parties and organizations representing both traditional and non-traditional Islam. Islamic fundamentalism and other forms of non-traditional Islam are examined also, paying particular attention to their social and ethnic face, their dogmatic and political characteristics and their relations with traditional Islam. The role of Sufi tariqas (orders) and individual Sufi sheikhs in the social and political life of the republic of Dagestan are also considered.

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Official Islam in Tatarstan Tatar Muslim clerics1: an emergent stratum The early years of the struggle for sovereignty in Tatarstan were dominated by political activism employing secular, nationalist slogans. During this period, political and public figures – including the national intelligentsia – saw Islam as just one element of a resurgent national consciousness. Even the creation of the independent Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Respubliki Tatarstana (Spiritual Board of Muslims of the Republic of Tatarstan, hereafter referred to as the DUMRT) in 1992 was in many ways a result of the activity of the ethno-national organization, the Vsetatarskii Obshchestvenii Tsentr (All-Tatar Public Centre, hereafter referred to as VTOTs).2 Thus, the Tatar academic Damir Iskhakov rightly suggests that ‘although the DUMRT was an independent organization, it developed as one wing of the national movement’ (Iskhakov 1998). This is not denied by religious leaders themselves; the First Deputy Muftii of the DUMRT, Valiulla Yakub (Yakubov), has noted that ‘we ourselves sprouted from them [social organizations]’ (Yakubov 1998). It is not surprising that Tatar Muslim clerics were in no position to ‘lead’ the ethno-national revival in Tatarstan in the late 1980s. At that point in time, there were just eighteen Muslim communities and no more than a total of thirty religious leaders in the whole republic. By the early 1990s, riding the tide of the national revival, their numbers had swelled to fifty-five mullahs plus twelve muezzins (callers to prayer), but almost two-thirds (forty-one) of these were over 60 years of age and thus, as a group, they were poorly religiously educated.3 By the mid-1990s, however, local medresses (secondary Islamic schools) had begun to produce their own imams and some one hundred graduates had returned from study in various Muslim institutions of the Middle East. As a result, by the end of the 1990s, crude estimates would suggest that Tatarstan had around five thousand Islamic clerics. It was not until this point, therefore, that Muslim clergy might be considered to be emerging as an independent stratum in Tatarstan. Even then, their lack of any social and legal status or economic basis, together with their social, ideological and political diversity, makes it difficult to consider them a unified social group. The origins of the group, moreover, meant that their personal principles and outlook, particularly among the younger clerics, depended to a great extent on the educational establishments they had attended. In this sense, Tatarstan’s clerics might be divided into three broad groups: •

Graduates from Muslim institutions (including local ones, such as the Yulduz medresse in Naberezhnie Chelny), where religious education was based on general (normative) Islamic principles stripped of the national roots of Tatar religious thought.

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•

Clerics with a tertiary or secondary specialist lay education who had received religious training mainly in local medresses or taken short courses in Islamic institutions in Muslim countries. Rural imams, who had been transformed overnight from ‘unofficial mullahs’ into official representatives of the DUMRT in the provinces. These individuals often lacked even basic religious training and tended to relinquish their posts relatively quietly when those formally trained appeared in the locality. This group made up the largest constituent group and represented so-called popular Islam (narodnii Islam, in Russian), traditionally associated with the countryside. Such clerics, indeed, differed little from the mass of the rural population in their social origins and material position.

The difficulty of presenting a single face of official Islam was further aggravated by an organizational schism that occurred at the end of the 1990s. In 1998 Imam Farid Salman left the DUMRT in protest at the alleged Wahhabization4 of the Muftiiat, and set up the parallel Hanafi Muftiiat of Tatarstan – the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Tatarstana (Spiritual Board of Muslims of Tatarstan, hereafter referred to as the DUMT).5 The establishment of clerics as an influential group within Tatarstani society was hindered by more than numerical and organizational factors, however. If up until the beginning of the twentieth century, religious consciousness had been an organic and essential element of the social structure of Tatar society, and clerics had enjoyed a stable position and a distinct status, then by the end of the century neither of these facts were givens. In order to establish a place for themselves in the political life of a multi-faith post-Soviet Tatarstan, therefore, the clerics had to weld their own interests to those of the republic’s political establishment and the Tatar national movement, whilst retaining a distinctive stance of their own. Thus, in 1995 the newly-established Council of Ulema (Islamic scholars) under the auspices of the DUMRT was made up mainly of academics; fifteen of the seventeen members were academics. However, the positions maintained by the political establishment and the national intelligentsia were not always acceptable to the clerics, and they began to distance themselves increasingly from the national movement and its leaders. Tatarstan’s Muslim clerics found they could no longer rely on the national intelligentsia, which, although having embraced enthusiastically the idea of an Islamic revival in society in the late 1980s and early 1990s, had subsequently shifted towards the formation of a national ideology in which Islam was treated as an ethnic and cultural factor. The cooling of relations between the Tatar clerics and academics was reflected in the make-up of the new Council of Ulema, which was established in 1999; the number of academics fell to five of a total of fifteen members. Valiulla Yakub of the DUMRT is sanguine about the position of the clergy with regard to the national movement and the national intelligentsia,

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describing the latter’s recent attachment to religious leaders as ‘speculative’. Criticizing the absence in Tatarstan of a single institute of higher education in the Tatar language, he suggested that the real state of affairs was that, ‘The nationalists are in despair. They are thrashing about, not knowing what to do…If the national organizations want to embrace the Muslim ideal, they should be setting up religious courses and medresses…’ (Yakubov 1998). The Tatar spiritual heritage: redefining Islam for the twenty-first century The specific historical and cultural development of Islam in Tatarstan facilitates the participation of Muslim clerics in the social and political life of society. Despite the fact that Tatarstan’s Muslim clerics have become somewhat politicized, Islam is not the customary social regulator among Tatars. The prolonged influence of Soviet propaganda deprived several generations of Tatars of a real understanding of the basics of Islam (the Koran, hadith (the Prophet’s sayings), shariat, fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) and so on. As a result, in the public consciousness, the term ‘Islamic’ is used to describe many local practices that, in fact, are at variance with the principles of standard Islam.6 The major disagreement between the Tatar Islamic clerics and the Tatar national intelligentsia relates to their different assessments of the role of Islam in Tatar society in the past and for the future. Although they share a belief in the need for a profound and comprehensive study of Tatar cultural heritage, of which Islam forms an organic part, they differ substantially in their interpretation of what should be taken from the past into the future. The leading representatives of the Tatar intelligentsia draw on what they see as a distinctive Tatar Islamic reformism, or jadidism (modernism).7 For the present-day, they advocate a new reform of Islam, which they define by the term ‘Euro Islam’. By contrast, the clerics seek to revive the qadimist (traditionalist) component of Islam, which, they argue, has historically safeguarded the distinctiveness of Tatar culture.8 They cite the work of Malashenko (a Russian expert on Islam), in particular his assertion that ‘religious life is being revived thanks to traditionalism’ (Malashenko 1998c: 11), to support their views. This ambiguity is evident also in the binary conception of the essence of Islamic revival among clerics; while for some such a revival is envisaged as the creation of a Muslim society and the establishment of an Islamic way of life, for others it is the revival of the people’s traditional way of life in which Islam played a defining role. This can lead to mutual incomprehension. In the opinion of Salavat Minnahmedov, imam of the village of Tlianche-Tamak in the Tukaevskii raion (district) of Tatarstan, the shakirds (medresse students) from Kazan medresses who come to the countryside on placement are unable to find a common language with the leaders of the local Muslim communi-

Official and unofficial Islam 121 ties; for them the locals are ‘representatives of jahannam’ [hell], ignorant of the basic elements of standard Islam (Minnahmedov 1998: 28). The rise of interest in qadimism has been reflected in a number of publications in Tatar periodicals, which coincided with the 150th anniversary of the birth of the ideologue of Tatar qadimism Ishmi-ishan (Ishmuhamed Dinmuhamedov) and the 80th anniversary of his death at the hands of the Bolsheviks. It is significant that secular newspapers and magazines have reprinted articles by pre-revolutionary writers or Soviet academics of the 1960s and 1970s, pointing once again to the absence of a new approach in assessing qadimism (Maksudi 1998: 5; Magdeev 1999: 3). Meanwhile, Muslim publications have included articles, such as ‘Geroi, otdavshii zhizn’ za religiiu’ (A hero who gave up his life for religion), which purport to reassess existing opinions on the life and work of Ishmi-ishan.9 Politics and the state: should Islam be inside or out? If Islam is seen as part of the ethnic and cultural heritage, a combination of religious belief and the system of personal rules of behaviour, then the link between Islam and politics and the institutions of power becomes of secondary importance. But if Islam is treated as a complex ideological and political system, then it must be recognized that the spiritual and secular (including political) principles in Islam are indivisible. (Malashenko 1998b: 53) What Malashenko is suggesting here is that is that if Muslim clerics want to lead a genuine religious renewal of contemporary society, they have to determine their position on the fundamental question of the role and place of Islam in society as a whole. However, making that decision is complicated by historico-cultural, political and pragmatic factors. The desire among contemporary Tatar clerics to develop an independent ideological position is undermined by their dependence upon the republican authorities – or external sponsors – for funding and facilities. Thus official clerics display an outward loyalty to the authorities whilst arguing for the need for religion to remain ‘apolitical’. This position is exemplified by Muftii Talgat Tadjuddin (Tadjuddinov) – representative of those Muslim clerics whose formative years were under the Soviet regime – who opposes political activity among clerics, believing that ‘people should not be divided along religious and political lines’ (Tadjuddinov 1996: 3). Tadjuddin, who is loyal to the Russian government, believes that it is political parties that are destroying Russian traditions of political conciliation and consensus. In his fetwa (theological ruling) Tadjuddin proposes that ‘Having been elected once by the people, the head of state or the head of the republic should serve as president for life’ (Mukhametshin 2000: 107). Tadjuddin thus adheres to

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Islamic convictions from a doctrinal point of view, but retains a clearly Soviet perception of the social and political order. Those ‘young Imams’ who entered the top religious structures in the wake of perestroika, in contrast, have viewed political activity as a means of selfaffirmation. For example, Tatarstan Muftii Gabdulla Galiulla (Galliullin), elected in 1992, believed that ‘in a state with a non-Muslim government, where Muslims are not in the majority, it is only possible to protect the interests and rights of believers through political movements’ (Galiullin 1996). Nafigulla Ashirov, one of the leaders of the Vys’shii Koordinatsionnii Tsentr Dukhovnykh Upravlenii Rossii (Supreme Coordination Centre of the Spiritual Boards of Russia, hereafter referred to as the VKTs)10, also believes that participation in the social and political life of society specifically facilitated the creation of fully functioning Muslim communities. In Ashirov’s opinion, ‘Muslims should base their political activity on the moral and ethical principles of Islam which derive from its general objectives, and not on national, regional or personal interests’ (Ashirov 1996: 2). To date, then, the political goal of the secular authorities – to consolidate the sovereignty of Tatarstan – has not met with serious protest from the clerics. Tatar clerics, by showing loyalty to the existing secular authorities, effectively give their blessing to the established institutions and norms of contemporary life. At the same time, official clerics subscribe to the idea of a gradual ‘Islamization’ of Tatar society through spiritual rejuvenation and the future combination of the shariat with secular legislation. Thus at this stage, most clerics are obliged to sanction the separation of religion from secular life. Muftii Iskhakov of the DUMRT, for example, states that religion is separate from the state. However, he makes clear that this is not because society is inherently secularist but because ‘we are not yet ready today to include religious leaders in the government’ (Iskhakov 1999). Valiulla Yakub of the DUMRT has suggested also that the population is not ready as yet for elections that judge candidates according to the strength of religious ideas (Yakubov 1998). On a more pragmatic note, Iskhakov warns that since Muslims and Tatars made up barely the majority (51–2 per cent) of the population, there was no guarantee that, were a state religion to be established, it would be Islam that was chosen (Iskhakov 1999). In a secular state such as Tatarstan, the Muslim community essentially depends upon secular legislation for protection and welfare. The chief qadi (judge) of the DUMRT Gabdulkhak Samatov has to adapt his activity, therefore, to the work of the state’s legal bodies. At the same time, however, the DUMRT considers it important that ‘the special role of Islam’ becomes enshrined in the republic’s legislation and has campaigned to introduce addenda to the basic law of the republic with regard to waqf (Islamic endowment) property, zakat (Islamic obligatory alms) funds and centralized production of halal (permitted foodstuffs). It also called for the reintroduction of Islamic dress and the revival of such rites as naming ceremonies, weddings, circumcision, funerals, wakes, collective reading of the Koran,

Official and unofficial Islam 123 and collective prayers on Fridays and holy days, which to a great extent lost their religious content during the years of Soviet power.11 The question of ‘cohabitation’ While it is a contemporary truism to say that Russians and Tatars have coexisted happily for centuries, for Tatar clerics the definition of the principles and forms of coexistence with representatives of other faiths is a new challenge. Muftii Talgat Tadjuddin’s view that ‘Russian Orthodoxy and Muslim orthodoxy are two branches of the same tree’ marks one pole of the range of views on the question. Tadjuddin is explicit that he is not just searching for ‘a compromise between peoples and cultures’ but that Islam and Russian Orthodoxy constitute ‘one common, orthodox, true belief, with foundations traceable back to a single tradition – belief in a single creator’ (Mukhametshin 2000: 108). Others are less optimistic about the possibility for the democratic co-existence of the two faiths. Kharis Salihjan, the press secretary of the DUMRT, suggests that religions are, in effect, ideologies and, as such, mutually exclusive; if two come into contact, they will inevitably battle for predominance (Salihjan 1998). Muftii Iskhakov argues that a Muslim is obliged to make every effort to live in peace, but, if a Muslim is humiliated, the Koran commands that ‘he should take up his sword’. Iskhakov defines ‘humiliation’ as being when a man: has the food on his table taken from him, has his mother or children insulted, has his livelihood taken away from him by force, has his peace interrupted while at namaz (basic prayer), or is driven out of his country. He explicitly cited the situation in Chechnia as an example of such humiliation (Iskhakov 1999). At the other extreme of the debate, however, the radical cleric Nurulla Muflikhunov, the imam of Chistopol’ and the author of the controversial book Kniga Propovedei i Nastavlenii (The Book of Sermons and Precepts), perceives a fundamental divide between Muslims and kafirs (infidels); ‘Kafirs who are friendly with Muslims do not acquire iman (Islamic faith), whereas Muslims who are friendly with kafirs lose their faith, appear before Allah as kafirs themselves and are punished accordingly.’ The only resolution to the problem of ‘cohabitation’, in his view, is conversion since a representative of any ethnic origin may become a Muslim, but ‘those who do not adopt Islam are the enemies of Allah and of Muslims. Even if they cause no harm to Islam and Muslims, even if they behave nobly towards them…’ (Muflikhunov 1998: 143–4). Theological debates within official Islam By the end of the 1990s, the organizational and structural development of the DUMRT was almost complete and this allowed Tatar clerics to begin to engage in more fundamental theological debate. While it is still too early to speak of a revival of the traditions of Tatar Muslim theology of the late

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nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, there has been lively debate in the last few years about how Islam in Tatarstan might be strengthened, freed from essentially non-Islamic theological and ritual features, and defended from infiltration by alien ideas. This debate has been centred around issues concerning taqlid (Islamic traditionalism), madhhab (juridical schools within Sunni Islam), Wahhabism (Islamic fundamentalism), Sufism (Islamic mysticism) and bid’a (illegitimate innovation in Islam). Taqlid and madhhab: protection against Wahhabism? By the second half of the 1990s representatives of official Islam in Tatarstan were publicly admitting that Wahhabi ideas had penetrated Muslim communities in the republic. This acknowledgement was followed by extensive press discussion of the manifestations and dangers of Wahhabism; Wahhabis, it was claimed, by declaring themselves to be ‘salafis’ (proponents of pure, original Islam), ahl-ul-hadith (people of hadith) or ‘fundamentalists’, used Islam as a cover to propagate antagonistic and extremist ideas. Saudi Arabia, the centre of Wahhabism, moreover, was accused of using its oil revenues to ‘buy’ Tatar clerics who subsequently disseminated Wahhabi literature and ideas within the republic.12 Official clerics responded to the ‘threat’ of Wahhabism by seeking to protect Tatar Muslims by organizational and administrative measures, but also by defining more clearly, and reinforcing, their own theoretical position. The central pillars of this position are propagation of the Hanafi madhhab, adherence to the principles of the taqlid and rejection of the need to ‘open the doors of the ijtihad’ (independent theological judgement). For official clerics, taqlid is far from ‘stagnant and backward-looking’ as suggested by would-be religious reformers. They view the origins of taqlid within the doctrine of the madhhabs and thus as rooted in the teaching of the founders of the four major madhhabs: Imam Malik, Imam Abu Hanifa, Imam Shafi and Imam Ahmad ben Hanbal. Official clerics, therefore, appeal to taqlid as theoretical protection from penetration of Tatarstan’s Muslim umma by the ideas of both Wahhabi and ‘modernist Muslims, whose intellect has been damaged by kafir influence deriving from western education’ (Samatov 1998a). The rejection of ijtihad was seen as vital to securing a viable ideological and theoretical base for forming a fully-fledged Muslim umma and preventing all possible ideological pretensions from either right (Wahhabism) or left (religious reforming and modernizing tendencies). As Siukiiainen has pointed out, however, in adopting this strategy, the clerics overstated the degree of freedom of discretion implied by ijtihad. In reality, rulings based on the ijtihad could never contradict the clear and unequivocal precepts of the Koran and Sunna (the collection of hadiths) and had to conform to the general aims and guidelines of Islam and the original principles of the shariat. The role of the ijtihad was rather in ‘ensuring that the

Official and unofficial Islam 125 shariat conforms to various historical, national, cultural and other conditions’ (Siukiiainen 1997: 9–10). Tatar Sufism Among Tatar clerics there are differing, often opposing, views on the essence and legitimacy of Sufism. The dominant position among official clerics, however, is that, in principle, Sufism does not contradict the shariat, and in practice, it might play a useful role in regulating the development of Islam in post-Soviet Tatarstan. This understanding of Sufism is easily identified in the writings of the chief qadi of the DUMRT, Gabdulkhak Samatov. Samatov describes how the teaching of the Naqshbandi tariqa spread among the Tatars and names Kul-Sharif, G. Utyz-Imyani, S. Mardjani, Z. Rasulev and other well-known religious leaders as followers of this Sufi order. He suggests that Sufism quickly ceased to be ideologically opposed to official Islam in the VolgaUrals region; indeed, starting with Kul-Sharif, the seyid (head of the Muslims) of the Kazan Khanate, many official religious leaders (including many muftiis) were adherents of Naqshbandiyya and had their own followers (Samatov 1998). As for the role of Sufism in the post-Soviet period, an article in Iman Nuri, the mouthpiece of the DUMRT, in 1999 clearly sets out the view that tariqas do for the individual ‘spirit’ or ‘soul’ what madhhabs do for the mundane world; they ‘study the essence and the meaning of Islam, bring order to a person’s inner world’ (Samatov 1998: 165). While official clerics are not openly opposed to Sufism, however, among the republic’s Muslims the Naqshbandiyya has almost no representation either among murshids (teachers) or among murids (disciples). While, in confidential discussions representatives of the official clergy make it clear that there are imams among them who consider themselves to be followers of the Naqshbandi tariqa, the very fact that this is actively concealed indicates that relations between official Islam and Sufism are still in the early stages of theoretical development. Moreover, there are indications that the very question of Sufism has been raised by official clerics primarily because the recognition of tariqas distances official clerics from Wahhabism, since the latter categorically rejects the idea that Sufism has a place in Islam. This can be illustrated by the statements of Nurulla Muflikhunov, whose ideas are generally close to the Wahhabi tendency. He ranks tariqas as bid’a (unlawful innovations in Islam) because ‘Islam forbids the rejection of secular knowledge and the refusal to learn a trade and satisfy the material needs of oneself and one’s family’, and he suggests that Sufism emerged under the influence of Christianity: ‘Muslims who want to become ishans (Sufi sheikhs) have learnt this from the monks’ (Muflikhunov 1998: 53, 146). The opposing views among Tatarstan’s clerics on the role of Sufism in the life of the Muslim community is, on the one hand, a continuation of an

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age-old debate, but on the other hand, is an attempt to resolve contemporary issues surrounding the religious renewal of society. Recognizing, ignoring or rejecting the tariqa (in this particular case, the Naqshbandiyya) will be an important step in the determination of just what kind of Islam will evolve in Tatarstan. Islamic clerics on bid’a Historically, bid’a, which emerged in the times of the righteous caliphs, has lacked clear definition: one and the same action or ruling might be described by representatives of different dogmas as an ‘unlawful innovation’ and ‘aberration’, or, conversely, as ‘true belief, sanctified by the authority of the Koran and the Sunna’ (Prozorov 1991: 41). For Tatar clerics, the theoretical interpretation and practical implementation of bid’a, however, has particular significance since the peculiar development of Islam in Tatarstan has meant that its clerics are obliged to provide a theological explanation for many phenomena that contain elements of bid’a. Such phenomena include customs and rituals which, whilst essentially nonIslamic, perform a significant role in preserving and spreading Islam among the population. The first challenge for contemporary Tatar clerics is to establish an agreed definition of the concept of bid’a. Some – such as Imam-khatib (Chief Imam) Ahameddin from Naberezhnie Chelny – consider bid’a to exist in two forms: acceptable bid’a – hasan (good) – and unacceptable bid’a – sayin (bad). He cites the pronouncements of well-known theologians such as al-Arabi, Imam Muslimi and al-Bukhari, who believed that innovations contradicting the shariat should be rejected, but those strengthening it should be adopted (Ahameddin 1997). Ahameddin’s position is challenged by Malik Ibragim, the Imam-khatib of the Tauba mosque in Naberezhnie Chelny and muhtasib of Tukaevskii raion. The latter believes that ‘to accept something that is not in the shariat as a shariat act and to assert that it should be carried out without failure is bid’a… (Ibragim 1997). This does not prevent supporters of this viewpoint recognizing that individual elements in the innovations themselves are potentially useful; in their eyes, however, the presence of these elements does not make them lawful. Nurulla Muflikhunov thus warns that ‘illiterate and slack Muslims who have absolutely no concept of the Koran and the hadith assume that acts that rank as bid’a derive from the religion itself. But…these are not acts which are pleasing to God; these are sins…Even Muslim scholars think that performing acts classified as bid’a is tantamount to polytheism’ (Muflikhunov 1998: 50–1). The most difficult issue for Tatar clerics, however, arises from the interpretation of funeral rites and the festival of Mawlid (the Prophet’s birthday) as bid’a.13 Both these rites arose after the death of the Prophet Muhammad and therefore feature neither in the Koran nor in the hadith. However,

Official and unofficial Islam 127 although the vast majority of representatives of the Tatar clerics recognize the non-religious provenance of these rites, they differ in their assessments of their role in the religious renewal of society. Supporters of the rebirth of Islam without ‘unlawful innovations’ believe that these rites, which are a way of following folk traditions, hamper the re-establishment of the true canons of the shariat. Malik Ibragim clearly interprets wakes held on the third, seventh and fortieth days after a death and on the first anniversary after a death, as well as religious festivals such as Mawlid to be acts of bid’a (Ibragim 1997). Other representatives of Tatarstan’s clerics, however, acknowledge these rites as one element of the ethnic and confessional consciousness of the Tatars, and believe that they might facilitate the rebirth of Islam. One of the republic’s most authoritative religious leaders, the Imam-khatib of the village of Burbash in Baltasinskii raion, Djalil’ Fazleev, for example, argues cogently for the need to accept that Islam has many cultural forms: Some of our young men, who were educated in Arabia, rail against a whole range of our rites and customs which allegedly contravene the shariat, and say that they should be eliminated. Our imam Abu Hanifa said: ‘Respect the customs and rites of every people, and use them to serve Islam.’ If some of them get rid of our [national Tatar] dress, others our language, and others still our religion, what will remain of our nation? (Fazleev 1998) The imam of the Bulgar mosque in Kazan, Farid Salman, concurs, arguing that ‘holding wakes presents a rare opportunity to spread positive knowledge about Islam’ as well as strengthening familial, neighbourly and friendly relations (Salman 1999). Iskhak Lutfullin, rector of Kazan’s higher medresse, similarly recognizes the non-canonical nature of these customs, but also their significance for the preservation of Islamic traditions among the Tatars. His explanation of the emergence of these rituals is that: After Kazan was taken…Tatars were forbidden from performing Islamic religious rituals, including burying their dead according to Muslim canons…Priests, supported by soldiers, would force them to bury the dead according to Orthodox customs…In order to avoid sinning, Muslims would secretly bring a mullah to the grave that night, and he would recite the prayers of purification. This would usually be repeated forty days later, then six months, or a year, later. And year by year this form of covert spiritual battle with the missionaries became such a part of life for the Tatar people that, as the centuries went by, it became one of the folk customs of the Tatar Muslims. (Lutfullin and Islaev 1998: 50–1)

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Bulgar Mosque, Kazan, Tatarstan. 5 September 1998. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

Customs that secured the survival of Islam among the Tatars even through the years of Soviet rule, it is argued, can today too play a unifying function for Muslims in the absence of local Muslim communities profoundly informed by the canons of the shariat.

Unofficial Islam in Tatarstan Imported prophetic Islam At the beginning of the 1990s various non-traditional forms of Islam began to gain ground in Tatarstan. The most active were prophetic Islamic communities such as Al-Bahaiyya and Al-Ahmadiyya.14 The Bahai community in Tatarstan was registered in 1991 and drew followers from a certain section of the Tatar intelligentsia, particularly the creative intelligentsia, who were attracted by its aims to find harmony between science and religion, encourage every individual to undertake an independent search for truth,

Official and unofficial Islam 129 and to rid mankind of all – racial, national, religious, political – prejudice. The interest in the movement may also have been linked to the fact that the local community was run by the well-known television presenter Shamyl Fattakhov, son of the noted artist Lutfulla Fattakhov. In the second half of the 1990s, however, interest in new religious communities – including Bahaism – fell significantly; although the community has followers in almost every town in the republic, the total number is now no more than 300 (Religiia i Obshchestvo. Spravochnik 1998: 111). Ahmadiyya’s community was first registered in Kazan in 1992. During the first years of its existence, the public saw it as a Muslim community while Muslim clerics expressed no view on it. The intelligentsia – particularly the creative intelligentsia – arranged regular meetings with representatives of this community, probably because they were ill-informed about the nature of its religious teaching. In the early 1990s it had a registered membership of fifteen (Religiia i Obshchestvo. Spravochnik 1998: 112). One of the best-known members of Ahmadiyya was the Tatar poet Ravil’ Bukharaev, who lived in London but made frequent visits to Kazan. In the first half of the 1990s the community was actively involved in distributing literature in Russian – including translations of the Koran and philosophy of Islam – which was available in the republic’s libraries and, in the absence of other such publications, served an important function in the Islamic revival. However, by the mid-1990s the Muslim clerics had formed a clearly negative attitude towards the community and the secular intelligentsia followed suit.15 Talk of the community’s need to build its own mosque never materialized and today the community, which is led by emissaries from Pakistan, is to all intents and purposes inactive. By the end of the 1990s, the official clerics had formed a much clearer position on these two ‘alien’ Islams, as well as Wahhabism. In the resolution O Anti-Khanifitskikh Napravleniiakh (On Anti-Hanafi Tendencies) passed by the ninth congress of the Youth’s Islamic Cultural Centre Iman (Faith) on 29 November 1998, Ahmadiyya, Bahaism and Wahhabism were said to have been founded and spread in the nineteenth century by the British secret services in order to undermine the Ottoman empire and destroy the cultural balance in the Indian and Muslim region. Financial support for the communities was still in evidence, it was said, from ‘such anti-Muslim countries as the USA and Britain’, necessitating public and religious circles in Tatarstan to erect a barrier ‘against the destructive, corrupting and counteractive actions of these movements’ (O AntiKhanafitskilkh Napravleniiakh 1998). Turkish Islamic influences There is a distinct Turkish element in the various manifestations of non-official Islam in Tatarstan. This is entirely understandable given the development of the republic’s international relations. Tatarstan has established solid

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economic relations with Turkey, which has diplomatic representation as well as sixteen Turkish colleges and schools in the republic. The Turkish influence in Islam is manifested in two ways. The first is the propagation of the ideas and books of Badiuzzaman Said Nursi via the Turkish schools and specially established medresses. Followers of Said Nursi do not enter into open debate with representatives of the official clerics, but a certain disagreement can nevertheless be discerned. This is mainly manifested in the fact that his followers consider his teachings and the contents of his books absolute – especially tafsir (an interpretation of the Koran) – and try to impose them on other Muslims. According to the rector of the Tanzilia medresse, this is particularly true of the situation in Naberezhnie Chelny, where the ‘Nursists’ are traditionally strong. There are other theoretical areas of potential disagreement. The teachings of Said Nursi, which are constructed in the spirit of pseudo-Sufism, are as such unacceptable to the official clerics. Considering their differences regarding the state and legal regulation of the Muslim community, there can be no doubt of the existence of potential for further disagreement (Nursi 1997). Secondly, Turkish influence is evident in the spread of Sufism in Tatarstan. The ideas of Kadiriyya – a tariqa not traditionally found in the region – are coming into the republic via Turkey. The representatives of this Sufi order have their own organizational cells and, until the mid-1990s, mainly congregated in the Nurulla mosque in Kazan. Today they are united by infrequent visits from Turkey by their sheikh – who has about ten murids in Kazan – who speaks individually with his pupils. Oppositional Muslim clerics have accused the official religious structures of aiding and abetting foreign, radical Muslim organizations. Farid Salman has accused the DUMRT of propagating Wahhabism; Talgat Tadjuddin (Tadjuddinov) has ‘exposed’ the Sovet Muftiev Rossii (Council of Muftiis of Russia, hereafter referred to as the SMR) under Moscow Muftii Gaynutdin (Gaynutdiinov) for co-operating with religious organizations such as the habashites16, the Nation of Islam movement and the tablighites. While recognizing the propagandistic nature of these accusations, it is impossible not to discern a grain of truth in them. The tablighites, who represent the Pakistani organization Jamaat–e-Tabligh (Community of the Prophet’s Message) are indeed active in Tatarstan and, while they might lack their own organizational structure, they do have their own co-ordinator, have been meeting in the Nurulla and Bulgar mosques in Kazan, and have been actively engaged in da’awa (Islamic recruitment). Indigenous anti-establishment Islam There is one significant locally-rooted Muslim community that remains in opposition to the official religious structures. This is a small group of Muslims headed by Faizrahman Sattarov, known as the Faizrahmanists. Faizrahman Sattarov, one of the few Tatar imams of the Soviet period,

Official and unofficial Islam 131 received professional theological training from 1955–64 in the Bukhara medresse and held the post of Imam-khatib in some of the USSR’s largest cities (Leningrad, Rostov, Oktiabr’sk and others) and of qadi in the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Evropeiskoi Chasti Rossii i Sibiri (Spiritual Board of Muslims of the European part of Russia and Siberia, hereafter referred to as the DUMES) from 1972–6. Thereafter he fell into opposition to the official religious structures. Faizrahmanism is – according to Valiulla Yakub – a paradoxical blend of Wahhabism, Islamism and Sufism. The community’s basic postulate is the principle, ‘live only by the Koran’, though Sattarov recognizes that this will restrict his number of followers to only the most ‘worthy’ (Sattarov 1998). Sattarov admits that there are sources other than the Koran that form the basis of the shariat, but argues that ‘we have no need for them as yet. Today it is necessary to unite around the Koran. Of seventy-three existing sects, only one is the sect of Allah. The remaining seventy-two were invented by scholars.’ He pays lip service to the distinction between Sunnism and Shi’ism

Faizrahman Sattarov, amir of the Islamic sect of Faizrahmanists, Kazan, Tatarstan. 17 July 1998. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

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and the division into madhhabs, but in practice he casts doubt on their practicality, because ‘Allah forbade disunity’. Among basic dogmas he particularly highlights namaz and zakat (obligatory alms) and the community tries, often unsuccessfully, to implement a compulsory zakat among community members of up to two-thirds of their income (Sattarov 1998). With regard to the state and politics, Sattarov believes that the state should be secular rather than religious, citizens should be loyal and that participation in politics is permissible. The eclectic nature of the community’s ideas is particularly evident in its attitude to rites and customs. A fully tolerant attitude to wake rites (‘If we are invited, we go’) is combined with non-acceptance of Sufism and some religious festivals, such as, for example, Mawlid. Recognition of the importance of ijtihad does not prevent the acceptance of some aspects of taqlid. The Faizrakhmanists emphasize their native roots and their lack of links with Muslim religious organizations and foundations abroad (Sattarov 1998). This self-sufficiency is evident in the work of the medresse which opened in 1997, where teaching is conducted only by trained members of their own community, and textbooks are written (or rather literally copied from various books) by Sattarov himself. It could be argued that Faizrahmanism is a unique movement, heavily dependent upon a single individual, the Imam-khatib, who had failed to make a career for himself in official religious structures during the Soviet period and who was determined to use the context of religious revival to secure his own unorthodox niche.

Official Islam in Dagestan Since the late 1980s, but particularly in the aftermath of the fall of the communist regime in 1991, Dagestan has experienced a significant Islamic revival. The republic has witnessed an intensive process of the construction and renovation of mosques, registration of local jamaats (Islamic communities), establishment of religious academies and publication of religious literature. At the beginning of 1996, there were 1,670 mosques, nine Islamic colleges of further education, including three universities, twenty-five medresses, 670 mektebs (primary Islamic schools), and eleven Islamic centres and charitable organizations in the republic. The number of clerics (imams, qadis and muezzins) totalled around 3,500 and there were over 800 holy places – mazars or ziyarats (Sufi shrines) – open to visitors. Dagestan’s Muslims now have the opportunity to maintain free contact with their fellow believers in other countries and by 1996 approximately 1,500 young Dagestanis were studying in religious institutes outside Russia (Kurbanov 1997). Whereas in Soviet times only a handful of Dagestanis were able to undertake the hajj (pilgrimage) each year, by the mid-1990s the number of pilgrims making the journey to Mecca exceeded 10,000 annually. The reconstruction of religious institutions was accompanied by a spontaneous process of ‘Islamization’ of public life, particularly in rural

Official and unofficial Islam 133 communities. In some places the sale of alcohol was banned, religious festivals and ceremonies were held openly, and social issues, including land disputes, increasingly began to be settled by local religious leaders guided by the shariat. In some cases secular and religious authorities colluded; the administration might ask the local imam to pass judgement and would then draft this judgement as a ruling of the administration (Magomedov 1999).17 Large sports stadiums were utilized for religious festivals and certain items of Islamic clothing became popular, especially head-scarves for women and white skull-caps for men. Religious organizations, movements and parties – such as the Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia (Islamic Party of Renaissance, hereafter referred to as the IPV), the Jamaat ul-Muslimin (the Community of Muslims), the Islamskaia Partiia Dagestana (Islamic Party of Dagestan, hereafter referred to as the IDP), the Dagestan branch of the all-Russia Muslim movement Nur (Light), the Dagestan branch of the Soiuz Musul’man Rossii (Union of Muslims of Russia, hereafter referred to as the SMR) and the Muslim women’s organization Muslimat (Muslim Women) – were permitted to function actively. An Islamic press emerged in the republic and secured its niche in the information market; particularly successful examples are the newspapers As-Salam (Peace), Nurul-Islam (Light of Islam), Put’ Islama (Path of Islam) and Islamskii Vestnik (Islamic News). The freedom of speech and religious expression granted at the beginning of the 1990s facilitated the formation of an Islamic opposition which advocated renewing and reforming the system of religious administration and strengthening the role of Islam in public life. Following the resignation of Muftii Gekkiev of the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Severnogo Kavkaza (Spiritual Board of Muslims of the North Caucasus, hereafter referred to as the DUMSK) in May 1989 – following accusations of corruption and collaboration with the KGB – the ‘young Imams’ took control of the DUMSK and the independent Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Dagestana (the Spiritual Board of Muslims of Dagestan, hereafter referred to as the DUMD), which had been formed in January 1990. The ‘young Imams’ had close ties with the Sufi orders, which until recently had been subject to persecution. From that moment tariqatism became the official ideology of the DUMD. In 1996, Deputy Muftii Gubdalan Abu-Muslim, for example, openly stated that ‘however great an alim [Islamic scholar] is, he must follow the tutelage of a sheikh’, because ‘without it a person’s religious development is not complete, nor is earthly success guaranteed’ (AbuMuslim 1996: 3). The dividing line between the official and unofficial clerics thereafter became nominal: most clerics in Dagestan today – not just from the religious elite, but also among ordinary imams and other clergy – belong to one tariqa or another.18 Of course, the Sufi orders maintain their parallel organizational structures, and in fact many of them do not recognize the authority of the DUMD, which is controlled by a rather small group of sheikhs and their murids. However, on the whole tariqatism has become the

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ideological and personnel basis of official Islam, making it impossible to examine the ideological and political evolution of official Islam in isolation from the situation in tariqatist Islam. Traditional (tariqatist, or official) Islam The rise of tariqatism – which could now use the infrastructure and resources of the Spiritual Board to further its own interests – was a driving force in the Islamic revival in the 1990s. Sufi orders multiplied; by the end of the 1990s Sufi orders incorporated up to 60 per cent of Muslim believers and included 80–100,000 murids among their number (Kurbanov 1997).19 Around thirty Russian converts to Islam had joined the orders, forming the so-called Soiuz Novoobrashennykh Musul’man (the Union of NewlyConverted Muslims). There are some forty to fifty tariqatist wirds in contemporary Dagestan, including twenty-three directed by living sheikhs. Most Dagestani wirds belong to one of two branches within Sufism – Naqshbandiyya and Shadhiliyya. Naqshbandiyya is superior in numbers, although, in the opinion of supporters of the DUMD, Dagestan has four ‘true’ sheikhs of the Shadhili tariqa: – Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii, Badrudin Botlikhskii, Arslanali Gamzatov (Paraul’skii) and Abdulwahid Kakamakhinskii. The last three – who are subordinate to sheikh Sayid-efendi – head three distinct Shadhili wirds. Through Sayid-efendi they belong to the silsila (a lineage of spiritual descent) of sheikh Seifulla-qadi, whom they regard as their qutb (supreme authority of the Sufi hierarchy). Naqshbandiyya differs most notably from other Sufi tariqas in its practice of ‘silent’ dhikr (the ceremony of ritual commemoration of Allah); it adopts a dhikr of the heart rather than a dhikr of the tongue. There are also followers of the Kadiriyya (mainly among the Akkin Chechens in Khasaviurtovskii raion) and some sheikhs even ‘work’ within two tendencies, for example Naqshbandiyya and Shadhiliyya. The most well-known of these are the orders led by sheikhs Magomed-Amin (Gadjiev), Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii, Badrudin Botlikhskii, Arslanali Gamzatov (Paraul’skii), Ramazan Gimrinskii, Abdulwahid Kakamakhinskii, Abdulgani Zakatal’skii, Muhammad-Mukhtar Kakhulaiskii, Siradjudin Khurikskii, Tadjuddin Khasaviurtskii and Muhajir Dogrelinskii. Other brotherhoods revere deceased sheikhs including Ali-haji Akushinskii, Khasan Kakhibskii, Amay, Vis-Haji and Kunta-Haji (Makarov 2000a: 7, 11, 72). The considerable influence of tariqatism on public and political life in Dagestan stems from a number of historical and social factors. Firstly, in the popular mind Sufism has come to be seen – not entirely justly – as the symbol of the mountain people’s struggle for liberation from the Russian empire in the nineteenth century. Secondly, it is so-called ‘high’ or ‘intellectual’ Islam that suffered most from the Soviet period onwards, when the traditions of classical religious education were effectively interrupted. At a

Official and unofficial Islam 135 time when official clerics were either wiped out or fell under the total control of the party and the KGB, Islamic tradition was kept alive by ‘popular Islam’ and the informal Sufi groups which epitomized it. Thirdly, the Sufi tariqas were deeply integrated into the system of traditional community and family or clan ties in Dagestan society. Often it was simply ancestral tradition which determined to which Sufi order a person belonged. The capacity of Sufi orders for mobilization is explained by certain features of their internal organization; their religious exclusivity and fanatical commitment, the rigid, closed nature of their organization, strict discipline and unconditional submission to religious authorities. In Soviet times this tariqatist structure provided fertile ground for the formation of semi-illicit clans, which gradually usurped leading positions in the local organs of power. During perestroika and its accompanying ethnic revival, there was a particularly intensive process of fusion between the tariqas and such ethnic political clans. The blatant power struggle between the leaders of these clans and religious groups revealed itself in the course of elections both to the local soviets and to the People’s Assembly of Dagestan (Parliament) and the Russian State Duma. The tariqas became the focus not just of religious life but came to play a visible role in economic and political processes, as they assumed the role of intermediary in resolving disputes between nationalities and clans, and occasionally defending the interests of Muslims from ‘the sticks’ against the central authorities. For example, during the 1990s Sufi tariqas played a major role in resolving conflicts

Dagestani Muslims during the Islamic holiday of Mawlid, Makhachkala, Dagestan. 20 July 1998. Photo: Elena Omel’chenko

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between Avars and Akkin Chechens in Kazbekovskii raion, between Dargin and Kumyks in Khasaviurtovskii raion, between Laks and Chechens in Novolakskii raion and between Kumyks and Avars in Karabudakhkentskii and other raions (Kurbanov and Kurbanov 1996: 66, 70–1, 75–6). Because of the significant social and political role played by the sheikhs, ordinary members of the tariqas have not been particularly socially active, possibly the only exception being in the struggle against the Wahhabis, whom tariqatists consider to be dangerous sectarians and enemies of Islam. Murids pay particular attention to traditional Sufi acitivities: Mawlid, dhikr, meditation, talking to ustadh (spiritual mentor). The orders themselves are not very active in da’awa – proselytizing work – tending to leave this to the official structures of the Spiritual Board and thus de facto allowing the Wahhabis to take the initiative in recruitment to Islam (Mukhtar 1998). The struggle for the Muftiiat The change in the leadership of the DUMSK in 1989 was accompanied by an escalation in tension and in the struggle for power between different factions within the Islamic clergy. The reasons for this were twofold. Firstly, control of the DUMD provided access to huge financial resources, which, it was assumed, would flood into the republic in the form of aid from fellow believers in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Turkey and Pakistan, and also from numerous global Islamic charities. Secondly, in the existing ideological vacuum, Islam was seen as an important political resource in the growing confrontation between the ethnic and political elites in Dagestan. Understanding the mobilizing potential of the religious factor, leading ethnic and political groups sought to establish control over the official Islamic administrative structures. On the other hand, the rivalry between these groups provided the clerics with the opportunity to lobby the authorities for reforms that would promote their own corporate interests; the further Islamization of society, the strengthening of their financial and organizational infrastructure, and the restriction of the activities of their main rivals, the Wahhabis. Initially, in 1989–91, it was the non-Avar clerics who held sway at the top of the religious administration. First to succeed Mahmud Gekkiev as Muftii of the DUMSK in June 1989 was the young Kumyk sheikh MuhammadMukhtar (Babatov), imam of the Tarkin mosque in Makhachkala. After him, the Dargin alim Abdulla Aligadjiev was elected Muftii, and then in January 1990 the Kumyk Bagauddin Isaev became the leader of the newly formed Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Dagestana at the first congress of Dagestan’s Muslims. The accession of Kumyks to leading positions reflected the desire of the new religious elite to distance the DUMD from the party and state nomenklatura, which at that time was dominated by Avars, and represented a temporary compromise between the largest ethnic groups in Dagestan (Avars, Dargins and Kumyks). In 1990–91 the DUMD

Official and unofficial Islam 137 was in opposition to the Dagestan authorities, demanding a broadening of religious freedoms, in particular the freedom for pilgrims to travel unimpeded to Saudi Arabia. At the same time, the ethnic origins of the Muftii and many prominent representatives of the official clerics influenced the DUMD’s sympathy for the Kumyk radical opposition national movement Tenglik, which from 1990–2 ran an active campaign in defence of the national and political rights of Kumyks. In January 1991 Muftii Bagauddinhaji and Imam Ilyas-haji participated in a special congress of the Kumyk national movement and Kumyk deputies (Kumykskoe Narodnoe Dvizhenie ‘Tenglik’. Materiali i Issledovaniia 1996: 42). The comeback by the Avar religious elite was signalled in February 1992 by the election of Sayid Ahmed Darbishgadjiev – an ethnic Avar – to the post of Muftii. Darbishgadjiev was close to Abdurashid Saidov’s Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia (Islamic Democratic Party, hereafter referred to as the IDP) which was opposed to the government, and the new Muftii’s ‘democratic’ image ought to have accorded neatly with the victory of democracy in Russia and the beginning of democratic reforms following the abolition of the USSR in December 1991. However, Darbishgadjiev’s election was not accepted by Kumyks, nor by a considerable number of Dargins and Laks, who set about forming their own ‘ethnic’ Muftiiats. A stabilization in the political stance of the Avar elite, together with a growing disillusionment in society with the ‘democratic reforms’, contributed to the DUMD’s eventual transition to a pro-government position. This shift was reflected particularly in the election of the politically more conservative Magomed Darbishev as the new Muftii in January 1994. The alternative ethnic Spiritual Boards were effectively paralyzed; they did not even undergo the necessary re-registration in 1994. Another fillip to the establishment of a single system of religious administration was provided by the increase in activity of the Wahhabi movement. The threat of an open split among official clerics along ethnic lines was averted. The Avar slant to the DUMD was reinforced by the election in 1996 of Seyid Muhammad Abubakarov as the new Muftii, and then, following his tragic death in August 1998, by the election of Ahmed-haji Abdullaev. The Avar domination of the DUMD did not mean it had become a tool of the Avar clergy as a whole. Control of the Muftiiat and the other higher religious institutions, such as the Sovet Alimov (the Council of Ulema20) and the Sovet Imamov (the Council of Imams), had passed in fact to the supporters and followers of the Avar sheikh Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii. Sayid Chirkeevskii’s group, noted for its high degree of internal solidarity, was multiethnic in character and included, for example, the influential Kumyk sheikh Arslan-Ali Gamzatov and the Dargin sheikh Abdel’ Wahid Kakamakhinskii. Therefore, although the differences within tariqatist Islam (and consequently among the official clerics) had a distinct ethnic hue, the divisions ran along religious, corporate and, sometimes, political lines. Thus, among those sheikhs, ulema and imams who, to a greater or lesser extent, openly opposed

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the DUMD, there were not just Kumyks (Muhammad-Mukhtar, Ilyas-haji) and Dargins (Muhammad-Amin, Magomedgadji, Abdulla-haji Aligadjiev), but also Avars (Tadjuddin Khasaviurtovskii, Idris-haji Israfilov). In spite of the propaganda and accompanying efforts aimed at strengthening the institutional basis of Islam in Dagestan, the DUMD has not managed to become a genuine national centre for traditional Islam in the republic. A significant number of clerics and Islamic establishments (mosques, medresses, institutes) still fail to recognize the authority of the DUMD, and in effect lie beyond its control. Figures suggest that the DUMD only really controls two of the eight raion mosques in Makhachkala, and about 200 of the 1,800–1,900 mosques in the republic as a whole. The Imam al-Sharia Islamic University in Makhachkala is also independent of the DUMD.21 Representatives of the clerics themselves admit that disagreements between sheikhs and their supporters have been bitter and some influential imams, sheikhs and even state officials dealing with religious issues have voiced open criticism of the DUMD.22 Doctrinal, ethnic and political make-up of the DUMD Almost all DUMD functionaries are murids of sheikh Sayid-efendi and many key posts are occupied by people from Gumbetov raion, who share not just their pledge of obedience to Sheikh Sayid, but often even family ties. Among Seyid-efendi’s influential murids were, for example, Muftii Seyid Muhammad Abubakarov, Khasmuhammad-haji, the chairman of the Sovet Alimov of the Central Mosque in Makhachkala and the father of Muftii Abubakarov, as well as Arslanali Gamzatov, the chairman of the Sovet Alimov Dagestana. As noted earlier, the DUMD’s officials recognize only four Dagestani living sheikhs, all of whom share the silsila with Sayid-efendi (Abu-Muslim 1996: 3). Even in the outlying regions, under the guise of resisting Wahhabism, the DUMD is trying to influence the process of appointing local imams to favour Sayid-efendi’s faction. In the Islamic medresses and universities controlled by supporters of the DUMD, students are educated in a spirit of enmity towards other sheikhs, which threatens to result in a deepening of the divide and open confrontation within tariqatist Islam in the near future; it is graduates from these institutions who will define the face of Islam in Dagestan (Abdulkerim 1997). Because all DUMD muftiis since 1992 have been elected not by Muslim Congresses but by a much smaller circle – the Council of Ulema, which is also mainly made up of supporters of sheikh Sayid-efendi – the current leadership of the DUMD is viewed by its opponents as ‘self-proclaimed’. Opposition clerics have called for a democratization of the appointment process in the DUMD. One proposal is that local jamaats in every district in the republic nominate the most authoritative alim of that district, and that a congress of these ulema elects the Muftii and other leaders of the DUMD by direct ballot (Idris-haji 1997; Ilyas-haji 1998).

Official and unofficial Islam 139 There is a widely held view in Dagestan that DUMD leaders are not overly scrupulous in financial affairs, and are happy to accept money from any source. For example, 100 million roubles was donated by Sharapuddin Musaev – popularly regarded as the leader of an organized criminal group known as the Kaspiisk mafia – towards the construction of the new DUMD building. Sharp criticism has been levelled also at the way in which pilgrims are dispatched by the DUMD on hajj; pilgrims are forced to purchase copies of the Koran distributed by the DUMD, and to subscribe to the As-Salam newspaper. According to some figures, financial machinations, including manipulation of the price of foreign visas, earned some 182,000 dollars profit for the DUMD from the hajjin 1998 alone (Makarov 2000a: 12). Opponents reproach DUMD leaders for their inadequate religious and theological training and the absence of authoritative ulema in the Muftiiat. Indeed, most independent observers confirm that the level of training in Islamic academies in Dagestan is very low, responsibility for which is laid at the DUMD’s door. As noted above, DUMD has sought, on occasion, to secure the appointments of village imams loyal to sheikh Sayid-efendi regardless of their level of Islamic education. Moreover, Dagestan’s Muftiis have not issued one fetwa since the early 1990s and, in the opinion of many, have been too reluctant to challenge the Wahhabis in doctrinal debate (Ahmed Magomedov 1998). Traditionally, the DUMD gravitates towards Avar ‘ethnic parties.’23 It also has traditional allies among such politicians as the chairman of the People’s Assembly, Mukhu Aliev, the leader of the Avar national movement, Gadji Makhachev, the leader of the IDP, Surokat Asiyatilov, the chairman of the republic’s Pension Fund, Sharapuddin Musaev, Kaspiisk mayor Ruslan Gadjibekov and the People’s Assembly deputy Abakar Akaev. The DUMD’s leaders supported the Avar ‘ethnic party’ in its efforts to squeeze out the Dargin ‘clan’ of Magomedali Magomedov, the chairman of the increasingly powerful State Council of Dagestan. In doing so the Avars found allies among the Dargins who have felt mistreated by Magomedov’s group. The DUMD forged especially close relations with Musaev, Gadjibekov and Akaev, who contributed financially to the construction of the new DUMD building, and their names began to feature with increasing regularity on the pages of the As-Salam and Nurul-Islam newspapers. Some reports suggest that the well-known Avar politician Ramazan Abdulatipov also maintains some contact with the DUMD leadership and sheikh Sayidefendi (Makarov 2000a: 73). The DUMD’s opponents also have been revealed gradually. In addition to Magomedali Magomedov, they include Sayid Amirov, an ethnic Dargin and the mayor of Makhachkala, as well as the Khachilaev brothers, who are of Lak origin. During the State Duma elections in 1996, for example, Sayid-efendi openly encouraged people to vote for Nadirshakh Khachilaev’s rival, an ethnic Avar, Magomedkhan Gamzatkhanov (known as Volk-khan,

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literally ‘wolf-king’). In February 1998, the DUMD supported Shirukhan Gadjimuratov, an Avar, against Sayid Amirov in the battle for mayor of Makhachkala; Gadjimuratov was allowed to spread his message from the pulpit in the Central Mosque in Makhachkala. The ‘non-tariqatist’ ulema and imams as well as the sheikhs who oppose the DUMD are, on the whole, less actively and openly involved in politics. Perhaps the only exception is Ilyas-haji Ilyasov, one of the leaders of the Kumyk National Council, who was appointed as religious affairs advisor to Prime Minister Khizri Shikhsaidov after leaving his post as first deputy imam of Makhachkala’s Central mosque in May 1998. Ilyas-haji is an outspoken critic both of the Wahhabis and of the DUMD. As a rule this group of sheikhs and ulema, particularly the Dargins and Kumyks, support Sayid Amirov. They are more self-critical than the DUMD leadership, and are more inclined to view the exacerbation of the Wahhabi problem not simply as the result of plots by external forces and inactivity on the part of the government, but also as a product of disunity within tariqatist Islam itself (Mukhtar 1998). The opposition clerics are wary of the centralizing measures taken by the Muftiiat leaders, fearing that they may result in religious power eventually being concentrated in the hands of Sayid-efendi’s group. It is widely believed that the new draft of the Zakon o Svobode Sovesti (Law on Freedom of Conscience) was adopted under pressure from sheikh Sayid’s followers, and mainly serves their corporate interests. Some Islamic figures see the issue in even broader terms, speaking of the need to separate official state Islam from Sufi ideology and to adopt standard Islam free of Sufi elements (Ilyas-haji 1998). Dagestan’s re-Islamization: official clerics take the initiative Faced with competition from the Wahhabis, the official clerics were determined to secure for themselves the role of the main driving force for Islamization in Dagestan. The clerics’ fundamental demands were that clauses on the secular nature of the state should not be enshrined in law, and that the leading role of Islam should be recognized by law. In lobbying for the interests of the clerics during the 1996–7 discussion of the new draft Law on Freedom of Conscience, Surokat Asiyatilov spoke forcefully against the principle of separating the church from the state and schools from the church (Asiyatilov 1996: 7). This same position is reflected in the clerics’ appeal to the People’s Assembly, in which they declared that the state should not give Muslims the right of shirk (polytheism) – for this amounted to ‘godlessness’ – and in Muftii Abubakarov’s call for Islam to be enshrined constitutionally as the ‘religion of the democratic majority’ (Makarov 2000a: 14). The Islamic establishment also proposed a number of changes in the education and legal systems of the country. In education they demanded the introduction in state schools and institutes of religious subjects,24 the right

Official and unofficial Islam 141 of religious organizations to teach religion outside the curriculum without seeking permission from local government bodies or institute directors, the creation of Islamic nursery schools, the right of students at religious institutes to study a full curriculum, and the establishment of a state Islamic institute to help alleviate the shortage of qualified imams and teachers at religious institutes. With regard to the legal system of the country, representatives of the Muslim clerics called for ‘the gradual integration of shariat principles into Dagestan’s legislative base’,25 arguing that this would help to make the legal system less bureaucratic and more effective. DUMD leaders justified the introduction of shariat principles by pointing to the successful historical experience of the 1920s, when shariat courts functioned effectively alongside secular ones, and also by citing the fact that most of the population followed shariat rules anyway in settling family, land and economic relations (Tagaev 1998). Other demands were also clear signs of a movement towards the Islamization of society. Those most frequently discussed were the declaration of Friday as a holy day, the amendment of the symbols and paraphernalia of the state to conform to Islam, the introduction of norms of slaughter of animals and birds and also the system of ‘halal’ food for Muslims serving in the army in line with the shariat, restriction of the sale of alcohol and erotic literature, and the establishment of clear Islamic dress codes for women (Makarov 2000a: 15). The official clerics advocate legal parliamentary methods for the Islamization of Dagestan. Muftii Abubakarov, for example, noted that the election of just sixty-one pro-Islam deputies to the People’s Assembly (made up of 121 deputies in total) would ensure a peaceful transition towards an Islam-oriented Dagestan (Abubakarov 1998: 4). However, official clerics are guided by the principle that ‘the guides and mentors of the people are the rulers, while the mentors of the rulers are the ulema’. Thus they have sought to raise their established close contact with the Dagestan branch of Nur, the Muslim movement which has elsewhere acted as their mouthpiece. The official clerics have also tried to raise the political and legal status of the Spiritual Board and the Muftii to enable them to participate in the appointment of certain ministers – particularly the ministers of education, culture, social security – and in the decision-making process on important state issues. Nevertheless, when they use the term ‘Islamic orientation’ of Dagestan, the official clerics essentially mean the Islamization of society, not the building of an Islamic state. The official clerics do not have their own independent political programme and do not aspire to direct power. Sheikh Sayid-efendi has noted specifically that any gain in strength and influence of ‘pure Muslims’ – for which read ‘official tariqatist clerics’ – would not depose the ‘bosses’, firstly because Muslims did not need their jobs, and secondly because ‘there are no people with the experience and ability to replace the bosses’ (Sayid-efendi 1998: 2). Thus, the official clerics have preferred to act as a pressure group furthering its corporate interests, by, among other things,

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forming alliances with certain sections of the ruling elite. At the same time the DUMD naturally cannot stand aside from the struggle for power between these groups. Thus in the mid-1990s, the DUMD adopted a progovernment stance, partly because of its ethnic solidarity with the Avar elite in the upper echelons of power, but also because they viewed the government as a natural ally in its struggle against Wahhabi activity, which the DUMD saw not only as a threat to the spiritual health of society, but as a serious challenge to its ideological hegemony and corporate interests. The need for a more effective resistance against Wahhabism governed the DUMD’s focus on developing its own infrastructure and organization. In July 1994 at a meeting of the presidium of the Dagestan Council of Ulema, a set of measures was drawn up with the aim of ‘mitigating the unregulated nature of the activity of the republic’s various spiritual institutions (mosques, religious academies)’ and ensuring more effective control of them by the DUMD. In order to ‘strengthen ties’ between the mosques and the DUMD it was decided to create councils of mosque imams, bringing together the imams of every mosque in the district; the chairmen of these councils of imams were to make up the Council of Ulema of Dagestan. The DUMD took control of educating and training the imams, organizing the dispatch of teams of missionaries to the regions, drawing up and approving the curricula for religious institutes and licensing their activities, and regulating and co-ordinating missionary activity and contacts with religious communities abroad. Representatives of the DUMD put considerable effort into removing imams suspected of sympathizing with the Wahhabis (Makarov 2000a: 16). By the mid-1990s the DUMD had taken virtually complete control of the process of sending pilgrims on hajj. A reference from a local imam was essential for obtaining permission to undertake hajj. The justification given for regulating the departure of pilgrims was the desire to stop hajj being used for commercial purposes, and also to protect the interests of pilgrims from dubious agencies. Representatives of the official clerics also demanded, on more than one occasion, that the DUMD and the Council of Ulema should assume control of the publication, import and distribution of religious literature, and also of selecting and sending Dagestani students to Islamic colleges abroad (Rezolutsiia Kongressa Musul’man Severnogo Kavkaza 1998; Tagaev 1998). As an editorial in Nurul-Islam newspaper – a paper close to the DUMD – indicated, the failure to take such control would mean that, ‘instead of an Islamic education our children will be given Wahhabi poison, and will spread it around Dagestan on their return’ (Vazhnost’ Islamskogo Obrazovaniia 1998: 1). Some representatives of the official clerics staunchly oppose sending Dagestani students to study abroad, believing that their religious views should be formed in Dagestani institutions and, only upon completion of their studies, should they be sent abroad for further training, free of the fear that they may fall prey to Wahhabi influence (Ilyasov 1998).

Official and unofficial Islam 143 In its foreign relations and in designing its religious education system, the DUMD modelled itself particularly on Turkey, seeing Turkish Islam – which is close to the traditions of Naqshbandi Sufism – as a possible counterweight against the spread of Wahhabism. The DUMD also sent more than 200 Dagestani students to study in Syria, where Islamic fundamentalism is harshly persecuted. It was here, for example, that Seyidmuhammad Abubakarov undertook further religious training before he was elected Muftii. The DUMD co-operates with other Muslim countries on a limited scale, but links with the Muftiiats in European Russia are weak. This is explained both by the general post-Soviet fragmentation of administrative religious structures, which compete with each other rather than work together, as well as by certain ideological differences (the official clerics in the rest of Russia have maintained almost no links with Sufi tradition) and differences in priorities (for ‘European’ Muftiiats, for example, the fight against Wahhabism has been a much less serious issue). Meanwhile, the DUMD has developed actively its regional links, advocating that the official clerics in the republics of the North Caucasus should join forces to resist Wahhabism. In July 1998 a delegation of Dagestani clerics headed by Muftii Abubakarov took part in the Congress of Muslims of the North Caucasus in Groznii, where a resolution was adopted roundly condemning Wahhabism as an extremist tendency which ‘hindered the unity of the Islamic umma’. In addition, this resolution, signed on behalf of the participants of the Congress by the Muftiis of Dagestan, Chechnia and Ingushetiia, included a call for the authorities of the North Caucasian republics to prohibit by law all extremist tendencies, and to place under the control of the Spiritual Boards the educational process both inside the republic and abroad, and also the publication and distribution of religious literature. At a congress of representatives of the Spiritual Boards of North Caucasian republics and krais in Nazran’ on 17 August 1998, the Koordinatsionnii Tsentr Musul’man Severnogo Kavkaza (the Coordination Centre for Muslims of the North Caucasus) was established and made one of its main tasks the co-ordination of resistance to the expansion of Wahhabism (Makarov 2000a: 17–18). Lobbying for the new freedom of conscience bill, the DUMD was determined that it should be passed in a form that would prohibit the activities of Wahhabi jamaats. The Muftiiat’s leaders also planned that the law should strengthen the DUMD’s control over clerical appointments, vesting it with powers to confirm the election of imams at all levels and to monitor the registration of all religious organizations. The official clerics actively supported Surokat Asiyatilov’s idea of removing the clause on religious groups from the law, seeing this as a ‘loophole for the Wahhabis.’ A major demand of the official clerics was to grant representatives of the DUMD the right to free access to the media and to enshrine this right in the new Law on Freedom of Conscience.26

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Islamic officialdom and the ruling regime Over the period 1997–8 the DUMD became increasingly critical of the government. From the perspective of the DUMD, the government had not delivered on two fronts: it had not dealt firmly enough with the Wahhabis, and it had not promoted the social role of Islam. The Muftiiat was extremely unhappy, specifically at the delay over the adoption of the new law on freedom of conscience and also the desire on the part of some People’s Assembly deputies and political figures to harmonize this law with federal Russian law. The DUMD believed that this did not take account of realities in Dagestan and rendered the law ineffective in the fight against Wahhabism. According to Deputy Muftii Ahmed-haji Tagaev, it was only the attack by Khattab’s Chechen fighters on the military unit in Buinaksk in December 1997, supported by Dagestani Wahhabis, that prompted People’s Assembly deputies to vote to adopt the draft law, which included some forty DUMD-sponsored amendments (Tagaev 1998). DUMD supporters were also clearly irritated by the authorities’ attempts to initiate a dialogue with the Wahhabis in the summer of 1998. Thus, in its coverage of the visit of the Deputy Minister of Nationalities, Magomed Kurbanov, and the head of the Department of Religious Affairs of the Dagestan government, Ahmed Magomedov, to Karamakhi – which the Wahhabis had declared an ‘independent Islamic territory’ – Nurul-Islam accused the authorities of appeasing the Wahhabis. Criticizing Kurbanov’s attempt to draw attention to the social roots of the Wahhabi problem, the newspaper said that the government’s ‘ostrich policy’ could be explained only by the existence of a ‘gentlemen’s agreement’ with the Wahhabis, by a complete failure to understand the danger inherent in Wahhabism, or by a conscious desire to undermine the Islamic cause by using the Wahhabis to ‘divide and rule’. Veiled threats began to creep into the official clerics’ rhetoric. For example, the above-mentioned resolution by the Congress of Muslims of the North Caucasus noted that ‘if the republic’s leaders do not take account of the recommendations (on the fight against Wahhabism) proposed by the Spiritual Boards, we may be forced to resort to our own measures which we would be extremely reluctant to have to do’ (Makarov 2000a: 18). The leaders of the DUMD were becoming convinced that the government was deliberately ignoring, or covertly sabotaging, their initiatives aimed at the Islamization of society. For example, the government did not formally reject the proposal to move the holy day to Friday, but the issue was left to the discretion of the local administrations, who were directed – representatives of the Muftiiat believed – to block the idea. There were also rumours that Magomedali Magomedov personally ordered the heads of local administrations not to participate in Mawlids. DUMD representatives were outraged that television coverage of Islam was limited to just one short broadcast each week, and that the state refused to allow a centralized system of collection and distribution of zakat, for fear that an Islamic alternative to

Official and unofficial Islam 145 social aid would be more effective than the state’s own system (Tagaev 1998). Consequently, the Muftiiat’s leaders began warning the authorities that ignoring the demands of the Spiritual Board would eventually result in a more radical Islamization of society. Speaking at the Council of Ulema on 14 July 1998, Muftii Abubakarov said that ‘if the DUMD and the government did not ensure Dagestan’s “Islamic orientation” today, then Movladi (Udugov), Khattab and others would come and impose their version on us tomorrow…’ (Obrashchenie Muftiia Abubakarova k Musul’manam Dagestana 1998: 1). There was also increasingly pointed criticism of the morals of the ruling elite. It was no coincidence that in one of his last speeches, in July 1998, Seyidmuhammad Abubakarov recalled the occasion when a newspaper had failed to publish an interview with him because it contained a phrase about government officials ‘fostering all kinds of filth and vulgarity’ (Obrashchenie Muftiia Abubakarova k Musul’manam Dagestana 1998: 1). By the end of the 1990s, accusations aimed at the republic’s leaders of encouraging corruption, immorality and ‘contempt for the majority of the population’ had become commonplace on the pages of pro-DUMD newspapers. The growing criticism of the government for not conforming to ‘Islamic’ ethical standards was one aspect of the process by which the DUMD became increasingly involved in the political struggle that was to erupt between the main groups of the ruling elite in the spring and summer of 1998 over the election of the chairman of the republic’s State Council. Making its preference for Magomedali Magomedov’s rivals ever clearer, the Muftiiat began criticizing the government even on purely political issues. In a speech to the Council of Ulema in July 1998, Muftii Abubakarov followed some of Dagestan’s opposition politicians in criticizing the government’s inability to force Moscow to give due consideration to the inadvisability of stationing Russian military units in Dagestan. Proposing that Dagestani conscripts should not be sent outside Dagestan to serve, the Muftii called for the defence of the Dagestan–Chechen border and the republic’s defence requirements in general to be entrusted to armed units made up of Dagestanis. The same speech contained a phrase about how ‘one day they sit on the constitution…and the next day they turn it upside down’, which could only be interpreted as support for opponents of the amendment to the constitution that allowed Magomedali Magomedov to be re-elected to the post of State Council chairman in June 1998 (Makarov 2000a: 20). The DUMD’s most serious outburst against the government came soon after Muftii Abubakarov’s death in a terrorist attack at the Central mosque in Makhachkala on 21 August 1998. Without waiting for an investigation, responsibility for the crime was immediately laid at the door of the Wahhabis, although many observers expressed well-founded doubts about this version of events. One possible reason for the Muftii’s assassination was cited as the DUMD’s financial activities. This version of events is supported by the fact that one week before the Muftii’s death, on 15 August, the

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director of DagVodKanal (the Dagestani Water Company), Gadji Abdulkhalimov, was murdered; he had been the Muftii’s right-hand man in organizing charity events. A month before his death, apparently sensing events were catching up with him, Abubakarov had submitted a letter of resignation as Muftii (Makarov 2000a: 20, 76). The DUMD, however, used the event to launch its harshest attacks yet on the Dagestani authorities in general, and on Magomedov personally. At a Dagestan National Congress convened on 29 August in Makhachkala on the initiative of the DUMD, Abakar Akaev referred directly to Magomedov when he declared, ‘with his cowardly and passive policy [of condoning Wahhabism] [Magomedov] has killed the leader of Dagestan’s Muslims, and has killed every one of us’ (Obrashchenie Deputata Akaeva k Delegatam Obshchedagestanskogo Kongressa 1998: 1). The DUMD leaders proposed that the entire leadership of the republic under Magomedov resign immediately, and that there should be a direct general election for a new chairman of the State Council, with a date to be set for this election as soon as possible. If these demands were not met, the participants in the Congress threatened to take ‘any measures we deem necessary within the confines of the law’. The meaning behind this threat is partly revealed by the words of First Deputy Muftii Kuramuhammed Ramazanov, who said: ‘Our meeting today is just a rehearsal. If need be we will fill every square in the land, we will fight to the end, and we will achieve all our demands’ (Makarov 2000a: 20). Notably, on the eve of the Congress there had already been an attempt to use mass meetings to put pressure on the government: in Khasaviurt and Kiziliurt, participants in mass meetings in protest at the murder of the Muftii ‘spontaneously’ proposed an armed march on Makhachkala in order to punish those responsible for the crime.27 The attempt by the DUMD to lead the opposition attack against Magomedov’s regime had little success. Having listened politely to the delegates from the Dagestan National Congress, not only did the authorities not make any move towards meeting their demands but over the ensuing few days they also held direct talks with the Wahhabis, resulting in the signing on 1 September of a treaty on relations between the government and the Wahhabi jamaat in Karamakhi. This was a serious blow to the interests and prestige of the DUMD, which had put so much effort into disrupting this treaty. Further damage was caused to the DUMD when, in early September, it lost several influential allies in the course of a widespread government campaign against corruption and crime.28 This anti-corruption campaign, which essentially took the form of a covert battle against the government’s political opponents, considerably strengthened the position of Magomedov’s regime and forced the DUMD, under the leadership of the new Muftii Ahmed-haji Abdullaev, to contain their political ambitions. The DUMD’s overt support for the opposition in August 1998 seriously undermined the regime’s confidence in the current leadership of the Muftiiat. Unable to forgive this ‘treachery’, the authorities evidently

Official and unofficial Islam 147 adopted the tactic of restraining and neutralizing the DUMD as a centre of power. Meanwhile, supporters of the Muftiiat saw this cooling in the government’s attitude to the DUMD and the criticism of the activities of its structures (in particular the religious academies) as yet more evidence that the authorities were appeasing the Wahhabis. In particular, this was how Nurul-Islam interpreted the musings of the Prime Minister’s religious affairs adviser Ilyas-haji, who argued that in order to regulate religious education they should abolish nine out of every ten spiritual academies and bring the rest under the control of the state, and open a branch and institute of the ‘World Islamic Council’ that would not be bound ‘any single Islamic persuasion or individual tariqa’ (Ilyasov 1998: 2). In July 1999, citing such facts as the disconnection of every telephone in the DUMD and the refusal of the government committee for religious affairs to register the DUMD charter, the Council of Ulema described the government’s policy on fighting Islamic fundamentalism as ‘incomprehensible, ambiguous and appeasing’. The Council of Ulema felt that it was unclear ‘whom the government is attacking more – the Spiritual Board, which represents the interests of an overall majority of believers, or the extremists’ (Makarov 2000a: 21–2). It is not surprising that this ‘strange duet between the authorities and the Wahhabis’ became a constant theme in DUMD rhetoric. DUMD-controlled newspapers accused the government of unleashing – under the guise of fighting Wahhabism and extremism – a campaign of anti-Islamic propaganda that only angered believers and played into the hands of the Wahhabis. Citing in particular the 1 September 1998 agreement with the Wahhabis, supporters of the Muftiiat alleged that some influential officials were secretly protecting the Wahhabis and that, providing they received guarantees that their own privileges would be preserved, they would not prevent them from seizing power in the republic. Finally, the authorities were directly accused of inciting conflict between the tariqatists and the Wahhabis. By way of illustration, Nurul-Islam described the police arrest of a Wahhabi in Dylym in Kazbekovskii raion immediately after he had been criticized by the local tariqatist imam; the action had provoked threats against the imam from other Wahhabis and seriously compounded the situation in the town (Makarov 2000a: 21–2). Despite their obvious increased political opposition to, and sharp criticism of, the government and specific state leaders, the official clerics nevertheless continued to show loyalty to the current regime on issues of principle. Official clerics took it upon themselves to provide religious and judicial support for the government in the face of attacks from the Wahhabis, who accused Dagestan’s rulers of kufr (unbelief), and believed it was possible to wage an armed jihad against the regime and actively promote the unification of Dagestan with ‘Islamic’ Chechnia. A ruling by the Council of Ulema on 28 July 1998 stated that although the republic’s rulers did not observe the shariat, they did not openly reject Islam and so were not kafirs (infidels) merely fasiks (sinners), against whom it was forbidden to

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launch a jihad. Dagestan itself was recognized as Dar ul-Islam (Islamic territory) and an ‘Islamic’ state, because for this it was enough that Muslims should have established their authority over the country at least at some stage in its history. As for the declaration of jihad against Russia, this was considered inadvisable and unjustified even by those imams (specifically sheikh Muhammad-Mukhtar) who had had the audacity to adopt an openly pro-Chechen stance during the war in Chechnia, despite the conformism of most of the official clerics (Salav Aliev 1997; Mukhtar 1998). The official clerics’ approach to the issue of jihad against the government accorded with one of the main principles of Muslim law: in the interests of avoiding discord and bloodshed it is permissible to support even an unjust ruler. At the same time, behind this stance it was not difficult to discern the close links and common interests of the DUMD leaders and some groups of the ruling elite, which constituted an integral part of the anti-Islamic and immoral regime so criticized by the Muftii. The attitude of the official clerics to the issue of the unification of Dagestan and Chechnia was also close to the government’ position: it was essential to work towards uniting Chechnia and Dagestan, but equally important that the existing borders remained intact at the current time, and that religious and secular practices existing in Chechnia today should not be forcibly imposed on Dagestan. On this issue, the DUMD’s position can be explained not just by healthy pragmatism and corporate interests, but also by features of tariqatist Islam, which, closely interwoven as it is with local traditions and local history, considers Dagestani identity to be of great importance. In this narrative, Dagestan’s ancient, rich Islamic tradition is contrasted to Chechnia’s ‘superficial’ Islam. Dagestan is seen as the place, on the territory of the former USSR at least, where the outstanding sheikhs of our time were concentrated. This thesis was supported, moreover, by reference to the words of the Prophet himself, specifically to a clearly apocryphal hadith stating that ‘at the end of time, there will be many vali (saints) in Dagestan’. Stressing Dagestan’s favoured status, deputy Muftii Ramazanov noted that in Dagestan there were four true ustadhs, ‘of whom there are very few in the whole world’ (Makarov 2000a: 23). There were reports in a similar vein in Nurul-Islam about the visit to Dagestan of the Naqshbandi sheikh from Turkey, Muhammad Nazim al-Haqqani alQubrusi, who was invited by Nadirshakh Khachilaev to celebrate Mawlid in July 1997. The newspaper wrote: ‘We do not give our sheikhs the appreciation they deserve, but are prepared to throw ourselves at any foreigner…In Dagestan there are several sheikhs whose silsilia is not in doubt…whereas in Turkey and the Middle East (Egypt, Syria, Iraq, Iran and Hijaz) there are almost no Sufi scholars, although there are many false murshids and false tariqatists’ (Makarov 2000a: 23). The official clerics also took up a decidedly patriotic stance during the invasion of Dagestan by units of Shamil’ Basaev and Khattab in August and September 1999. DUMD leaders strongly condemned the invasion, saying

Official and unofficial Islam 149 that it was inadmissible to see it as a jihad. In addition to this, they called upon all Muslims to rise up in defence of the motherland and the true faith, and even called for prayers to be said for the success of the federal troops fighting Basaev’s paramilitaries. The Chechen invasion, alongside the decisive actions of the local and federal authorities in eradicating a Wahhabi enclave in Karamakhinsk, and the adoption of a law forbidding religious extremism, contributed to some decrease in tension between the authorities and the official clerics.

Unofficial Islam in Dagestan Wahhabi doctrine and politics Wahhabism is a relatively new strand of Islam in Dagestan, and as such might be considered a form of ‘non-traditional’ Islam in the region; indeed from the early 1990s Wahhabism assumed the role of an ‘oppressed’, ‘unofficial’ Islam. The main differences between Wahhabism and Sufism relate to the Wahhabis’ determination to rid Islam of bid’a and to restore the central principle of Islam – tawhid (monotheism) – to its original glory. Wahhabis do not consider themselves to be bound by the Shafii madhhab, which has traditionally been dominant in Dagestan, or by any other madhhab; they conform only to those regulations of the schools of law that can be tested by reference to the Koran and the Sunna. Wahhabis espouse the principle that on questions of ibadat (homage to Allah) only what is prescribed in the Koran and the Sunna is permissible; everything else is a deviation from Islam. In muamalat (social practice), in contrast, everything is permitted unless it is specifically forbidden by the Koran and the Sunna. The spiritual leader of Dagestan’s Wahhabis, Bagauddin Muhammad (Kebedov) counts as many as 100 violations of the shariat in Sufi doctrine and practice.29 In the sphere of dogma and culture, the Wahhabis’ central criticism is directed at the veneration of saints and sheikhs as intercessors between believers and Allah. Wahhabis see excessive worship and glorification of sheikhs, saints (even of the Prophet Muhammad) as a deviation from monotheism, which proscribes the worship of anyone other than Allah. Apart from the clear, conceivable knowledge embodied in the shariat, Wahhabis rule out the existence in Islam of another hidden, mystic knowledge which is supposedly accessible only to sheikhs and saints. They do not accept the mystical ability of the saints, or of the Prophet himself, to intercede before Allah on behalf of Muslims, and challenge the legitimacy of praying to the saints for dua’ bi-tavassul’ (help). Neither do Wahhabis accept that divine grace can be passed down through saints and sheikhs or artefacts related to them (such as shrines). From this stems the Wahhabis’ rejection of several religious practices traditional in Dagestani society, such as ziyarat (visiting the shrines of well-known saints), reading the Koran at cemeteries, and using amulets and talismans. While condemning innovations, at the

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same time Wahhabis call for the strict observance of all provisions of the Koran and Sunna concerning ritual and ceremony and the behaviour and appearance of Muslims, even if these provisions are unfamiliar to most Dagestanis (unshaven beards and shortened trousers for men and the veil (niqab), or even hijab for women). There are also important differences between tariqatists and Wahhabis in religious and political matters, particularly regarding the jihad and their attitude to the government. Accusing the Sufis of distorting Islamic teaching on the jihad, and of effectively consigning the jihad to oblivion, Wahhabis claim that the jihad is the core or spirit of Islam, without which Islam is like a ‘lifeless corpse’. Unlike Sufis, Wahhabis believe that the highest form of jihad is not the spiritual development of mankind, but the campaign to spread Islam across the world, a campaign which may involve weapons. Moreover, the more radical Wahhabi groups believe that armed jihad may be used not only for defensive purposes, but also to overcome those obstacles that the enemies of Islam place in the path of its peaceful proliferation. This approach opens up the possibility of declaring a jihad against the government of Dagestan, which, Wahhabis believe, is guilty of resisting the ‘Islamic call’. In this respect, the Wahhabis are highly critical of the Sufis, who they accuse of acting as a buttress for the current regime. Wahhabis are even more critical of modern tariqatism in Dagestan than of the Sufis of the past, who, they think, were at least not interested in money and power. Wahhabi leaders consider the current sheikhs not only to be actively cooperating with the authorities and mafia groups, but to be effectively legalizing usury – forbidden by the shariat – by allowing money to be invested in state and commercial banks (Kebedov 1997). In the 1990s the popularity of Wahhabism undoubtedly grew faster than that of tariqatist Islam, although the latter still has the overwhelming numerical advantage; a very approximate estimate suggests that 5–10 per cent of the republic’s population support Wahhabism (Ahtaev 1997). The spread of Wahhabism is frequently attributed to external factors including: financial aid from international fundamentalist Islamic organizations, ideological manipulation by representatives of these organizations of Dagestani pilgrims during hajj, the indoctrination of Dagestani students studying in Islamic universities abroad, the dissemination of large quantities of fundamentalist literature, and the activities of foreign missionaries in Dagestan. All these undoubtedly play their role, but there are also a number of internal factors that make Wahhabism attractive to a certain section of the population; above all religious young people, who form the most important sector of the social base of this movement. Wahhabism is attractive to those who turn to religion to look for answers to the vital questions of meaning of life (such people also frequently join Sufi orders), but also burn with the desire to immediately start ‘putting society right’. In terms of its social base Wahhabism draws supporters equally from well-educated, ‘modern’ people and from the socially deprived and marginalized sections of society.

Official and unofficial Islam 151 Wahhabi doctrine is noted for its rationalism and accessibility, and has an exact, internal logic, although from a purely theological point of view it is not always beyond debate. Despite their avowed strict adherence to the zahir (literal) provisions of the Koran and the Sunna, Wahhabis are engaged in a rather conceptual reconstruction – almost a reinvention – of a model of ‘pure Islam’ based on a selective approach to the sacred texts. In his polemic with the Wahhabis, sheikh Muhammad-Mukhtar notes that Wahhabis tend to reject certain arguments – even those based on the Koran – ‘if they contradict their own teaching, and they reinterpret them according to their own judgement and reasoning…’ (Mukhtar 1995). Nevertheless, their particular form of rationalism allows the Wahhabis to overcome the elitist and closed nature of Sufism, to democratize and modernize Islam, cleansing it of mysticism, superstition and patriarchal traditions, which fit uneasily with modern outlooks. Another attractive feature of Wahhabism is its protest against traditional forms of social organization. Wahhabism, in this sense, might be seen as the ideological framework for a process of social modernization and disengagement of the individual from the system of clan ties that continues to cement society in Dagestan. Recent social disorientation – due to the rapid property-based stratification of society, the loss of moral points of reference and the disruption of socialization processes – has had its greatest impact on young people, engendering in them a desire to protest against established, traditional forms of social organization and hierarchy. Sufi orders, which are organically woven into the system of traditional ties, cannot act as a mouthpiece for such protest. The Wahhabi requirement of strict worship of Allah alone effectively releases the individual from the power of the patriarchal tukhum (clan) traditions. In this sense it provides a religious grounding to young people’s striving for independence and self-determination within the framework of new, modern forms of social solidarity. The personal freedom actually acquired, however, often proves to be limited since the discipline of the Wahhabi jamaat may be just as great as that of family and tukhum traditions. For some, the process of choosing this new form of dependence might be sufficient. For others, however, that very choice might still have been determined by traditional mechanisms of authority; in the countryside, for example, whole families often belong to Wahhabi jamaats. No less important is the fact that Wahhabi jamaats, unlike tariqatist orders, represent an organized (and sometimes armed) force capable not just of offering their members a sense of social security, but also real protection against the criminal free-for-all and the arbitrariness of the police. The spiritual egalitarianism of the Wahhabis, who preach equality among believers in the eyes of Allah, blends naturally with their calls for social equality and justice. Wahhabis are much harsher than tariqatists in their condemnation of the ‘non-Islamic’ custom, firmly-rooted in society, of spending extravagantly on weddings, funerals and other family events, the

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cost of which – particularly in view of the socio-economic crisis which hit Dagestan in the 1990s – is becoming ruinous for many impoverished Dagestanis. Wahhabi ideology, stressing as it does social and political activism, serves as an effective means of mobilising people for the struggle against the injustice and lawlessness created both by corrupt officials and by the criminal and mafia groups associated with them. In contrast to the rather close relations between the official clerics and the unpopular and corrupt government, the political non-conformism of the Wahhabis seems particularly attractive to young people. Wahhabis symbolize a new, ‘Islamic’ order, while the tariqatists, despite their similar calls to introduce the shariat, are seen as part of the old order. The spread of Wahhabism in Dagestan is geographically uneven, and is influenced by the ethnic and cultural features of the republic’s regions. Interestingly, Wahhabism is most widespread in the very same regions and among the same ethnic groups as tariqatist Islam: mainly the Avar and Dargin populations of northern and western (mountainous regions) Dagestan, which are noted for their traditionally high level of religious activity and which have maintained continuity in religious tradition despite persecution in the Soviet period. Among the religiously indifferent Laks and the peoples of southern Dagestan – the Tabasarans, Aguls, Rutuls and Tsakhurs – there have been, until recently, far fewer supporters of Wahhabism. Kisriev’s survey conducted in March 1998 among all ethnic groups in Dagestan showed Kumyks to have the most negative attitude to the Wahhabis: of Kumyk respondents, only 1 per cent expressed a positive attitude to the Wahhabis while 86 per cent were negatively disposed. Average figures for all other ethnic groups were 3 per cent and 74 per cent respectively, and even ethnic Russians proved more favourably disposed to the Wahhabis than the Kumyks; 2 per cent of Dagestani Russians had positive attitudes while 81 per cent held negative perceptions (Kisriev 1999: 44). The feeble spread of Wahhabism among Kumyks belies the assertion that the Wahhabi radical opposition is made up of Muslim communities of those nationalities whose interests were encroached upon in the Soviet period, since Kumyks are both generally religious and one of the more discriminated ethnic groups in Dagestan under the Soviet regime (Bobrovnikov 1995: 133). The gravitation of Kumyks towards tariqatist Islam and the disproportionately small number of them in the Wahhabi communities of ethnically mixed towns (such as Makhachkala and Kiziliurt) is almost certainly partly a consequence of ethnic antipathy towards the Avars and Dargins who dominate the Wahhabi movement. Nevertheless, a general increase in the mood of protest in society is helping to ensure a broader influx of Kumyks, Lezgins, Laks, Tabasarans and members of other ethnic groups into the Wahhabi movement. The first Wahhabi community in southern Dagestan emerged in the mid-1990s in the Lezgin town of Belidji. Significantly, among the students studying at the

Official and unofficial Islam 153 Wahhabi medresse in Karamakhi in the summer of 1999 there were a number of Kumyks and Laks, while Lezgins made up almost half the total. According to the poll cited above, it is Lezgins who show the highest positive assessment of Wahhabism (6 per cent) (Kisriev 1999: 44). One reason for the faster spread of Wahhabism among southern Dagestanis is evidently that they are not ‘burdened’ with the traditions of Sufi Islam, which has shallow roots in this part of the republic. Thus Wahhabism in Dagestan is a cover for neither ethnic nor regional protest. The nature of the confrontation between traditional Islam and Wahhabism, and between Wahhabism and the government, is determined not by ethnicity, but by social, political, ideological and religious factors. Wahhabism: internal divisions It is possible to identify three main forms of Wahhabism in Dagestan today: radical, ultra-radical and moderate. The most numerous and influential group is made up of supporters of radical Wahhabism, known as the Jamaat ul-Islamiiun ad-Dagestaniia (Islamic Community of Dagestan, hereafter referred to as the JID), which was officially registered in mid 1997. The amir (spiritual leader) of the JID was Bagauddin Muhammad (Kebedov). He began establishing Wahhabi cells at the end of the 1994–6 Chechen war. The radical Wahhabis are intolerant to Sufism, which they see as shirk (polytheism) and, as such, incompatible with Islam. They are also uncompromising in relation to the current Dagestani government, which they view as kafir (godless) and they reject any legal party political work under such a regime. Thus, it was Bagauddin’s supporters who initiated the dissolution of the Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia, although this initiative was possibly dictated not just by ideological but also by purely pragmatic considerations; according to Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev, Bagauddin’s group feared that membership of an organization which had the status of a political party would make it more difficult for them to receive financial aid from abroad (Ahtaev 1997). Radical Wahhabis show no interest in discussing the gradual introduction of the shariat at a state level, choosing to concentrate on building their own organization, religious propaganda and securing the introduction of the shariat at a local level. The JID is strongly anti-Russian and is committed to the idea of a united Islamic Caucasus as an intermediate stage on the path to full unity of the Muslim umma in the future.30 Thus, Wahhabis take as their models of Islamic statehood the regimes in Afghanistan and Sudan, and some Wahhabi publications are particularly sympathetic towards the Afghan Taliban (Islamic students) movement (Makarov 2000a: 32, 77). However, the Islamic Jamaat has never drawn up any social and political programme as such; this is explained by its leaders by the fact that a movement predominantly engaged in religious propaganda and education does not require such a programme.

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The ultra-radical version of Wahhabism, which views all followers of traditional Islam as kafirs (unbelievers), has spread mainly among the Dagestani diaspora in Astrakhan’. The leader of these ultra radicals is Anguta Ayub, who is from the Tsumadinskii raion of Dagestan. In Dagestan itself he has few followers, although it was members of this group who established the first Wahhabi community in southern Dagestan (in Belidji).31 Moderate Wahhabism is represented by followers of Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev, who founded and headed the cultural and educational organization AlIslamiyya (Islamic Organization). Ahmed-qadi’s ideas are generally close to the ideology of the Egyptian ‘Muslim Brothers’.32 Right up to his death in rather mysterious circumstances in March 1998, Ahmed-qadi adopted a more flexible approach in religious and legal issues than other prominent Wahhabis. Thus while Ayub’s followers support the compulsory wearing of the niqab for women, and Bagauddin allows for a choice between niqab and hijab, Ahmed-qadi argued that, in the case of Dagestan, the niqab was harmful, because, contrary to its purpose, it only succeeded in attracting universal attention to women. It is also significant that Ahmed-qadi’s followers attend the Central (tariqatist) mosque in Makhachkala, while members of the JID consider it unacceptable to pray with an imam who ‘tolerates shirk [heresy]’ (Rashid 1998). Ahmed-qadi spoke against attempts to apply the concept of takfir (non-belief) to the situation in Dagestan, and against calls to an armed jihad. He supported the idea of Islamists participating in public and political life. Hence, in 1992 he was elected as a deputy to the Supreme Soviet of Dagestan, and he planned to stand for the post of head of the Gunib district administration in 1998. His supporters also campaigned on behalf of traders at Makhachkala’s wholesale market during their conflict with the municipal administration in May 1998. In contrast, Bagauddin’s followers reacted negatively to the distribution of Ahtaev’s leaflets in Makhachkala expressing support for the wholesalers (Rashid 1998). Ahmed-qadi was less concerned with the fight against Sufism and more interested in creating an Islamic political party with a socio-economic and political project that might prove attractive to society. Like the radical Wahhabis, he supported closer ties with Chechnia, and spoke in favour of uniting the Caucasus and strengthening its ties with the Muslim world, seeing this as the only way Caucasian Muslims could ‘survive’ in the face of growing pressure from an imperialist Russia. At the same time, Ahmed-qadi understood that the Caucasus could not escape its geographic proximity to Russia, and felt that the purpose of uniting the Islamic Caucasus was to force Russia to take account of the Caucasus and co-operate with it on equal terms. In Islamist circles, Ahtaev also had a reputation as an opponent of military opposition to Russian presence in Dagestan (Makarov 2000a: 32–3). Ahmed-qadi held significant authority in Islamic circles, both as a politician and as a scholar and theologian. It is no coincidence that the leader of

Official and unofficial Islam 155 the ‘Islamic Nation’ movement and former vice-premier of Chechnia, Movladi Udugov, specifically offered him the role of his deputy and chairman of the organization’s shariat court. Relations between AlIslamiyya and the JID were characterized by a ‘cold peace’. Nevertheless, after Ahmed-qadi’s death, Bagauddin made a step towards cooperation by appointing one of Ahtaev’s followers as the leader of the Wahhabi jamaat in Makhachkala. This can also be seen as indirect evidence of the fairly strong position of Ahmed-qadi’s group in Makhachkala. Apart from Makhachkala, Al-Islamiyya’s main support was in Gunibskii raion, where Ahmed-qadi’s native town of Kudali is situated. In 1997 and early 1998 the balance of power within the Wahhabi movement shifted ever more noticeably in favour of the JID. By this time, foreign Islamic organizations had decided evidently to redirect their financial aid away from Ahmed-qadi towards the more radical and politically less experienced Bagauddin. For their part, the authorities, worried about the emergence of a powerful political opponent if Ahmed-qadi were to be elected head of the Gunibskii raion administration, took steps to discredit him, attempting in particular to present him almost as an apologist for the government and thus provoke a terminal rift between him and Bagauddin. It is alleged that a high-ranking state official deliberately leaked to Bagauddin the text of an agreement between Ahmed-qadi and the Dagestan Security Council in which the leader of Al-Islamiyya confirmed that his organization ‘had no objections to state power and would not impose its faith by force’ (Adallo Aliev1998; Tolboev 1997). The DUMD joined wholeheartedly in the smear campaign against Ahmed-qadi, fearing his ‘disguised Wahhabism’ no less than Bagauddin’s blatant radicalism. A number of articles appeared in As-Salam casting doubt on Ahmed-qadi’s own level of religious education, and his supporters were accused of defiling tombstones in Kudali and of intimidating those with different beliefs.33 The toughest blow of all for the moderate wing of the Wahhabis, however, was the death of Ahmed-qadi, for whom no worthy replacement could be found among their ranks. Ahtaev’s successor as chairman of Al-Islamiyya in September 1998 was his relative Sirajuddin Ramazanov, also from Kudali. He continued the effort to unite the Wahhabis and the tariqatists, but now on a radical anti-government and anti-Russian platform. Moving closer to the more extremist forces in Chechnia when the incursion into Dagestan by Basaev and Khattab’s units began in August 1999, Ramazanov was appointed prime minister of the government of the virtual Islamic state of Dagestan. The subsequent discrediting of these events, together with the wider developments in the republic and the region as a whole, ensured the rapid radicalization of the Wahhabi movement. By the end of the 1990s, Bagauddin’s Jamaat had emerged as the only truly active Wahhabi organization in Dagestan.

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Wahhabis and tariqatists As early as the mid-1990s conflict between the Wahhabis and the tariqatists had become part of the status quo in Dagestan. This confrontation took different forms, from propaganda war and mutual accusations of divergence from Islam, to open civil strife in Makhachkala, Buinakskii, Kiziliurtovskii, Khasaviurtovskii, Tsumadinskii and a number of other districts of the republic. At the root of these conflicts lay a mutual ideological intolerance accompanied by claims to a monopoly on the highest form of truth. While the tariqatists, as noted above, were convinced that ‘without entering a tariqa, a person’s religious development is not complete’, the Wahhabis stated openly that ‘today the Jamaat of Dagestan considers itself to be the only true and guiding community engaged in the call to Islam and to be waging a jihad throughout Dagestan based on the Koran and the Sunna’ (Manifest Jamaata Dagestana k Musul’manam Mira’ 1998: 1). At the same time, important as the religious and ideological background is to the confrontation between Wahhabis and tariqatists, the main explanation for it should be sought in political and economic factors. In 1989 – when Wahhabis and tariqatists joined forces against the leaders of the DUMSK and secured the liberalization of religious life – differences in ideology had not impeded political unity among the Islamic opposition.34 Disagreements between them only emerged after Mahmud Gekkiev’s resignation, when the division of power in the religious administration began. Moreover, open clashes between Wahhabis and tariqatists only began in 1994, the point at which followers of sheikh Sayid-efendi were confirmed as leaders of the DUMD. To all appearances, it was Sayid-efendi’s group which initiated the new escalation in the conflict; they were keen to play the ‘Wahhabi card’ in order to consolidate their own political position and to put pressure on the government. Representatives of the DUMD accused the Wahhabis of aggressively foisting their views on people and trying to destroy traditional ethics and morals. Information was circulated about the Wahhabi jamaats having a large stash of weapons. The tariqatists never tired of calling Wahhabism ‘dollar Islam’, by which was meant a form of Islam being artificially implanted by foreign powers hostile not only to traditional Islam but to the national interests of the Dagestani people. In the summer of 1994 the DUMD unleashed an energetic campaign against the reopening of the Wahhabi Hikma (Wisdom) medresse in Kiziliurt; in October the tariqatists attempted to abolish the allegedly pro-Wahhabi Council of Ulema and replace the Wahhabi imam in Karamakhi. Particularly bitter conflicts erupted over control of the mosques, because in the majority of cases tariqatists and Wahhabis were no longer able to pray together. Though neither side was meek in these conflicts, the tariqatists were the worst aggressors.35 In Verkhnee Miatli in August 1995 one man died and another was wounded as a result of a mass disturbance between tariqatists, who had arrived from Kiziliurt, and supporters of the local Wahhabi imam. In March 1996 tariqatists destroyed a

Official and unofficial Islam 157 Wahhabi mosque in Kvanada in Tsumadinskii raion, while in Makhachkala in November tariqatists seized a mosque that the Wahhabis had only just built with Saudi money. An attempt to hold direct talks between the DUMD and the Wahhabis at a joint press conference held in Makhachkala in May 1997 not only failed to defuse the situation but, conversely, only served to heighten the anger of the official clerics who were unhappy that the Wahhabis had been given an opportunity to expound their views in public. There is reason to suspect that a significant contribution to the escalation in hostility between tariqatists and Wahhabis – particularly in Buinakskii raion – was made by criminal mafia groups unhappy with the attack launched by local Wahhabi jamaats on criminal business (cultivation of opium poppies, protection rackets, car theft and so on) (Makarov 2000a: 35–6). These mafia groups sought to present their conflict with the Wahhabis as a defence of the interests of traditional Islam, and the tariqatists found it quite difficult to resist the temptation of relying on such powerful allies. For example, many witnesses assert that in their clash with Wahhabis in Karamakhi on 12–14 May 1997 the tariqatists were given active support by paramilitaries from the Kaspiisk mafia who provided them with several hundred firearms. It is quite possible that the law enforcement bodies also had a hand in stirring up conflict between Wahhabis and traditionalists. In the past only the Wahhabis had claimed that the authorities had a vested interest in perpetuating the confrontation within Islam, but recently followers of the DUMD have begun to share this view. Neither can it be ruled out, furthermore, that some corrupt policemen were simply attacking the Wahhabis on the orders of criminal structures. The powerful anti-Wahhabi campaign by the pro-Sufi DUMD, and in particular the attempt to involve mafia elements and the authorities, including the Federal Security Service, could only provoke a wary and hostile response from the Jamaat. Furthermore, this initially emotional reaction quickly assumed an ideological dimension, reinforcing the view that Sufism was a doctrine hostile to Islam. Although Bagauddin and other leaders of the Jamaat categorically denied accusations that the Wahhabis consider tariqatists to be kafirs, there were nevertheless spontaneous manifestations of takfir among members of the Jamaat. The ideological fight against tariqatist Islam (alongside the religious education of its members) became central to the activity of the Islamic Jamaat. With their radical rhetoric and undisguised disdain for many traditional social norms sanctified by tariqatist Islam, the Wahhabis made it much easier for the DUMD and official propaganda to portray them as aggressive and dangerous ‘enemies of society’. Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev criticized this enthusiasm for fighting Sufism, saying that the Jamaat was making a big mistake, effectively placing itself in opposition to the people and stirring up unnecessary conflict about secondary issues. There were certain nuances in the tariqatists’ attitude to the Wahhabis, however. In contrast to the unremittingly hostile stance of followers of

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sheikh Sayid-efendi, even Wahhabis conceded that other sheikhs were less aggressive towards them. Notably, sheikh Muhammad-Mukhtar disagreed with some DUMD leaders – who considered the Wahhabis kafirs on the basis that they accused other Muslims of kufr – interpreting Wahhabi behaviour not as a sign of ‘unbelief’, but only as ‘grave sin’. Muhammad-Mukhtar was practically the only sheikh to meet and hold theological discussions with Wahhabi leaders. Indeed, the letter refuting the postulates of Wahhabism, which Muhammed-Mukhtar sent in April 1995 to the Jordanian missionary Muhammad Ali, who taught Islam in Karamakhi, was written in tones of great respect for his ideological opponent (Mukhtar 1998). Independent Dargin ulema also tried to hold a dialogue with the Wahhabis. Like Muhammad-Mukhtar, these were more acceptable partners for the Wahhabis than the followers of Sayid-efendi. In July and August 1998, a group of Dargin ulema and imams led by Abdulla Aligadjiev visited Karamakhi on a mediatory mission to settle the conflict which had erupted over the declaration of the town as ‘independent Islamic territory.’ It is possible that the fact that most Dargin ulema and tariqatist sheikhs are opposed to the DUMD and not as irreconcilable in their attitude to the Wahhabis as the followers of Sayid-efendi may help explain why there is a more positive view of Wahhabis among Dargins as a whole than among Avars.36 The possibility of Wahhabis and tariqatists working together, however, was evidenced in May 1998 in Kirovaul in Kiziliurtovskii raion. Tired of the criminal free-for-all in the town, and the inaction of the law enforcement authorities, local residents decided to create a ‘shariat’ vigilante brigade to deal with drug addiction, alcoholism, theft and prostitution. The brigade, some fifty strong, included both Wahhabis and tariqatists on equal terms. A commission of the six leading authorities on the shariat was also formed on equal terms to determine the punishment for offenders. When these shariat structures began their work, it was reported that the incidence of livestock and property theft decreased dramatically and the moral atmosphere in the town improved. The experience in Kirovaul, despite its localized nature, suggests that peaceful coexistence between Wahhabis and tariqatists – and even constructive co-operation to solve social problems at a local level – is quite possible, as long as there is no outside interference. This development also shows that – although in this instance the union between Wahhabis and tariqatists in Kirovaul was not directed against the government – if social problems in the republic were to continue to deteriorate, and the authorities proved unable to act – a political unification of the Islamic opposition would not be unthinkable. Indeed, steps towards this end were taken at the Congress of Muslims of Dagestan, which was organized by Al-Islamiyya in Kudali in September 1998, with the participation both of representatives of the moderate Wahhabi jamaats and of tariqatists (a total of 585 delegates, including thirty ulema). The main resolutions of the Congress concerned intolerance of

Official and unofficial Islam 159 enmity and conflict between the different trends in Islam, and strengthening the religious and legal base of the Islamic movement by creating a Council of Ulema and gradually introducing shariat norms into society. In Spring 1998, the Islamic Shura (Council) of Dagestan was formed, which included Wahhabi representatives and some traditionalist ulema and mosque imams from Nagornii (mountainous regions of) Dagestan. Initially the Shura included representatives from Makhachkala, Khasaviurt, Kiziliurt and Buinaksk, and from eight raions – totalling about thirty people. According to some figures, the Shura has been supplemented by representatives of traditional Islam and now has about forty members from fifteen raions (Akhvakhskii, Botlikhskii, Tsumadinskii, Buinakskii, Untsukul’skii, Novolakskii, Karabudakhkentskii, Khunzakhskii and others) (Makarov 2000a: 38). This rapprochement has been possible not just because of the growing discontent of some representatives of the traditional clerics with the policies of the secular regime and their desire for an ideological reconciliation with the Wahhabis (Kisriev 1998: 43), but also, above all, thanks to the considerable shift in the scope of activity of the Islamic Jamaat itself. Gradually, since about the middle of 1997, the Wahhabis’ main enemy has shifted from tariqatist Islam to the Dagestani authorities, and their main task is now not to purify religion and reform society but to mobilize human, financial, propaganda and military resources to fight the government. At the beginning of 1998 the Jamaat leaders announced the start of a jihad against the Dagestan regime. The zenith of this new stage in the Jamaat’s activities was its participation in the military operation commanded by the Chechen field commanders Basaev and Khattab in the Tsumadinskii, Botlikhskii and Novolakskii raions of Dagestan in August and September 1999.

Conclusion: the political and social implications of the Islamic revival It could be argued that the socio-economic, ideological, spiritual and political crisis in post-Soviet Dagestan in the 1990s contributed to the rise both of ‘traditional’ Sufi (tariqatist) Islam and of Wahhabism. However, the alignment of forces in the Islamic camp has changed considerably over the course of the decade. Representatives of what used to be ‘unofficial’ Sufi Islam – the sheikhs and their murids – took control of the Spiritual Board and the rapidly expanding system of religious education, effectively giving tariqatism the status of official Islamic ideology. Tariqatist Islam, or at least its surface part, became the new offficial Islam, while the role of unofficial, persecuted Islam was passed to Wahhabism. This initially led to an intensification of disunity within traditional Islam, fostered both by the battle between factions of the traditional clerics for control of the DUMD and its financial and political resources, and by a general tendency towards ethnic differentiation in Dagestani society. Against

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this background, the integration of tariqatist Islam into the traditional ethnic clan structure of society and politics could not but lead to the creation of alliances between representatives of the clerics and the corresponding ethnic and political groups in the ruling elite, which were fighting for the redistribution of power and ownership. The establishment of one tariqatist group – led by the Avar sheikh Sayidefendi Chirkeevskii – as leaders of the DUMD led other factions among the traditional clerics (mainly Dargins and Kumyks, but also some Avars) to refuse to recognize the authority and legitimacy of the current Muftiiat. The DUMD, consequently, has not become an integrating centre of religious life in the republic. The traditional clerics have not managed to raise the level of religious education and establish a tradition of ‘high’, intellectual Islam. Neither the level of scholarship nor, often, the moral and ethnic image of the representatives of the traditional clerics meets the demands of contemporary society in Dagestan. For all the influence of the sheikhs, ulema and imams at a local level (particularly in the countryside), moreover, they have yet to produce from their ranks spiritual and political leaders of national stature who might secure the support of broad sections of the population beyond their fellow nationals and murids. The official tariqatist clerics, who advocate the gradual Islamization of Dagestani society, have become protagonists in the internal political struggle and have developed into a centre of power; a centre of power, furthermore, that has recently adopted an increasingly oppositionist stance towards the government. However, tariqatism is so firmly integrated into the ethnic clan structure of society that it can only play the role of an opposition within the system – that is, a force capable of supporting one ethnic party against another, but representing no threat to the actual political system in Dagestan, which is based on a balance of interests between these ethnic parties. The Wahhabi movement is an openly anti-system opposition. Wahhabism embodies religious reform, social protest and the geopolitical reorientation of Dagestan. It represents a real religious and social alternative for people who have lost their bearings in the post-Soviet socio-economic deformation of society and the breakdown of the traditional value system. The growth in popularity of Wahhabism is fostered both by the features of its doctrine, which is attractive to religious yet modern-thinking and socially active young people, and by the inability of the authorities and the traditional clerics to effectively resist the spread of crime, corruption and moral defects in society. The ethnic and social composition of the Wahhabi Jamaat demonstrates the effectiveness of Wahhabi ideology as a means of overcoming ethnic barriers and of ideological consolidation that transcends ethnic and clan considerations. At the same time, the tough nature of Wahhabism’s social, religious and ethnic demands, which are unacceptable to most of the population, and its intolerance of national cultural traditions limit the scope of its expansion.

Official and unofficial Islam 161 Whereas tariqatist Islam assigns Dagestani identity an important place, Wahhabism rejects any local features of Islam and acts as a supranational ideology. Together with this, the Wahhabis’ interest in and links with extremist forces in Chechnia and other Muslim countries creates the impression in society that Wahhabism is almost an anti-national and anti-patriotic ideology. The Wahhabi movement in Dagestan is not monolithic in its ideological and political approach. Since the mid-1990s the Jamaat has become increasingly radicalized and militarized: a jihad against the ruling regime has replaced the struggle against the tariqatists. The main reasons for this shift include the repressive policy of the authorities and the influence of Chechen extremists. The financial, ideological and geo-strategic dependence of the Jamaat on external forces seriously complicates its integration into routine political process. However, the policy of the ruling elite is no less serious an impediment to this: seeing politicized Islam as the only serious challenge to its power, the elite has employed only force and prohibition in its struggle against Wahhabism and has thus so far succeeded only in encouraging the radicalism of the Jamaat.

Notes 1 Here the authors use the term ‘clerics’ (dukhovenstvo in Russian) to describe Muslim religious leaders as a distinct social group. However, it should be noted that there is no established clerical hierarchy in Islam comparable to that in Christianity. 2 A more detailed discussion of VTOTs can be found in Chapter 2. 3 Just one of them had higher, and eight had secondary, theological education. 4 A preliminary discussion of Wahhabism in Tatarstan can be found in Chapter 2. 5 Salman claimed that Wahhabism had already infiltrated educational institutions and taken over official religious structures in the republic and warned that currently ‘Wahhabi activists are penetrating the national movement’ (Salman 1999). 6 How this is articulated at the individual level is discussed at length in Chapter 4. 7 The origins of jadidism are discussed in Chapter 2. 8 The only serious academic attempt to provide a new interpretation of qadimism is found in Dudoignon (1997). 9 See the journal Din va Adab (1999), April, pp. 6–15. 10 VKTs was formed in 1992 in Moscow by the young Tatar imams as an alternative to the all-Russian Muftiiat in Ufa under Muftii Tadjuddinv. It was first headed by Gabdualla Galiullin and later by Mukaddas Bibarsov and Nafigulla Ashirov. However, the activity of the VKTs was soon paralyzed by harsh internal rivalry amongst its creators. 11 This aim was noted in an unpublished report on the activities of the DUMRT from 14 February 1998 to 14 February 1999, Kazan, pp. 20–1, 40. 12 The newspapers Iman, Iman Nuri, Vera, Musul’masnkii Mir and journal Din va Adab all carried such stories in 1999. 13 The population’s views on the most important ‘Islamic’ ceremonies are discussed in Chapter 5. 14 The Islamic movement of Al-Bahaiyya was founded by Mirza Husein Ali Nuri (Bahai), born in 1817 in Mazandaran. It is a prophetic movement that denounces the institution of the clergy as well as dogmas and fixed ceremonies in

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Islam. Al-Ahmaiyya is a messianic movement in modern Islam. It was founded by Mirza Gulam Ahmad, born in the 1830s in Punjab. The core of Ahmadi thought is prophetology and its followers claim messianic status for its founder. It is fiercely opposed by Sunni Muslims. This was apparent from the fact that the press stopped writing about the movement around the same time as the clerics declared their stance. Al-Habashiyya is a non-Orthodox sect in modern Islam. Some estimates suggest that by the end of the 1990s full power effectively lay with religious leaders in sixty-eight auls (villages) in Dagestan (Makarov 2000: 71). Here the terms ‘official’ and ‘tariqatist’ are used synonymously, although strictly speaking one should add the qualification that the term ‘traditionalists’ is more widespread than ‘tariqatists’, since the former also includes, for example, the Dargin imams and ulema (Islamic scholars) in Akushinskii and Levashinskii raions (unofficially led by Abdulla-haji Aligadjiev). These individuals are not part of the currently active Sufi orders, although they continue ancient Dagestani religious tradition. The term ‘official clerics’ is used to refer to that section of the traditional clerics that controls and/or supports the DUMD. Tariqatist sources themselves quote larger figures, but these need to be treated with caution. For example, the leader of the Dagestan branch of the Nur movement Muhammad-haji Gadjiev claimed that sheikh Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii alone had more than 200,000 murids (Makarov 2000: 72). Dagestani Islamic clerics prefer to use the term ‘alims’, which is a the Rusiified plural form of ‘alim’ (Islamic scholar), instead of the Arabic plural form ‘ulema’. This information comes from interviews conducted in Makhachkala, 22 June 1998, with officials of the Department for the Religious Affairs of the Dagestani Government. The interviewees asked to remain anonymous. For example, concern ‘about the trend towards a division of Muslims according to different tariqas’ was voiced at the Congress of mosque imams and ulema of Dagestan in November 1996 (Makarov 2000: 73). See Chapter 2, footnote 24. In the summer of 1999 the Muftii finally managed to secure the signing of a ministry of education decree permitting Arabic to be taught in schools as a foreign language. It is civil law that is implied primarily. See Obrashchenie Dukhovenstva Respubliki k Narodnomu Sobraniiu po Voprosu o Zakone o Svobode Sovesti (Appeal from the Republic’s Clerics to the People’s Assembly on the Question of the Law on Freedom of Conscience) (As-Salam (1997), no. 24 (64), December, Makhachkala. It was popularly believed that leaders of the Avar community, Gadji Makhachev in particular, were behind the murder of Muftii Abubakarov. Kaspiisk mayor Ruslan Gadjibekov was arrested, and a warrant for the arrest of Chair of the republic’s Pension Fund Sharapuddin Musaev was issued by the public prosecutor. This information was taken from a video recording of an address by Muhammad to a mosque in Kiziliurt, 5 January 1996. Dobaev suggests that Bagauddin – in collaboration with Khattab and other foreign Islamic emissaries in Chechnia – had a strategic plan for expansion: first Wahhabi ‘enclaves’ (such as the Kadar zone including the villages of Kadar, Karamakhi and Chabanmakhi) were to be formed in all the Northern Caucasus republics, followed by a process of political integration of these enclaves into a single fundamentalist state (Dobaev 2000: 78). In this community Wahhabism was being proselytized, in fact, by a Russian convert to Islam.

Official and unofficial Islam 163 32 Interestingly, semi-official Dagestani authors tend to attribute the ideas of Ahtaev to the modernist (reformist) trend in Islam rather than to the fundamentalist Wahhabi tendency (Kurbanov and Kurbanov 1994: 11). 33 See, for example, editorial publications in As-Salam (1997), nos 16 (August) and 17 (September), Makhachkala. 34 Indeed, according to some reports, the former Muftii Abubakarov had been close to the IPV (Kurbanov 1997). 35 This was the opinion of the majority of local administration representatives interviewed. 36 According to Kisriev’s survey cited above, more Dargins (5 per cent) than Avars (3 per cent) had a positive attitude to Wahhabis and far fewer Dargins (52 per cent) than Avars (81 per cent) had a negative attitude to them (Kisriev 1998: 44).

Part II

The private face of Islam

4

Islam and the search for identity Elena Omel’chenko and Gusel’ Sabirova

For the Russian Federation, the collapse of the Soviet Union signified the dawn of a post-atheist era. The beginning of this new age was marked by a fundamental change in the importance attached to religion by the state and a rapid growth in public interest in religion. By the end of the 1990s, survey research indicated that 39 per cent of the ethnic Russian population of the Russian Federation considered themselves to be ‘believers’ while a further 30 per cent declared themselves ‘waverers’ (Kaariainen and Furman 2000: 216). The renaissance of Islam in the Russian Federation can also be documented statistically: by 1994, 67 per cent of Tatars in Tatarstan declared themselves ‘believers’ and a further 12 per cent considered themselves ‘waverers’ (Drobizheva 1998: 200).1 In Dagestan, by 1997, 95 per cent of the surveyed population declared their belonging to Islam, and half of these said they observed all the required Islamic rituals (Bobrovnikov 2001: 2). The specific concern of the current study was to interrogate the qualitative rather than quantitative dimensions of the Islamic renaissance. The object of study was contemporary Islam, but the research undertaken was shaped by an historical-cultural understanding of Islamic identity in Russia as being rooted in a distinct, yet heterogeneous ‘Russian Muslim community’ (russkoe musul’manstvo) (Gasprinskii 1993). By this the authors mean that the research was premised on an understanding of Muslim identities in Russia as being shaped by both their local contexts – Islam has been professed by socially and culturally diverse peoples each with its own specific history of adoption of, or resistance to, Islamic identity – and by a common Russian experience of Muslim and non-Muslim communities living alongside each other in a distinctively multicultural space. The researchers’ intention to explicitly confront the challenges presented by the heterogeneity of Russia’s Muslim communities shapes the parameters of Part II of the book in which we explore the ‘private’ face of Islam, or, more specifically, what it means to individuals to be ‘a Muslim’ in the new Russia. Sociological interest in contemporary Islam in Russia has tended to centre on the ways in which Islamic values and symbols have been appropriated and mobilized within a range of ethnic and social discourses in post-Soviet Russia. Leading researchers in the field have studied contemporary Islam,

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therefore, primarily in conjunction with processes of ethnic and national revival (Drobizheva 1998; Musina 2001). This theme constitutes a key component of our discussion also (see Chapters 5 and 6) and the comparative frame of the research facilitates the exploration of both similarities and differences between two republics within the Russian Federation – Tatarstan and Dagestan – with rather different ‘national’ agendas. At the same time, significant attention will be paid to the way in which socio-demographic factors – gender, generation, location – internally stratify, yet also transcend, specific ethnic communities and shape what it means to be ‘a Muslim’ in Russia at the end of the twentieth century.2

Repression and resilience: maintaining Islamic faith in Soviet society While Marx’s dictum that ‘religion is the opium of the people’ provided the ideological grounding for the promotion of atheism, the abandonment of religious faith by the population was important to the post-revolutionary regime first and foremost because it demonstrated popular respect for the Soviet authorities. Traditional religions were suppressed, therefore, primarily because they furnished the population with belief systems that ran counter to, and potentially undermined, the ideology of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), and because they reflected the deeply rural, traditional and pre-modern nature of the Soviet population. Throughout the Soviet Islamic world a broad propaganda campaign against religion was waged: There was a general move to ban all of this. And the KGB worked on this. I remember a seventy year old man being arrested for teaching a boy – a seven year old boy – to read the Koran. I don’t know what was wrong with that. (Dagestan, Avar man)3 The campaign employed visual and verbal propaganda, often in the form of public lectures, and religious fasts were broken by forcing people to drink water or eat pork. The Soviet guardians of atheism ensured that no major festivities fell on religious holidays and created Soviet holidays in their place. Where believers were ‘exposed’, they were thrown out of their places of study, fired from their jobs and expelled from the Party. While this campaign secured the necessary demonstration of subordination to the ruling political authorities among the population, such shows of loyalty were accompanied by a latent acknowledgement of religious authority at least with regard to spiritual matters. Adherence to Islam was stronger in Dagestan – characterized by a traditional rural economy – than in the more modernized Tatarstan; indeed in the latter there was evidence of genuine commitment to atheism and an open campaign against believers.

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Nevertheless some Party workers (in Dagestan) or relatives of Party workers (in Tatarstan) continued to secretly believe and to observe the most important Islamic rituals while simultaneously performing their official functions. The heavy ideologization of religion in Soviet society provided limited space for the expression of complex faith identities. Consequently, the population appeared divided starkly between believers, sympathisers and open proponents of atheism. The ‘believers’ were mainly older people who had been educated either before the revolution, or in the first decade following the revolution, in mektebs (primary Islamic schools) or even medresses (secondary Islamic schools). It was these people who constituted the ‘praying’ generation (that is people who ‘read the namaz’). Thanks to them, in rural families in Dagestan, Islamic traditions were transmitted from generation to generation until a member of the family left to study in a town.4 Thus many 35–40 year old Dagestanis had prayed regularly until they were around 15 years of age when they were forced to abstain from the religious practice because of their studies at college or university. However, some families managed to maintain religious practices – on a ritual and ceremonial as well as a spiritual or moral level – throughout the Soviet period. The ability of the family to maintain religiosity was much stronger in Dagestan than Tatarstan. This is at least partially explained by the fact that Tatar Islam has traditionally emphasized the importance of the ontological essence of Islam, rather than its ritual and ceremonial aspect. Nevertheless, almost all our interviewees had witnessed Islamic rituals, even if they themselves had not performed them: They carried on believing, my grandfather, for example, I know that they always went to the cemetery to pray every Friday…they observed the faith, they observed Islam. And when they…there was even that time when they forbade praying in Chelny. That was our local authorities. My grandfather paid his own way to Kazan, and when he got no help in Kazan, he went to Moscow and got inside the Kremlin. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Religious divisions in society as a whole were reflected at the familial level. In some families there was respect for those who knew how to pray and individual Muslim customs and traditions were maintained – particularly sunnet (circumcision), marriage and funeral ceremonies, and Muslim holidays. Such families sought a deeper understanding of Islam; they strove always to give sadaqa (alms), and learnt certain prayers by heart to ‘help’ them in life’s critical moments. In other families – especially families where children grew up away from grandparents – there was indifference to the maintenance of traditions, because they seemed removed from the priorities of everyday life. The formation of this new ‘non-Muslim’ type of family was associated in particular with the rapid urbanization of Tatarstan, as a result of which many families were separated as a new generation of educated and

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skilled young people settled in the towns, leaving behind their elderly relatives in the villages. A third type of family embraced Soviet ideology and genuinely adhered to a non-Islamic world-view. Many middle-aged respondents recalled how, as children, they had argued endlessly, though in vain, with their grandmothers about religion and how their grandmothers had disapproved of their membership of young Communist leagues (the Pioneers and the Komsomol). They recollected that they had felt ashamed of their ancestry and that it had complicated relationships with their contemporaries and teachers. The narratives of respondents thus revealed either personal memories of the repression of Islam or evidence that myths and legends about these times had been passed down to the younger generation. These narratives focused mainly on the sacrifices made by Muslim clerics, or those who wanted to become clerics, and revealed the power of the Soviet state to determine the place and role of religion in society. At the same time respondents were unequivocal about the limits of the power of the state to control individuals’ religious faith: ‘Those who wanted to believe believed’, said respondents. Indeed, paradoxically, the repression of Islam in the Soviet period led Muslims to develop new ways of maintaining religiosity, borne of the necessity of adaptation to an atheist state. In the Soviet era, undoubtedly religion lost its status as a social imperative, pushed out by the new faith in ‘a bright, communist future’ and the new idea of justice. Nevertheless, the strength of traditions of handing down ‘the Muslim inheritance’ within the family and community meant that religiosity was maintained on an ethnic and cultural level. This resulted in a characteristic understanding of Islam as something ‘inherited’; it was, according to respondents, ‘in the blood’ or ‘imbibed with the breast milk’. The logic of this notion of identity runs as follows: ‘I am a Muslim because my parents were Muslims, their parents were Muslims, and their ancestors were also Muslims.’ The Soviet period left two more imprints on Islamic practice in the region: religious practice became privatized and localized (Alikberov 1994: 27; Prozorov 1994: 232; Malashenko 2001: 64). The lack of support for religious practice at the social level meant that religion became the exclusively private, personal affair of each individual. Indeed the closure of mosques, arrests for praying and the imposition of fines for conducting namaz publicly ensured that namaz became a personal ritual practice (Bobrovnikov 2001: 8). As a result the perception, interpretation and choice of the range of signs required for Islamic identification also became individualized. Although the privatization of religion, weakening of religious institutions and freedom of confession is an established component of the process of secularization (Berger 1990; Luckman 1967; Stark and Iannaccone 1994), the Soviet experience differed in that it was characterized not by the uncoupling of religion and state, but the denunciation of religious faith by the state. The legacy of the extreme privatization of religion in Soviet Russia reveals itself today in the absence of any agreed notion of what ‘being a

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Muslim’ constitutes. The state’s disapproval of religious practice prohibited the development of broad contacts and co-ordinating bodies between Muslims. This, together with the inhibition of the development of horizontal social ties and poor development of communications in Soviet society, led to the isolation of Muslim communities and thus the appearance of highly localized interpretations of rituals as they became intertwined with local and folk customs. This remains evident in the great diversity in the performance of Muslim rituals in post-Soviet Russia (see Chapter 5).

The ‘renaissance’: Islam in post-Soviet Russia The opening of new mosques and Islamic institutes and a publishing boom in the field of Islamic literature were the first signs of the ‘Islamic renaissance’ in post-Soviet Russia (Malashenko 1998a). But was this revival in the fortune of Islam driven from above or below? How can we assess the religious commitment (religiosity) of individuals? And to what extent is ‘Islamization’ merely a side-product of other, more powerful, social and political processes in post-Soviet Russia? The Islamic ‘renaissance’ clearly has broad public approval: the significance of faith in contemporary society was recognized by almost all our respondents regardless of age, sex, social position and religiosity. There are two main reasons for the near universal acceptance of the importance of the revival of religion. The first is the widespread social disorientation borne of socio-economic and spiritual crisis and ideological pluralism. In such circumstances, religion appears as a positive countervailing force: there used to be an ideology, now there is nothing to educate us, there is nothing left…There are no Pioneer or Komsomol organizations, there are no lessons in politics. But people have to have something to do…A vacuum is created that will be filled by something. That ‘something’ should be something that is needed. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) The second, and arguably most important, reason for the growth in interest in religion lies in the concomitant process of ethnic revival. In Islamic-oriented ethnic communities, Islam is seen as a central component of ethnic identity and thus the development of ethnic identities enhances the symbolic positioning of Islam. A positive attitude among Muslims towards Islam is also encouraged by the fact that its social prestige has risen considerably since Soviet times. Adherence to Islam is no longer met with social persecution, but with approval.5 This is not to suggest that Islam has no critics, however. The authority of Islam is undermined by the exposure and disparagement of opportunist ethnic and religious leaders who have exchanged their Party cards for skullcaps. At the same time, ‘total’ Islamization is not welcomed and sometimes

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provokes harsh criticism from Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Shariat law is known in detail to few and is unappealing to many. In reality, the legalization of religion was so unexpected that it left many people bewildered. As one Tatar respondent noted, ‘I don’t think that the people can keep up as well as they are expected to.’ Those brought up with Islamic traditions greeted the new status of Islam as divine intervention. But for those who had honestly, sincerely and tirelessly fought against the ‘stupefaction’ of the people, it was just as difficult to suddenly become committed Muslims as it was for true and committed communists to embrace market reforms. While some found a new lease of life through the revival of Islam, therefore, others felt cheated. That ethnic and religious revival in Russia’s Muslim republics cannot be equated with any universal ‘Islamization’ of the population raises a wider question about how to ‘measure’ the religious commitment of an individual and thus the ‘religiosity’ of a community. Soviet atheist literature adopted and extended the approach of G.V. Plekhanov, who understood religion as constituting ‘a more or less orderly system of ideas, moods and actions. Ideas form the mythological element of religion; moods relate to the sphere of religious feelings; and actions are embedded in religious worship…’ (Plekhanov 1957: 330). For followers of Plekhanov, this suggested that religiosity might be broken down into three structural components: the intellectual, emotional and behavioural (Dem’ianova 1984: 15). Thus by the late 1960s and early 1970s most Soviet sociologists concurred that it was necessary to examine not only religious consciousness (belief in God) but also the religious behaviour of individuals in order to understand their level of religiosity. The notion that ideas, moods and actions must be in evidence to constitute ‘belief’ significantly reduced the statistical measure of ‘believers’ and thus served its purpose of confirming the CPSU’s ideological declaration that Soviet society was ‘extinguishing religiosity and eroding faith’. Today, there is little consensus in Russian academic discourse on the criteria for determining religiosity beyond a basic notion that religiosity consists of both religious consciousness and religious behaviour (Ugrinovich 1985). Moreover, some Russian scholars of Islam (Baltanova 1991: 75; Musina 1994: 93) have adopted the subjectively based criteria for defining religious commitment developed by Western academics. This approach is encapsulated by Shirin Akiner, who argues that: ‘The question of whether a person is a Muslim or not depends not on how he lives, but on how he perceives himself in relation to the world around him’ (Akiner 1983: 1). According to this understanding of Muslim identity, the observation of the five pillars and of Islamic rituals is secondary to the expression of a personal sense of belonging to Islam (Landa 1995: 75). Such an approach also best allows for the deeply localized everyday versions of Islam, which, we have suggested, are central to the study of Russian Islam. As Prozorov argues, the existence of various regional forms of everyday Islam makes it difficult to separate what is ‘Islamic’ from what is ‘non-Islamic’ and renders

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individual identification with an Islamic community the main criterion for belonging to Islam (Prozorov 1994: 235). While such an emphasis on subjective identification avoids the need for rigid criteria for defining religiosity, we are left with the problem of the preinterpreted nature of the subject of investigation; respondents themselves will employ different criteria for defining and describing their religious commitment. This is further complicated by the multi-layered nature of religiosity among Russia’s Muslims, manifest first and foremost in the different values attached to the nominal designations ‘believer’ and ‘Muslim’ (Baltanova 1991: 75), but also in the close interrelation (and sometimes interchangeability) of Muslim and ethnic identity in the region. The reflexive level of Muslim identity is identified clearly by Malashenko, who suggests that such identities are ‘fluid’; ‘the individual is faced by a dilemma – which Islam should he/she follow, which Islam most closely corresponds to the traditions of his/her ethnic origin, which Islam will provide the best opportunity to improve his/her social status and achieve his/her economic needs?’ (Malashenko 2001: 100). Bearing in mind these complex definitional issues, the current study makes no claim to offer a measure of the degree – let alone the scale – of religiosity in the republics studied. Our aim is more modest: to use qualitative data to present respondents’ own narratives about whether or not they are ‘believers’ or ‘Muslims’, and, if so, what this means to them. Muslim identities my father prays sometimes. He tries to observe the rituals somehow, to do namaz…Rituals which I think of as folk rituals… to pray in memory of his father, his parents, to go to the cemetery, and perform some rituals at the funeral there – he observes all of that. But you can’t call him a pure believer…I don’t even know what that is – ‘a Muslim’. Everybody invests that word with their own meaning – Muslim. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) Respondents of ‘Islamic’ ethnic groups in our research almost uniformly asserted their Muslim identity. In declaring themselves, however, interviewees qualified their religious commitment. Most frequently they identified themselves as being ‘simply’ Muslim, in contrast to being a ‘real Muslim’, a ‘true, pure Muslim’ or a ‘committed [in the sense of complete] Muslim’. In calling themselves ‘simply’ Muslim, respondents understood their Islamic identity as a birthright; since their ancestors were Muslims, so they were Muslims and their children would be Muslims. This identification takes place at an unconscious, non-reflective level, but is more than nominal since ‘simply’ Muslims generally considered themselves to be believers. They performed individual rituals (sunnet), wedding ceremonies and funeral rites,

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they gave sadaqa and, in Dagestan, such Muslims often knew welcome and funeral prayers. Such Muslims did not rule out the idea that in the future they might begin to follow Islamic rituals more consistently, but currently identified themselves as Muslim without feeling compelled to follow Islamic rituals strictly. The difficulty for Russian Muslims of ‘knowing what a Muslim is’ (see respondent citation above) was partially a product of the peculiarly isolated, localized and individualized development of the Russian Muslim community. As a result there was no common ideal image of ‘a Muslim’. Such uncertainty about what it means ‘to be a Muslim’ transcends the Russian experience, however, and is reflected in the wider sociological literature on Islam. In modern and post-modern societies, it is suggested, the study of Islam has moved from its focus on ‘being a Muslim’ to that of ‘becoming Muslim’, reflecting the way in which Islamic identification is in permanent process of actualization (Schulze 1998: 193). There are no longer standard criteria for defining Muslim identity. A true Muslim may be required to perform the ritual of praying five times a day and to attend the mosque: ‘Strict observance of the principles of the Koran. That’s what a pure Muslim is’ (Dagestan, Tsakhur man). Amongst our respondents such criteria were advocated by clerics (although there were exceptions), by the old or the young (recent graduates of Islamic colleges) and by those who practiced Islam in this way already. For other respondents, however, to be a Muslim it sufficed to be a respectable person who believed in Allah. This approach to Islam was conspicuous among the ethnic and cultural elite, who viewed strict observance of ritual as a remnant of the past. Such respondents suggested that only ‘poorly educated’ imams believed that ‘you should always pray five times – otherwise you’re not a Muslim’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). In this understanding of Muslim identity, ritual is secondary to spiritual power and the development of the moral potential of Islam. Those who did not pray but nevertheless considered themselves to be Muslims – and such people constituted the majority of Muslims in Tatarstan – sometimes expressed antagonistic attitudes towards clerics, whom they accused of insincerity, mendacity and inconsistency. They believed that ‘genuineness’ lay not in frequency of prayer, but in purity of thought (‘you should not deceive, steal, or kill’), consistency (‘if you pray then you should also abstain from alcohol’) and in true faith (informal observance of rituals). However, adherence to ritual was not always rejected and many respondents thought that they might start praying in the future. It was also apparent that some individuals in this group were acutely conscious that they had simply not yet found the strength or the time to come to true faith: ‘I consider myself to be – although I don’t know if I can if I don’t pray – but I consider myself a Muslim’ (Dagestan, Avar woman). Thus in post-Soviet Russia there is a non-coincidence of the self-descriptors ‘Muslim’ and ‘believer’, and throughout the second part of this book

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Table 4.1 ’Being a Muslim’: strategies of identification ‘A believer and a Muslim’ Equal importance is attached to religious practice (be it orthodox or non-orthodox Islam) and ethno-cultural identity in the understanding of ‘being Muslim’.

‘Non-believer and Muslim’ ‘Being Muslim’ is considered to be an inherited characteristic and not dependent upon adherence to Islam.

‘A believer but not a full Muslim’ Individuals consider themselves to be believers but are aware of, or frustrated by, their inability to adhere to the criteria they themselves attach to being a true Muslim.

‘A Muslim and a believer, but not in Islam’ Believers follow their own path (‘I believe in ‘my own God’) whilst simultaneously accepting their Muslimness as an ethnocultural descriptor.

the authors address the complexities of understanding Muslim identities in such circumstances. Utilizing the benefits of a qualitative sociological approach, when considering individuals’ religiosity, any binary notion of ‘believers’ and ‘non-believers’ is abandoned in favour of a traditional scale of attitudes to religion – in which, nominally, committed believers lie at one end and committed atheists at the other – to explore the diversity of positions within each category. Using this analytic tool, the authors uncovered four strategies of identification in respondents’ narratives, which are depicted in Table 4.1.

Ethnicity, Islam and nationalism: a tale of two republics Ethnic and Muslim identity in Russia are inextricably entwined; if only because all Russia’s Muslims share an ethnic minority status within the Russian Federation. However, the precise relationship between ethnicity and Islamic identity varies significantly across Russia’s Muslims, and the range of diverse constellations is reflected in our two case studies. Ethnicity is a central issue in Tatarstan, and the Tatar population is keen to demonstrate its ethnic consciousness. In Dagestan, in contrast, the multi-ethnic environment, experience of living as neighbours and participating in the building of a common ethno-cultural space has led to a more circumspect expression of ethnic identity and a cautious attitude towards nationalist ideas. Tatarstan In the case of the Tatars, there is a particularly close relationship between ethnic group and religious denomination. The ethno-cultural dynamics of the republic have been significantly influenced by the revival of religious consciousness. Indeed, it has been suggested, ‘the re-Islamization of the Tatars constitutes less an awakening of religious feelings…than a manifestation of national consciousness and ethnic mobilization’ (Musina 2001: 300). What we see in Tatarstan are two parallel processes – the Islamization of Tatar identity and the Tatarization of Islamic identity – the consequence of which is the interweaving of Islamic and ethnic identities in Tatarstan.

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There are two levels at which these processes can be seen to interact. The first is the level of official discourse and is determined by the basic canons of Islam, or its interpretation by national religious leaders. The second is the popular level of everyday perceptions and finds expression in public opinion data and, most importantly, in actual religious practices. Official discourse has two strands: the doctrinal and the ethno-political position. The former envisages Islam as a religion in which all national and ethnic differences are eradicated, and no preference is given to any ‘national’ variation, be it Arabic Islam, Tatarstan Islam or Chechen Islam. To the second, Islam as a way of interpreting a basic set of religious canons depending upon the ethnic, cultural and geopolitical development of its national context; thus Islam is viewed as a nation-building factor in Tatarstan, as a banner of national revival in Chechnia, and as the vehicle for unification with, or separation from, other ethnic groups in Serbia and Albania. These configurations of Islamic and ethnic identity may be found also at the popular, everyday level, albeit in simplified and composite forms. At this level we also find numerous other articulations of the interaction of ethnic and Islamic identity. Respondents differentiated, for example, between the individual and social significance of Islam; that is, they distinguished between Islam as a religion ‘for me’ and Islam ‘for the people’. The vast majority of the population of Tatarstan are, strictly speaking, not religious but have a positive attitude to the revival of religion. Respondents thus frequently stressed the benefit of religion to society rather than to the individual. They did not consider themselves to be religious, although did not rule it out in the future. However they did want their children to be taught the principles of Islam and considered this important for society at large. In this instrumental understanding of Islam, it appears as a tradition, a vehicle for the transmission of ethnicity, and an educator. Islam is also seen as a unifying force. Islam is culturally significant in that it provides a means of accessing the history and traditions of the Tatar people and of self-definition within the ‘Russian, Christian space’: The influence of Islam has grown very significantly. People are reaching out for it. It somehow unites people…gives them faith in the future. These traditions are inherent in us, they are in our blood. This is why people are reaching out for it, and at festivals you can’t even get anywhere near the mosques…The traditions of our people are alive in us, they live in us genetically. I remember my childhood, when I was little, my grandfather and grandmother read the namaz, and they never missed it…when my grandparents read the namaz in their bright clothes, offered prayers…You could see how they, their inspired faces…they were not old, they were inspired. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman)

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This mode of articulation is particularly common among the cultural intelligentsia for whom Islam represents a national cultural potential capable of uniting the Tatar people and expressing their difference from the Russian majority. It draws on the construction of ethnic identity by Tatars and Russians in Tatarstan as a process of their mutual rejection. Islam is what differentiates Tatars in the Russian space: I think that religion in fact plays a more ethnic role, for Tatars Islam is something ancient…But Islam was not adopted by chance. And for the Russians too, Islam was offered to them but they could not accept it, they felt from within that it was no good for them.…I think that the main thing is after all the ethnic belonging of the people. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) A more instrumental version of this position is used by the non-religious intelligentsia, for whom Islam is important primarily as a focus for uniting people in the process of national revival rather than as a central element of cultural heritage: Well, if we’re talking about the Tatars, and about the Russians too, by the way…it is very difficult to separate nationality from faith…But even so Islamic attributes, Islam, is linked more to nationality, to national revival, and it is being reborn…Religious revival itself often lacks a deep theology, philosophy, spirituality. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) The third perception of Islam reflects the significance of Islam in the reproduction of national morality and ethics. Islam, as the traditional religion of the Tatars, is uniquely able to replace communist ethics as a system of moral guidance.6 Well, they begin to act more like moral foundations. At least in Soviet times the moral foundation were the ideologies of communist manners. Because the old foundations have ceased to exist, Islam is filling this place in Tatar society. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) Thus, for Tatars, Muslim identity is closely linked to ethnic identity in part at least because of the proximity of other faith communities (Orthodox Russians) in Tatarstan. Moreover, as ethnic identity (being Tatar) becomes increasingly important in Tatarstan, individuals are required to reflect upon their attitudes towards Islam. Ethnic identification thus implies religious identification with or without strict religiosity or a rigorous observance of the five pillars of Islam. Islam in Tatarstan is thus an ethno-religious phenomenon in which Muslim identity is a genetic inheritance:

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Elena Omel’chenko and Gusel’ Sabirova A Muslim is, for example, a Tatar who is loyal to his people, for example, is clean, neat and tidy, talks politely, gets on well with other people, and in general behaves in a cultured manner in society and knows his place. (Tatarstan, Tatar man)

Dagestan Unlike in Tatarstan, where Islam is mobilized publicly as a mechanism for the ethnic mobilization of Tatars, in Dagestan there is no significant difference between official and popular narratives of the relationship between ethnic and religious identities. In multi-ethnic Dagestan, the awareness that too rapid a development of ethnic consciousness may have explosive consequences means that Islam plays a quite different role to that in Tatarstan. In Dagestan, Islam is accorded the role of universal peacemaker and pacifier. Dagestani respondents – whether strongly religious or not – stressed that Muslim identity took precedence over their ethnic identity. Indeed their explanations of how this manifested itself reveals the concrete ways in which Islamic identification reins in ethnic division and nationalism. If I basically listen, and, okay, if I think and I am proud that I’m a Dargin or I’m an Avar, I think…about the qualities of the prophet. My conscience does not allow me to say: ‘I am a Dargin, but not a Muslim’. (Dagestan, Dargin man) Islamic identity, indeed, plays an important role in forging a supra-ethnic Dagestani national identification. Whilst ethnically extremely diverse, the vast majority of the population of Dagestan are Muslims, making Islam a potentially uniting force: All Dargins were brought up on this Islamic religion. They turn out the same all over the country. A little bit different, probably, in each village, each one has its own ways. But basically they are all the same. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) In Dagestan, therefore, one’s understanding of one’s ‘nationality’ is rooted in a complex system of ethnic-territorial identifications mediated by Islamic identity. This is evident from the following responses – the first from a Dargin woman, the second from a Dargin man from Kubachi – to the invitation to reflect on one’s ethnic identity: Well, by ethnicity,7 for example, I’m a Dargin. Well, I think of myself as Dagestani because, in a sense…I consider myself a Muslim. (Dagestan, Dargin woman)

Islam and the search for identity Q: A:

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Magomet Gabib, tell me, what nationality do you consider yourself to be? I consider myself a Muslim. Although I’m a Dargin, in my heart I’m a Muslim. (Dagestan, Dargin man)

People of all ethnic groups described themselves as ‘Muslim’: ‘We are all Muslims if we live in Dagestan’. Thus the term was used to distinguish all Muslim ethnic groups from Russians and Jews. In this sense being a Muslim was fused with the observance of Dagestani traditions, regardless of whether or not you were a religious person: Dagestani customs, all that, I think, you have to pray…you have to, all that, also prayers, you have to know all that. Whether you want to or not you have to know it, it is the done thing to know it. It is like a duty, because we have these traditions in Dagestan. You have to observe all that, and faith, and all that… (Dagestan, Avar woman) Thus, when situations arose that might provoke ethnic delimitation and division, Dagestanis appealed specifically to Islam and Muslim identity. Despite Islam’s potential to unify, different degrees of religiosity, ethnocultural traditions and the various ways in which adat (customary law) was incorporated into local Muslim communities, in fact, prevents Islam from becoming a real force capable of overcoming ethnic divisions: Yes. Yes, it is a multi-ethnic region. Here the slightest deviation or discrimination against the interests of one nation may have, you know, consequences. Here you have to use your head, use your mind. We don’t need supremacy. For example, Avars say that we have more rights, we have more rights. But it shouldn’t be like that. We are the smallest nationality, the Tsakhurs. So I think that that wouldn’t be the Muslim way. The Muslim way means, if you are a Muslim, then it should be that a Tsakhur is just as much of a Muslim, just as much a person as an Avar, and there are a lot of them too. (Dagestan, Tsakhur man) Folk and adat traditions have influenced Islamic identity in Dagestan heavily, and clan and territorial identity thus disrupt Muslim identity: Well, basically I, I insist that we live according to the shariat. [But] there are some adat customs which have become part of our lives, and which it is no longer possible to give up. If you give them up, it’s as though you’re showing that, as though you’re distancing yourself from society. (Dagestan, Kumyk man)

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Levels of religiosity also impact on the local variants of Islamic identity. Despite stereotypical correlations between ethnicity and religiosity8 often encountered in Dagestan, in fact levels of religiosity correlate not so much with ethnic groups as with individual regions and villages. The religiosity of Dargins and Kumyks, for example, varies from one raion (district) to another: Like in our…Karabudakhkentskii raion. There are villages which are literally lorded over by the religious types. They get involved in every issue, take decisions, and everything is decided through them. And there are two villages of Dargins in our raion – they are also very religious. And then there are Dargin villages in other raions, where nobody does the namaz. There are also Kumyk villages in the lowland districts, in other districts, which are less susceptible to religion… (Dagestan, Dargin man) Sometimes they make fun of each other – ‘the Avars eat pork’, or ‘the Laks eat pork’…But in fact…there are religious villages and non-religious villages. But as for…ethnic groups, that isn’t so. (Dagestan, Dargin man) Tensions arising from these different levels of religiosity are most tangible in Makhachkala. This is not surprising, since the capital city of Dagestan is a concentrated microcosm of this multi-ethnic and multilingual world. In Makhachkala rich and poor, luxury and squalor, extreme Islamization and absolute non-religiosity live cheek by jowl. The Islamic university is located on the city’s main street (Tsentral’naia ulitsa), the very street inhabited by the world’s oldest profession. American-style luxury buildings rub shoulders with dilapidated tower blocks and tumble-down private dwellings. The city is also the meeting place of different Islamic and folk traditions. The ‘primitive’ religiosity of rural inhabitants, who come to the capital, comes as a revelation to the Islamized residents of Makhachkala, while Dagestanis who come to Makhachkala from more secularized regions feel pressurized by the more religious and traditional mores of the capital. An 18-year-old female student who had come to Makhachkala from Kizliar (the centre of a district of Dagestan that has a significant Russian population) described her impressions of the city thus: When I came here it was as though I had ended up in some – perhaps some other republic, you could say. I was surprised, although it’s only about a two hour journey from Kizliar to Makhachkala. But I noticed that it was very different. There contact is freer, it’s more sort of…you can behave more naturally, but here you have to think about how you look, you don’t know what people will think of you, here you’re not so…Here relations are more constricted. (Dagestan, Tabasaran woman)

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Conclusion Most of the non-Russian population of both Tatarstan and Dagestan describe themselves as Muslims, although they invest this concept with very different meanings. In this chapter we have used respondents’ narratives of what it means to them to be a Muslim in order to introduce the diverse ways in which Muslims in contemporary Russia articulate their Islamic identity. We have suggested that there is no single image of a Muslim acceptable and workable for all. Moreover, we have argued that for many respondents Islam was first and foremost a signifier of ethnic or national identity rather than religious commitment. In comparing and contrasting the narratives of respondents from the two republics of study, we have suggested that Muslim identities have to be seen through the prism of ethnic relations in both republics, but that the precise relationship between Islam and ethnicity is very different. In Tatarstan, Islam is almost inseparable from Tatar ethnic identity. In Dagestan, in contrast, Islam has a potentially supra-ethnic identification. However, it fails to fully realize its unifying potential because of the influence of territorial (as opposed to ethnic) difference; customary law (adat) and local ethno-cultural traditions undermine any single vision of Islam.

Notes 1

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According to Drobizheva, just over half of the ‘believers’ did not follow Islamic rituals (Drobizheva 1998: 200). Agadjanian also notes that even through the most vibrant period of religious renaissance in Russia, attendance at sacred ceremonies fluctuated around 6 per cent of the population for monthly attendance and 2 per cent for weekly attendance (Agadjanian 2001: 476). The sociological part of the research was conducted in Tatarstan and Dagestan over a period of two years (1997–8). Ethnographic field research was carried out by senior staff of the research institute ‘Region’ at Ul’ianovsk State University (G. Sabirova, E. Omel’chenko, V. Pavlov, N. Goncharova, N. Bannikova, S. Isliukov) supported by researchers in Kazan (A. Salagaev) and Makhachkala (M. Ibragimov). The methodological details of the fieldwork are discussed in the Introduction. In order to preserve the anonymity of respondents, citations from interviews conducted in the course of the fieldwork in Dagestan and Tatarstan are referenced only by the name of the Republic in which the interview was conducted and by the ethnic identity and gender of the respondent. This practice was found among some urban families as well. The new Chechen campaign has had a negative effect on the image of Islam, however. Among non-Muslims the ever increasing moral panic in the face of the fear of Islamic fundamentalism, extremism and the use of terrorism to settle political arguments is impacting on the image of the Muslim community and Islam in general. Among the Muslim communities of Russia also, the initial sympathy with the Chechens has been replaced by increasing assertions that those fighting for Chechen independence are not Muslims but ‘bandits’. This is discussed at greater length below. Although this function is allotted to religion in general; by the Russians to Christianity and by the Tatars to Islam.

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Elena Omel’chenko and Gusel’ Sabirova The term used was ‘natsional’nost”. In Russia and elsewhere in the former USSR the term ‘nationality’ is used as synonymous with the term ‘ethnicity’. Thus, although traditionally the Lezgins are seen as highly religious because they were the first ethnic group to convert to Islam, today the Derbent Lezgins for example are one of the most secularized ethnic groups in the city. Avars and Dargins are also considered ‘religious’ in everyday stereotypes, yet this is really a product of local traditions rather than ethnic specifics.

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Practising Islam Rituals, ceremonies and the transmission of ethno-Islamic values Elena Omel’chenko and Gusel’ Sabirova

The ‘revival’ of Islam in the immediate post-Soviet period was characterized by a rapid growth in interest in, and chaotic mass ‘conversion’ to, Islam. By the second half of the 1990s, the boom was over and public interest had begun to wane. Even in the hotbeds of Islamic renaissance such as northern Dagestan, the number of new mosques opening was falling and by May 2000 the proportion of the Dagestani population confessing Islam had fallen to 82 per cent (from 95 per cent in 1997), and only 22 per cent of this number said they observed all the prescribed Islamic rituals (Bobrovnikov 2001: 2).1 At the same time, the practice of Islam and the mechanisms and methods for its reproduction were becoming institutionalized at both the public and private level. Islamic festivals structured Muslim family life and there was continuing demand for information about the rituals and rules of Islamic culture. In the context of the newly established norm of religious self-determination – exemplified by the fact that young people took for granted their right to pray, attend mosque, receive a religious education and wear the veil – new resources and social and cultural institutions began to be mobilized to secure the transmission of Islamic values. In this chapter we explore, first, the extent to which Islamic rituals and festivals were being observed by Muslims in post-Soviet Tatarstan and Dagestan, acknowledging diversity in the form of their observance both between the two republics and among different social groups within each. Second, we consider the key channels for the transmission of Islamic values – the family, the mass media, Islamic educational courses and institutions, Arabic language tuition and mosques and Islamic clerics – and evaluate the relative roles they have played in reviving Islamic knowledge, ritual and culture in post-Soviet Russia.

Islamic rituals ‘Islam is the way of life and world view of Muslims. Its internal structure is in many ways geared towards regulating and enlightening worldly realities’ (Al’-Mansuri 1998: 9). Islam attaches great significance to the observance of ritualistic ceremonies and festivals. However, the relative weight attached to

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individual rituals and ceremonies and the regularity and manner in which they are observed varies widely according to the ethnic and socio-cultural context of their practice. The lack of uniformity in ritual practice in postSoviet Russia is heightened by the weak development of Islamic education and a lack of information on standard practice for observing rituals. In Dagestan, ritual variation is also heavily influenced by adat traditions. The diversity in the reproduction of rituals is considered by some to be damaging to the authority of Islam: ‘Everybody does his own thing, so people lose faith in Islam’ (Dagestan, Tsakhur man). Among a minority of the population, this expressed itself in an articulated need for a single Islamic model and ideal and created fertile ground for the development of fundamentalist ideas such as the need for a cleansing of Islam from, among other things, the influence of adat traditions. Knowledge about, observance of and attitudes to ritual practice also varied according to social background and cultural outlook. Mass engagement in ritual practices was perceived with ambivalence by those who downplayed the significance and role of rituals in maintaining Islamic identity. Such people – who, as a rule, came from the ranks of the intelligentsia or were resident in less religious rural settlements, or were urban residents with no close contact with the older generation or with active public lives – considered ostentatious displays of religiosity through ritual practice to be evidence of ‘cosmetic’ Islam, rather than of true belief. The habitualization of ritual observance meant that many Islamic rituals came to be perceived as folk rather than religious rituals and adherence to them an indicator of loyalty not to Islam but to folk traditions. Other individuals – mainly men – considered the strict observance of ritual to be the privilege of those with time on their hands; a ‘club religion for pensioners and the unemployed’. This study traces the diverse and localized nature of Islamic practice as evidenced in respondents’ attitudes to and observance of the following ritual elements of Islamic faith: •

the five pillars of Islam: 1 2 3 4 5

• • •

al-shahada (declaration of faith in Allah alone) al-salat ( five daily prayers) al-saum (fasting) al-hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina) al-zakat (almsgiving)

ceremonies of the life cycle (wedding, name-giving, funeral rites) religious festivals domestic practices (eating and dressing habits, domestic furnishings and design)

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Al-Shahada Belief in Allah was cited by respondents most often as the immutable fact of Islamic identity. The declaration of one’s faith – ‘La Allah illa Allah va Muhammad-ul-Rasul Allah’ (There is no God other than Allah and Muhammad is the Prophet of Allah) rooted in tawhid (monotheism) and alnubuvva (the belief in the prophetic mission of Muhammad) was considered to be the most fundamental acknowledgement of Islamic faith. The other fundamental principles of Islam most widely accepted by Muslims in Dagestan and Tatarstan were the five daily prayers, fasting, khaer or sadaqa (almsgiving) and hajj. The five daily prayers Discussions of Islamic identity among respondents focused almost always on the five daily prayers; a Muslim who worships five times a day was regarded as a genuine Muslim. The observance of daily prayers appeared to be significantly more widespread in Dagestan than Tatarstan, however. Whereas in Dagestan interviews were frequently interrupted as respondents went to pray, in Tatarstan observance of daily prayers appeared confined to the elderly and, conversely, a section of young people, primarily those studying in Islamic colleges. In Tatarstan, in particular, pensioners tended to seek a closer communion with Islam and sought to study the texts of the five prayers and observe rituals more rigorously. In Dagestan a growing interest on the part of young people was also in evidence, not only those studying in Islamic universities, but also young people from religious villages, where they were educated at home or in mosque schools and from large towns, where there were widespread opportunities for learning religious skills. People began praying at an early age in the religious villages of Dagestan. One 17-year-old girl who had moved to Gubden from a town at the age of 9 recalled her initial difficulties in class, which she attributed to having started her religious learning ‘late’: ‘they [the children in Gubden] usually start at seven, both boys and girls’. Indeed, studying and reciting prayers required perseverance and determination since, without Arabic language knowledge, the Arabic text had to be memorized. Reciting the five daily prayers also implied a high level of development for a Muslim. One reason for this was that it implied an obligation to give up alcohol, which was a serious trial for men and was not always adhered to rigidly. Indeed, daily prayers required the maintenance of outward cleanliness in a broad sense as an indicator of spiritual purity. Few among our respondents knew or read prayers other than the five daily prayers. The exception to this rule was a number of committed believers, often elderly people who passed on religious traditions. One family interviewed in Makhachkala had a very religious grandmother from Kubachi who devoted several hours a day to reading the Koran. She would recite special prayers for people embarking on a journey and, as the family’s

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intercessor before God, she provided support for family members in difficult times through vows or pledges in moments of need. On one occasion – when her grandson secured a place at an institute – she had walked barefoot to the mosque in the next village. Such women could be found in Tatarstan also, although increasingly rarely. Although by no means everybody knew the five daily prayers, almost all those who considered themselves to be practising Muslims knew individual short prayers of welcome, thanksgiving for alms, the postprandial prayer – amin – and prayers said when asking for protection or help, especially when embarking upon journeys. The tradition of dhikr (the repetition of the name of Allah) has been preserved in Dagestan. In Tatarstan, the older generation spoke with regret about the loss of this tradition. In Tatarstan the carrying of bti (charms and prayers protecting one from genies, bad luck and so on) was widespread and willingly adopted by young people. In Dagestan, the knowledge of individual prayers had become a social marker of membership of the Muslim community. One example of this was the requirement that all men arriving at a funeral should publicly recite the appropriate prayer. For men who were not regular prayers this was testing, especially given the public nature of the event and the presence of elders. Some respondents recounted the difficulties they had had with this practice. However, they also noted that the event had marked a moment of greater acceptance by, and integration into, the believing community. Confirmation that religious people were honoured and respected, and that the religious factor remained significant, was provided by the continuing tradition of inviting guests for prayers, after which alms (sadaqa) would be given.2 However, not all respondents agreed on the significance of prayers for maintaining faith. For some it was an absolutely compulsory ritual, a moral imperative. For others praying was merely a superficial aspect of the faith and, occasionally, the desire to pray was portrayed as a simplistic and formalistic way of atoning for one’s sins. Fasting Attitudes to religious fasting in the sacred month of Ramadan3 were characterized by a utilitarian decoding of religious symbolism. Fasting – whether total abstinence from food or eating in moderation – was explained by many, for example, as important for health reasons. At the same time, it was recognized that a period of abstinence – such as that undertaken during Ramadan – eases the process of devoting oneself to God. Thus the pragmatic approach is not explained necessarily as a consequence of a deficit of religiosity, but might be seen, rather, as evidence of Islam’s proximity to everyday practices. Fasting was becoming increasingly popular among Muslims – especially women, who were generally more conscientious in observing religious rituals – and was a ritual observed even by those who did not pray. Fasting is a very

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public form of religiosity; the number of people fasting in the village can be told by the number of windows lit up in the early hours before sunrise. In Tatarstan people fasted as a rule for a month, although sometimes less. In Dagestan, however, some Muslims fasted for more than a month, as the practice of repaying ‘fasting debts’ was more widespread there. An elderly Dargin man from Madzhalis had been fasting three months a year for thirteen years to make up for those months he had missed when serving in the army and working. The festivals marking the end of the fast – Al-’Id AlSaghyr, Uraza-Bayram or Kuchuk-Bayram – are among the most popular festivals in both republics and involve the whole community, regardless of their level of religiosity. Al-Hajj Al-Hajj, something inconceivable even in the recent past, has become common in post-Soviet Russia. In Dagestan hajj might be undertaken on more than one occasion; a second pilgrimage was undertaken often on behalf of close relatives, living or dead, unable themselves to undertake the pilgrimage. In deeply religious communities people have been performing hajj since 1991; in Gubden,4 for example, 60 per cent of the population had completed hajj. There are far fewer such cases in Tatarstan, due to the level of religiosity and the cost of the journey. Hajj was considered to be a Muslim’s sacred duty, although should be undertaken only by those familiar with religious rituals. Completing hajj was thought to open minds, cure bodies and reveal the truth; in this sense it brought miracles. The pilgrimage itself, and the preparations for it, were thus treated with sacred respect and solemnity. An 18-year-old female student from the Islamic University of Makhachkala, for example, said that she had always dreamed of going on hajj when she got married, so that ‘I will remember this first pilgrimage all my life’. Although, in principle, nobody is excluded from undertaking the pilgrimage, in practice the cost of such a journey means it is possible only for some. Muslims familiar with the rules of hajj were keen to emphasize that this ritual was obligatory only if circumstances allowed: ‘If I borrow money from someone, and my children go hungry, and I go and spend seven million on hajj – then that’s not hajj. That’s against Islam’ (Tsakhur man, Dagestan). Financial issues aside, hajj was physically very demanding since many Dagestanis travelled to Mecca and Medina on buses that had no facilities. These difficulties were considered to constitute part of the ‘sacred test’, however, and their endurance was set in the context of tales told about selfless elders who had undertaken hajj on foot, or who had died whilst on pilgrimage. Nonetheless, there were sceptics – in both Dagestan and Tatarstan – who voiced concerns about the insincerity of the pilgrims, some of whom combined the trip to Mecca and Medina (or sometimes even replaced it) with commercial goals.

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Almsgiving The practice of almsgiving was widespread in both Tatarstan and Dagestan. It was traditional to give donations above all to elderly Muslims and those who knew the prayers. Donations were also made to mosques (to finance building work), on religious festivals, but need not be associated with a particular event or cause. Alms were given by people regardless of their degree of religiosity and were distributed not only to the poor but also to all invited guests after joint prayer readings, before and after the hajj and to those attending funerals. These traditions, which had survived the years of atheism, continued to symbolize membership of the Muslim community and confirm the authority of believers: For example, someone might be going on a journey, and they give him alms called iul khaere. If someone comes back after a long journey, again they get alms. You can give them to a child or to an adult, if they know the prayers; poor people especially receive them. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Ceremonies of the life cycle The most popular of the religious rituals of the life cycle – sunnet (circumcision), nikakh (marriage) funeral rites and the name-giving ceremony – were observed in the majority of Muslim families throughout the Soviet period. Well, our rituals, they probably never died out. They have been observed always in our Tatar families and still are. Name-giving is a ceremony where the mullah sort of gives a name to the child. The mullah conducted my naming ceremony, and my daughter’s and my son’s. My son was circumcised…The mullah used to do the circumcision, now it’s all done in hospital, in clinical conditions. Yes, and funeral rites were always observed of course, and basically we had the nikakh read for us, and we did it for our children…My husband and I were also married according to the nikakh. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) The fact that rituals continued to be performed was acknowledged by Soviet researchers, but not publicized. Thus the object of study was specific transformations in rituals – and attitudes towards them – and the simplification of procedures that sometimes eroded their religious meaning (Urazmanova 1984: 125). At the end of the 1980s, however, research into ritual practice in Tatarstan confirmed that the majority of Tatar families in Tatarstan had continued to observe key Muslim rituals: 78 per cent of Tatar families with children had had them named according to Muslim tradition, 72 per cent of Tatars had had Muslim wedding ceremonies, and 67 per cent of families with sons had had them circumcised (Musina 2001: 298).

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At the end of the 1990s, the name-giving ceremony was more widespread in Tatarstan than in Dagestan. It was a celebration for all the family, to which the mullah was invited to conduct the ritual. This ritual was mentioned less often in Dagestan but where it was observed, a more complete version of the ceremony was performed and two names were given; that of the prophet and that of the child. The practice of sunnet (circumcision) is one of the most important ritual markers for Muslim identity. However, attitudes to the practice have been characterized by practical as well as religious concerns; circumcision was considered to have general health and hygiene benefits as well as a religious significance. In both Tatarstan and Dagestan circumcision used to be carried out by trained men – sunnetchi – who would go from village to village offering their services. Parents living in towns would take their boys to the countryside especially for the operation. In post-Soviet Russia, the operation is performed in hospitals, although children are brought still to Dagestan or Tatarstan for the operation in the belief that local doctors have more experience: Circumcision has always been carried out, whatever the regime in the country. Absolutely. But there was also a hygienic, a medical, view on this – [it helps prevent] phimosis, an inflammation after a build up of urine. It is not a crime, medicine even welcomes it. But it used to be banned, you could be taken to court, punished. But even me, I’m a communist, but even so my sons had it done…But now it is all done in clinics in sterile conditions, with antiseptic. It used to be done at home in secret. But now it’s all in the open. (Dagestan, Kumyk woman) The procedure for the religious consecration of marriage is governed by local custom. In Naberezhnie Chelny, for example, certificates were given after the nikakh had been performed, and rings were put on. In Dagestan, unlike Tatarstan, the ritual might sometimes be performed in the absence of the young people who were getting married and there was a widely known practice for Islamic divorce. In Dagestan, too, wedding rituals were considerably influenced by adat traditions. Although the ritual had an important religious significance for committed Muslims, for most respondents getting married in this way held a social imperative and symbolic significance – indicating the purity of the union and of children born into the union – rather than any deep religious meaning or civil importance. Funeral rites had a special significance in ritual practice since, for a Muslim, this marks the moment when he or she is called to account. Thus, Islamic rituals were followed as closely as possible during funeral ceremonies regardless of how religious the individual had been during their lifetime: We try particularly hard here, you have to carry out this duty to the deceased. It is especially at those times – when a person dies – that the

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Elena Omel’chenko and Gusel’ Sabirova soul turns to religion particularly, you see…It provides some sort of relief, it is easier to bear the loss. We have to follow these rituals. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman)

Many urban residents thus sought to bury their relatives in ‘their own’ village and funeral rites tended to have been better preserved than others.5 The rising cost of funerals was a major problem in Tatarstan, but especially so in Dagestan. Costs included purchasing the ‘layette’ (lengths of calico, fabrics, and shawls), railings and headstone (in Tatarstan these were generally made of marble) as well as distributing funeral sadaqa. The cost of funerals was often beyond the financial resources of an average-income family, forcing them to borrow large sums of money from rich neighbours or relatives, which they repaid over many years. In some villages in Dagestan the ritual of seven days’ mourning in the deceased person’s house continued to be observed, as was that of visiting the grave forty days after the funeral. However, the number of days of mourning was reduced in some places, again partly because of the cost. In the post-Soviet period, it appeared, Islamic rituals were subject to conflicting trends. On the one hand, there was a renewed push towards modernization, bringing with it, for example, the medicalization of circumcision practices. At the same time, as the religious significance returned to Islamic and folk traditions, they became more widespread and more meaningful. By the end of the 1990s, therefore, a tension was beginning to arise between the established local models of ritual practice and the desire to standardize religious practice. Everyday life: traditions and innovations To what extent have Islamic traditions penetrated the everyday life of Muslims in the Russian Federation? What does this tell us about the role of Islam in these societies? When respondents talked about the impact of Islamic faith on wider social norms and behaviour, the most recurrent theme was the importance to Islam of ‘cleanliness’, and ‘brightness’. This was interpreted literally rather than metaphorically; Muslims, it was noted, washed thoroughly five times a day before the five prayers and took off their shoes when entering the home. In contrast to Russians, Muslims did not drink alcohol (not even at wakes), clerics wore light-coloured clothes rather than dark colours, ‘which emphasize mourning’, and funerals were not characterized by loud crying or special mourning clothes. Homes reflected certain elements of the Muslim way of life. In Tatarstan these included the words of a prayer being hung above the door (shamail), the presence of a kumgan (pitcher for washing), attention to ‘cleanliness’ and decoration of the interior of the house and gates at the entrance to the courtyard. The ability to conform to this norm was often determined by

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income, however. Dress codes in Tatarstan remained highly European, and most of the population had no desire to adopt traditional Muslim dress. Young women in long dresses with long sleeves and headscarves tied ‘in the Turkish manner’ had become visible on the streets of Kazan and Naberezhnie Chelny. However, this practice was considered to be an innovation – the adoption of a new model of Islam – rather than the retention of traditional Islamic dress, for such attire had never been characteristic for Tatar women. Muslim men were subject to little regulation beyond the requirement to cover one’s head when praying or attending prayers. In Dagestan, Muslim home decoration and dress were invested with greater importance than in Tatarstan, but remained determined more by national traditions than religious ones. In religious villages a headscarf was a compulsory element of dress and in Makhachkala, as well as some religious villages, some women wore the veil (paranja). Attitudes to the veil were divided. For some it was an alien tradition – the paranja had never been worn in Dagestan – but in some religious villages women were willing to wear it. A defining role in this seemed to be played by public opinion and locally determined standards of behaviour. In Dagestan more attention was paid to men’s attire; in tune with local notions of masculinity, a man was required to look neat (well-groomed), clean and wealthy. All respondents were aware of the main religious proscriptions with regard to food: pork should not be eaten; only the meat of cattle slaughtered according to Muslim practice should be consumed;6 alcohol was prohibited; and, in Dagestan, sturgeon was not permitted. These rules were neither absolute nor fundamental, however. Although in most Muslim families abstinence from pork had become an unspoken imperative, food prohibitions were not rigorously enforced. Sausage – the constituent ingredients of which were not always specified – was often consumed and outside the home individuals might choose not to make an issue of their Muslim identity with regard to meat. The following respondents articulate the balance adopted by many: I don’t eat pork at all. No one at home eats pork. But if I’m visiting someone I don’t worry too much about poking around in the meat. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) You mustn’t eat pork, or bacon – no, you mustn’t eat pork. You mustn’t eat sturgeon, we didn’t know that before. There was an old man lived here – he wasn’t from here originally, he’s dead now. We bought some sturgeon, and he said; ‘You can’t eat that.’ Since then my wife hasn’t eaten it, but it doesn’t matter to me, I’m a Soviet after all. (Dagestan, Azeri man) For some people – such as young men conscripted into the army – there was no choice but to suspend religiously motivated food practices. Alcohol remained an issue in both republics, however. People continued to drink,

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despite awareness of its prohibition in Islamic faith, and the overall volume of alcohol consumed in the republic had not declined. However, respondents believed themselves to be drinking less and attributed this to the growing importance of Islam. Indeed, negative attitudes to alcohol were in clear evidence especially among the older generation, and a stratum of religious men who refused on principle to sit down if there was alcohol on the table, was emerging. Although Soviet and secular holidays – such as New Year, 8 March (International Women’s Day), 1 May (Labour Day) and 9 May (Victory Day) – remained popular in Tatarstan (and in non-religious villages in Dagestan), the status of Islamic holidays was steadily rising also. The most popular of these were the celebration of the end of fasting month (Al-‘Id AlSaghyr, Uraza-Bayram or Kuchuk-Bayram) and the festival of sacrifice (Al-’Id Al-Kabir, Kurban-Bayram or Buyuk-Bayram). At such festivals guests would be invited, prayers said, and alms given to the poor and the elderly. Islamic holidays provided a good reason to meet up with relatives living in different districts and the opportunity to discuss problems, to look for a bride for one’s son and to talk politics: .

For us…Well, the month of Ramadan ends with Uraza, Uraza Bayram. This is the most important holiday – the best holiday, because all our relatives come and we chat, talk about everything, and we go and visit other people too. It’s only right to keep in touch with your relatives anyway. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) The public observance of rituals and the celebration of religious holidays furthered the development of Islamic education. The various rituals – their significance and their correct observance – would be discussed around the table on Islamic festivals. However, there were also popular non-religious festivals, such as Village Day in Dagestan. Moreover, respondents sometimes confused Islamic festivals with folk ones; for example in Dagestan nauruz (the New Year festival) was described as an Islamic festival, as was sabantuy (held at the end of harvest time) in Tatarstan. This suggested a significant fusion, especially in Tatarstan, of ethnic and Islamic identities. Folk traditions: the fusion of ethno-Islamic rites and rituals Folk traditions played an important role in maintaining and strengthening ethnic and Islamic identity in both Tatarstan and Dagestan. In both republics little distinction was made between ethnic and Islamic rituals, and the associative proximity of ethnic and Muslim rituals and festivals facilitated the development of both. The processes of nation-building in the republics of the post-Soviet Russian Federation, moreover, have stimulated the reproduction of folk customs and traditions, and public interest in them has grown.

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Tatar national holiday sabantuy, Naberezhnie Chelny, Tatarstan. 12 July 1998. Photo: Gusel’ Sabirova

In Tatarstan, Tatar folk culture has developed rapidly in the post-Soviet period, supported by the government of Tatarstan. At the end of the 1990s, shows were being staged in the Tatar language, young people’s music groups performed both folk and modern songs in the Tatar language, and there were noisy and impressive celebrations of festivals such as sabantuy and Tatarstan Independence Day, lending them the significance of national folk holidays. Those involved in this new folk industry were effectively shaping and transmitting the national image of the Tatars in terms of their language, appearance, dress, behaviour and culinary traditions. Central to this was the new significance attached to the Bulgar territories as the ancient capital of Tatarstan and to Islam as the ancestral inheritance of the Tatars. Alongside government sponsored initiatives, however, there were a large number of amateur arts clubs involved in the recreation of folk traditions, creating an open and accessible environment. The rich cultural heritage, strong family ties and the isolation of many villages in Dagestan have meant that many traditions and rituals lost elsewhere have been preserved. These traditions were particularly visible in the old parts of villages, which retained houses, decorations, interior layouts and stoves that directly reproduce those of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. But, even in the new part of the villages or even cities – characterized by large brick buildings with spacious rooms – traditional features could be detected in the architecture and the houses were built using ancient devices characteristic of the terraced landscapes of the mountain regions.

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The maintenance of traditional, local styles of interior design, decorations and clothes is considered an important recognition of cultural heritage, and it is a mark of prestige to have old family jewellery and valuables in the home. The traditional ancestral heirlooms in which the family took pride included antique rugs, kitchen implements, iron decorations, porcelain and earthenware pots, homespun bed sheets and clothes embroidered with gold and silver thread.7 The family’s collection was expanded when a dowry was brought into the home, but also sometimes through the purchase of antiques in Moscow or old-style headscarves in Ukraine and the Czech Republic. Dagestanis themselves were famed for their handicraft industries, however, and in the harsh socio-economic circumstances of post-Soviet Dagestan there had been a return to such crafts. In the village of Kubachi, for example, both girls and boys were taught traditional folk trades: Here in Kubachi we say: when God flew through…Kubachi, he spilled one sack of languages, and out of another sack he spilled specialities: one person is a woodworker, another a metalworker, a third is a shepherd. Each village has its own speciality: in Amuzgent they work with iron, in Sulenkent with clay, they make pots and things like that, then further away in Uruldy they do woodwork, you see…Whereas in Kubachi…what we work on is mainly silver, engraving, that sort of painstaking artistic work. (Dagestan, Dargin man) Rural areas, and traditional villages such as Kubachi, were important centres for the preservation of traditions. However, while the majority of Dagestanis considered it important to pay tribute to elderly members of the family through the maintenance of tradition, respondents did not consider folk traditions to be imperative: but if we really don’t want to follow these rules, then of course there is no ban on that, naturally. You can get around them everywhere, that’s allowed, it’s not considered a crime. But people try to please the older generation, and follow the customs, and that’s good for you too, because the memory remains. For example, we’ve passed on my father’s name and my grandmother’s. (Dagestan, Kumyk woman) Indeed, some rituals and traditions had become difficult to observe because of their cost. In particular the maintenance of kalym8 in some regions of Dagestan had become problematic as a result of the stratification of society and the intensification of its competitive nature. The latter obliged families to match or ‘outdo’ each other in the amount of money paid for a bride and the number of guests invited. This had led to calls to curb or abandon the practice of kalym.

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The complexity of contemporary Dagestan lies in its rich mixture of deep respect for tradition and ancestors alongside an outward-looking attitude that encourages the population to think beyond their communities, and engage in spiritual, intellectual and entrepreneurial endeavours. Thus, on the one hand, adat rules and customs are perceived in Dagestan as an ancestral heritage to be respected, and have indeed helped to preserve Islamic traditions, yet on the other hand they have entrenched local difference and thus held back the development of, and divided, Dagestani society. In contrast, in Tatar society the tension lies in the contradictory pulls of modernization and ethnic consolidation. In Tatarstan, especially in non-religious and urban communities, there is little differentiation between national (ethnic) and Muslim rituals and traditions in everyday practice. Folk traditions are considered important since they provide a link between generations and reproduce the ethnic distinctiveness of the Tatar people. However, while there is a gradual departure from traditionalism – and rituals no longer play such an important role in the internal stabilization of relations within communities – there is also a heightened desire to reproduce rituals at a symbolic level especially for the purposes of reaffirming ethnic group identities.

Ethno-religious values: transmission and communication The ‘boom’ in religious interest may have faded by the second half of the 1990s, but Islam remained an important feature of family and public life in both Tatarstan and Dagestan. The institutions of emergent civil society – the media, educational institutions, religious institutions – and the family, moreover, played a vital role in transmitting and communicating ethno-religious values in post-Soviet society. The family and the media It was the family that played the decisive role in maintaining Islamic traditions during the Soviet period and in post-Soviet Russia people’s memories of the image of their grandparents were associated with sanctity and respect, and sometimes nostalgia and romanticism; it was they who once instilled the principles of Islam (prayers, rules and so on) in the younger generation: And now, you see, I am really happy to see my mother wearing her white headscarf: she reminds me of my grandmother. I think, well, I’ll probably stop wearing my miniskirts at some point too. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Indeed research in post-Soviet Tatarstan suggests a high degree of crossgenerational sharing of philosophical outlook (Kaariainen and Furman

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1999: 219). This is secured partially by the close connection between Islamic and folk traditions, which contributes to the parallel formation of ethnic and religious identity. In a similar way, in Dagestan children who were sent to mountain villages (auls) to learn their native language became involved in the religious traditions of their people. The wider urban or diasporic networks based on villages of birthplace (zemliacheskie communities) of Dagestan, moreover, provided an extended resource: My son is 25, and he’s been praying for about a year now. But he doesn’t know his native language, he doesn’t know anything, but somebody up north taught him how to pray, I don’t even know what language he uses, he’ll be back soon, we’ll have to ask him. (Dagestan, Kumyk woman) At religious festivals celebrated within the family in both Tatarstan and Dagestan the details of the rituals were discussed. The older generation and those with experience explained the rules for performing the ritual while children were given presents, and learned the elementary rules of behaviour in the Muslim community (to behave quietly, say the amin and so on). Alongside the family, however, in post-Soviet Russia, the media played an important role in the transmission of religious values. For some people, television was the only source of authoritative information on religious events: I live alone, you see. There are no older people in the house – no parents or grandparents. The neighbours aren’t going to teach me about it either. So sometimes I watch television, that’s good of course. On the television someone reads the Koran and explains everything…[like] how to keep the Uraza. Because there’s no way of knowing. At KurbanBayram someone might not know and won’t invite the old women round and distribute khaer. Then he’s sorry, because it turns out he missed it. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) At the same time, respondents described the coverage of Islam in the media as unsystematic and disjointed. More comprehensive and better-organized information was perceived to be a pressing need, particularly in Tatarstan where there was a lower initial knowledge base among the population and where the media were required to maintain a balance of coverage of issues related to Christianity and Islam. In Dagestan the media played an important role in shaping attitudes towards current ethno-religious dynamics, especially in isolated settlements. The power of the media was evident, for example, in the highly negative attitude to Wahhabism in the republic, provoked by the media’s extensive anti-Wahhabi propaganda (see Chapter 6). Respondents often cited information they had obtained from the media when voicing their opinions. However, in Dagestan, external media

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sources were also available; the publications of Islamic organizations in Ukraine were sent to central Dagestan, and southern Dagestan received Iranian television channels. In mountain settlements the most accessible channel was radio. The growing visibility of Islam in everyday public life – be it in the presence of Islamic leaders at official events or in the placing of a pitcher for washing in public toilets – has begun to change social norms of behaviour. Lack of religious knowledge, or the failure to conform to rituals, has become a matter for social disapproval, especially in Dagestan. In organizations where many employees maintained the Uraza during the fast, for example, people might be disdainful of those who smoked or ate lunch. Conversely, it had become increasingly prestigious ‘to be a Muslim’: If, for example, there’s a new tradition, and one person doesn’t do it, what then? Everybody’s already talking about him – ‘Hey, do you know that person?’ Say his mother died and he went and buried her differently from everyone else. Everybody will be talking about him. Nobody wants that either… (Dagestan, Azeri woman) The social pressure to conform is less acute in Tatarstan than Dagestan. This is partially because of a general adherence to an applied rather than orthodox version of Islam, but also because of the absence of such strong familial and ‘clan’ (tukhum) ties. In Dagestan family and tukhum pressures might be ‘good for you’ but could be experienced as restrictive of personal freedom: In our tukhum there are also people who…used to do just what they wanted to, they would drink and smoke, and now they have become religious…One of them even…says sometimes: ‘If any of my children, my sons or daughters, doesn’t do the namaz, they might as well not come home’. But not everybody does the namaz. But that’s an extreme example – I don’t think that’s normal. (Dagestan, Kumyk) Thus while the past centrality of the family in ensuring the transmission of ethno-religious values continues, wider social and cultural institutions (clan, public opinion and media) now play a greater role in providing both information about Islam and in encouraging conformity to rituals. Indeed, it is the sacred duty of Muslims to propagate the ideas of Islam. The practice of da’awa (summons to Islam) was rare in Tatarstan at the time of this research, but in Dagestan it was a fairly widespread form of religious education conducted both by deeply religious Dagestanis from the religious regions of Dagestan (Makhachkala, Kiziliurt and Gubden) and foreign Muslims.

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Islamic education The rapid development in Islamic traditions has generated a need for new knowledge and for educated specialists capable of disseminating this knowledge; it has also created a new supply market in the field of Islamic education for both children and adults. In individual cases, children and teenagers had begun studying Arabic and the principles of Islam independently, but, in general, children’s religiosity remained primarily determined by the level of religiosity of their parents. And parents’ interest in Islamic education for their children was governed usually by the attitude ‘If they want to, we won’t stop them’: Well, the kids go to the mosque. They even did some study there. Some went, others didn’t, if they got bored they left…That was at the beginning, when…the mosques began opening…there was actually some interest, but now…they seem to go less somehow. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) At the time of research, at the end of the 1990s, Islamic educational institutions were just beginning to open in Tatarstan, but in Dagestan they were already well established for children of all ages. Pre-school and school-age children (usually aged 6–12 years old) could go to mosque-based schools (mektebs), where they learned Arabic and the principles of Islam. One Tatar woman interviewed proudly reported that her children were taken to this sort of school by their grandmother: her eldest daughter (aged 12) could already read and write Arabic, while the younger one (aged 7) knew all the letters of the Arabic alphabet and was learning to read it. Interestingly, this was the first alphabet she had learnt (ahead of either the Russian or the Tatar alphabets). At 12 or 13 children started at the medresse and from 15–18 at Islamic colleges and universities. On the whole parents’ attitudes to their children’s religious education in Tatarstan and Dagestan were similar, if one controls for degree of religiosity and the ethnic-religious traditions of the two regions. The predominant approach was that religious education should be voluntary, not forced and that studying the principles of Islam should not take time away from the basic school curriculum since children’s future educational success depended upon this. Further study should be left to individual choice. Almost all parents agreed that the basics of Islam should be taught at secondary school, although opinion was divided as to whether this teaching should form part of the compulsory curriculum or be an optional subject. In Tatarstan preference was generally shown for the first option. This is explained by the absence of other channels for the transfer of Islamic values, the perception that it would provide a sound moral education, and the assumption that such lessons would introduce children to Tatar culture. In Dagestan – where there were other established channels and systems for participating in religion outside school – parents were more concerned that

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Two students of the medresse al-Shafii, Makhachkala, Dagestan. 20 July 1998. Photo: Elena Omel’chenko

the school curriculum should not be overloaded or that subjects important for future study were not curtailed to accommodate religious teaching. They preferred the idea of optional study, therefore. Optional study might, of course, be supplemented by the study of Islam and Arabic at mosque-based and other specialized schools and courses. However, even in Dagestan – where this system was much better established than in Tatarstan – parents (except those in the very religious villages) bemoaned the fact that these schools were poorly equipped or that the staff was unqualified. It was also felt that such schools distracted pupils from their studies in the ordinary school. Those children studying at mektebs and medresses tended to leave secondary school as early as 12 or 14 years of age, although – given the patriarchal traditions of deeply Islamised villages – such a reduction in study time at school was not always a cause for concern. In Gubden, for example, girls were taken out of school as young as 10 or 12 years of age since ‘school only spoils girls’. Such practices were encountered also in Kazan, although there it was the exception rather than the rule. Alongside the mektebs and medresses, individuals set up small schools in their own homes or organized short mosque-based courses in order to perform their duty of da’awa. While parents generally articulated positive attitudes about the need to overcome ‘Islamic illiteracy’, the pursuit of a religious career was viewed rather differently. Choosing a higher education course in an Islamic institute, for example, was often linked to parents’ desire to remove a child from an undesirable environment, or to some vaguely determined educational strategy – providing knowledge of the principles of Islam and some kind of

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Opening of the Islamic Institute in Kazan, Tatarstan. 6 September 1998. Photo: Galina Yemelianova

specialism, such as teachers of Arabic – rather than to any positive choice of a career as a cleric. As a rule parents did not want their children to be absorbed in Islam and they sometimes viewed a religious career as something not entirely serious. Where a career as a cleric was consciously pursued, at least in Dagestan – where unofficial figures put unemployment as high as 80 per cent – the attraction might have been as much material (the opportunity to secure an education sometimes with accommodation) as spiritual. Despite this, some young people are genuinely interested in developing religious careers as mullahs or, especially for young women, as teachers (of Arabic). Such people face an important decision about whether to pursue their Islamic education at home or abroad. Proponents of a foreign education cited the higher level of development of Islamic traditions in eastern countries. Those countries mentioned most often as the place where Dagestanis were educated included Egypt, Syria, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Jordan, Iran and Malaysia. The poor level of development of Islamic colleges and universities in the republic and the often dubious standard of teaching underpinned the desire to gain an education abroad; the decision to do so, however, was often influenced by financial factors and the existing system of special grants for gaining an education in Arab countries. Some respondents, mostly members of the intelligentsia and local clerics, were critical of these tendencies, believing such financial support to be a cover for some rather mercenary political interest in the expansion of a

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‘different’, pro-fundamentalist form of Islam. They believed that this export of religion might lead to serious political and cultural conflict in the future and that it was better for young people to stay ‘at home’ for their education. This point of view was more widespread in Tatarstan, where fears that a stricter version of Islam might be imported were much stronger, but existed in Dagestan too: They say you have no freedom of speech there…I don’t approve of that, but Islamic knowledge is taught very well there. There are good teachers there, that’s why I say it would be better in Egypt, and after that in Syria. But I studied here under imam Mukhtar, a sheikh in Makhachkala, and I think that it’s better than in Egypt and Syria…I mean it’s no worse here in Dagestan than in Egypt or Syria. (Dagestan, Kumyk man) Among highly educated Tatars, there was also a concern that the ethnic distinctiveness of the ‘Islam of our ancestors’ would lose out to foreign forms of Islam: I don’t really like what the Arabs teach. Or the fact that there is a sort of Arabization going on. I don’t really like that, and basically it’s not really right for our people…It’s not part of the tradition of our people I think. A secular education alongside a religious one, that’s more the thing. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Indeed, the experience of studying abroad was recounted as evidence that the principles of education abroad were harsher. In Majalis one respondent reported his unhappy experience of this: ‘If you forgot even one lesson, they would take a cane and beat your hands, so you wouldn’t do it again’ (Dagestan, Dargin man). However, the presence of foreign academics teaching in Islamic institutes in Tatarstan and Dagestan meant that for some, a ‘foreign education’ could be had whilst staying ‘at home’. Islamic clerics and the mosque The choice of a career in religion is greatly influenced by the status of Islamic clerics and leaders and the opinions formed of them and their work. At the end of the 1990s, there were two clearly identifiable groups of clerics: the selfeducated people, usually men, of between 60 and 80 years of age, former teachers or heirs to a family dynasty of mullahs; and the ‘new mullahs’ made up of young people aged between 18 and 30, recently graduated from Islamic colleges. Outside of these two main groups there is a diverse collection of religious people who have come to Islam for various reasons. In both Tatarstan and Dagestan there existed a social stereotype of mullahs as ‘insincere, selfish’. Interviewees frequently mentioned stories

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(presented as actual events) of theft and drunkenness and of mullahs committing rape and abusing their official position for their own enrichment. This generated a cautious attitude to current shakirds: All these mullahs, they really have poor qualifications, they became mullahs, I think, at the last minute. Before that they used to drink and everything and they couldn’t get anywhere like that. But because there’s no-one better, these are the ones that we have at the moment. But basically, of course, it should be a profession – or not even a profession, there should be a calling – they really need to be trained from childhood. The soul should be pure. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) The newly trained mullahs were in a somewhat ambiguous position. On the one hand they had been trained (they were not ‘self-taught’ old men), but on the other hand they did not yet command authority and offered interpretations of Arabic pronunciation and finer points of ritual that were often at variance with the usual interpretations. In many ways the cautious attitude towards them was shaped by the older generation, which judged them by their own standards. Respondents attending Islamic colleges, however, demonstrated a profound understanding of Islam and a sincere, spiritual faith. They tended to have a fairly broad outlook – being interested in the history and culture of their people as well as Islamic faith – and were keen to achieve their personal ambitions. Some mullahs did command authority, moreover, and were talked about very differently from the generally negative perception of clerics: They say that the mullahs are bad, right? But he’s OK. He’s a good man…Their children also preach Islam. This is their male line; his father was a mullah too…Even in Soviet times they prayed, did all that…Islam is their main background. His wife has also been on the hajj, twice I think. They’re young but they’re believers… (Dagestan, Dargin woman) There are a lot of people who are sincere, of course there are. Those who are sincere aren’t looking for gain. They live frugally. I know there are mullahs and clerics who live frugally… (Tatarstan, Tatar man) The growing interest in religion has been accompanied by the restoration and new construction of mosques. At the end of the 1990s, new mosques were still being built, as a rule financed by wealthier parishioners. The consecration of a new mosque was always a great festival for the village; relatives of the residents not just of that village, but also of neighbouring villages,

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would return from the towns to participate. However, not all mosques had been uniformly revived; some villages in Tatarstan were planning second mosques (because one was not enough to accommodate all those who wanted to attend) while in some non-religious villages in Dagestan, not even the old mosques had been restored. The mass drive to build and open new mosques can be explained by their symbolic significance. The mosque had become a sort of guarantee that the traditions of Islam would be maintained in a village; the absence of a village mosque was met with disapproval. In both Tatarstan and Dagestan stories about the local mosque were cherished and passed on; stories about its tragic fate during the Soviet period, when mosques were destroyed or turned into warehouses or schools. Only very few mosques escaped this fate. This is why Gubden residents were so proud that their mosque had never been closed down. The mosque became the focal point of the life of the Muslim community during the month of Ramadan, but outside this period the largest attendance at mosques was on Fridays. Indeed in some small villages, this was the only day when the mosque was open at all. Overall the number of those attending mosque had fallen, according to our interviewees, in both Tatarstan and Dagestan. At least, there was not the constant stream of parishioners predicted when the mosques were built. Religious leaders themselves explained this by the sharp increase in the number of mosques. In reality, however, the decline in popularity of the mosques has been a result probably of both the lack of authority and unscrupulousness of religious leaders and the insufficient religiosity of the population in the context of busy professional lives. As for any larger religious community, it was only in the exceptionally religious places such as Gubden that one could detect the formation of a Muslim community that was involved in settling the problems of the village and its individual members, and where the Council of Elders included representatives from every one of the twenty-seven aul mosques. Broadly speaking, most of the populations of both Tatarstan and Dagestan had a limited understanding of the structure, hierarchy and mechanism of functioning of the Islamic administration. Neither is it possible to talk of any absolute authority among those religious leaders currently invested with power. The independent spiritual boards of individual ethnic groups in Dagestan that had emerged in the post-Soviet period did not play a major role in the formation of the Islamic identity of any particular group. The greatest authority in Dagestani villages was enjoyed by the elders, powerful or rich villagers or simply individuals who commanded respect. How religious they were depended on the general level of religiosity of the village. In general, though, village mullahs in Dagestan had higher status than in Tatarstan, and might even assist in resolving conflicts within families or clans. In Dagestan the circle of Islamic authorities was also broader than in Tatarstan, and included Sufi sheikhs, alimi and historical figures. The image of Shamyl (see Chapter 1) is instructive here. A national hero and the imam of Dagestan and Chechnia, Shamyl today symbolizes Dagestanis’

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national identity. To date, however, the ‘new’ religious leaders tend to be compared negatively to the ‘old’ religious leaders. One Avar respondent, now living in Makhachkala, used the example of a religious man from his village, Magomed, to highlight the difference between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ mullahs: I once asked him: ‘Magomed, other people are going on the hajj, why don’t you go?’ He said: ‘It was my dream to build and restore the mosque, to build…a bridge, then a medresse. I have fulfilled all three of these wishes, and now, God willing, if everything will assist and support my hajj, then I will try.’ But he didn’t make it, he fell ill and died…That’s the sort of people Islam produces, that’s the sort of people, pure, honest people that religion produces. But there are people who are doing it for the sake of fashion, or high office, or to get respect, or for a place in society. (Dagestan, Avar man) In religious villages, people who had benefited from a religious education commanded authority. In Dagestan such people were usually called alimi, or Arabists. In those villages where there were many experts in Islam, spontaneous discussion groups sprang up where they met and discussed the correct interpretation of the Koran or the correct method for performing various rituals. Language: politics and practice In the post-Soviet Russian republics, language policies and preferences are complexly formulated and politically finely balanced. Russian language vies with both ‘national’ languages, such as Tatar in Tatarstan, and a multitude of local languages in Dagestan for its position as first language. Increasingly, Russian also competes with the religiously important Arabic and Turkish languages and the ubiquitous English language for its position as most significant second language. The outcome of these linguistic struggles in each of the republics is indicative of both their peculiar socio-demographics as well as the relative significance attached to religious and ethnic identities. In Tatarstan, the promotion of Tatar language has been central to both the state project of nation-building and individuals’ formulation of their Tatar identity. Thus, despite the official policy of bilingualism, Tatars have shown a distinct preference for Tatar language; in answer to the question of which language should be the first language in Tatarstan, respondents answered unequivocally that it should be Tatar.9 This should not be read as linguistic exclusivity, however, as suggested by the following Tatar respondent: In Tataria the main language should be Tatar, in the Soviet Union it should be Russian, and worldwide it should be English. I can’t sit here

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in Tataria and speak English. I can’t talk Tatar if I go to Russia. I can’t make demands and say: ‘I’m only going to talk to you in Tatar.’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Knowledge of Tatar language is far from universal in Tatarstan, however, and the promotion of Tatar has divided, as well as united, the population of Tatarstan. Russian speakers – including many of Tatar ethnicity – have felt discriminated against, and even Tatar speakers of the older generations and Tatars returning from other parts of the former Soviet Union have had difficulty reading modern Tatar, characterized by many neologisms. Thus, only a small group of intellectuals and academics were totally comfortable with the modern literary Tatar language used in the newspapers and magazines of Tatarstan. The linguistic patriotism that has marked the last ten years has not meant the eradication of Russian language, however. Russian remains recognized as an important language of inter-ethnic communication and education and, it was argued by the Tatar intelligentsia, it was not promoted simply because there was no need to do so; almost the entire (urban) population of Tatarstan spoke Russian to a relatively high standard. Do our people really need Russian? It’s impossible to reject Russian so quickly, because we need to communicate with each other. How are the Chuvash or Mordvins supposed to talk to each other, for example? There has to be some common language. And it’s Russian, for us it’s Russian. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) In Tatarstan, Turkish and Arabic were seen as the languages of the Muslim world and enthusiasm to learn them has increased alongside the growth in interest in religion. Arabic – as the language of the Koran – took precedence, although this usually meant learning the Arabic script, and interest in it was confined to religious Tatars, as the following respondent indicates: ‘Turkish and Arabic, believers have to know Turkish and Arabic. But if you don’t believe it’s not particularly important’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Knowledge of Arabic had been gained in very different ways and this often led to disputes over the correct pronunciation and interpretation of texts of the Koran. The ‘old men’ who had learnt the prayers from their parents and read the prayers from books printed in Russia before the revolution often pronounced the text with the accent of their national language. Those ‘self-taught’ believers, who had generally learnt the prayers on their own or on a course, following the transliteration of the Arabic texts into Russian or their national language, often learned the texts without vocalizations. Young people who had studied not just the script but also the Arabic language, with foreign teachers, tended to have a distinctive pronunciation of the Arabic sounds. Whilst common knowledge of Arabic united believers,

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therefore, arguments and discussions about the correct pronunciation of the various verses had become also a stratifying factor within this group. Dagestan, in contrast, is a profoundly multilingual society, characterized by individual polyglotism as well as a complex system of language preferences and hierarchies. This is typified by the following respondent’s difficulty in responding to the request to name his native language: ‘Well, in Kubachi it’s probably Kubachi that is my native language. In the district it’s Dargin, and in the republic Russian. So which is it? It’s really difficult’ (Dagestan, Dargin man). Ethnic identification in Dagestan was closely associated with the knowledge of local, ethnic languages,10 and, since many languages of the smaller ethnic groups did not exist in written form, the opportunity to study their native language in schools was a central demand of the ideologues of ethnic revival. At the same time, Dagestani society had a tradition of multilingualism borne of the predominance of ethnically mixed settlements and broad trade contacts. The majority of Dagestan’s population knows three or four languages, sometimes more, and such multilingualism was not considered exceptional, but simply part of their spiritual life: Whatever language you read, it is useful. If you know two languages, it means you are two people. If you know three languages, you’re three people. If you don’t know a language, you’re not a person at all!…I only did eight years at school, but I love all sorts of books. I’ve got loads of them, upstairs, and here in the cupboard. I can read Russian, Azeri, Farsi, Turkish and Arabic. (Dagestan, Azeri man) Outside contacts were maintained using Russian, which remained the language of communication between ethnic groups. Russian was perceived as a ‘supranational’ language able to act as a lingua franca without symbolizing any potential ethnic dominance.11 It was also seen as the language of social adaptation, education and the key to the progressive development of Dagestan and resistance to the Islamic East. A 20-year-old Avar woman defined her position on the linguistic education of her children as follows: ‘First of all, they should speak very good Russian, they should speak properly, because we live in a country where Russian is the main language. Then their native language, then…English, then German or French’ (Dagestan, Avar woman). In each district or region of Dagestan, there were of course local languages that different ethnic groups used for inter-group communication, as was the case with the use of Azeri in Uzhdagh district. However, Russian was always available when any such local lingua franca failed, and thus it was only in isolated highland or religious settlements, for example Gubden or Nizhniie Kazanishchi, that knowledge of Russian was not widespread. In these settlements poor Russian among girls was explained by the fact they were often taken out of school at an early age, while Arabic rather than Russian was taught to the boys in such villages.

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In non-religious Dagestani families, the third language in the hierarchy of linguistic preference – after the native language and Russian – was generally English. It was perceived necessary to know English in order to access highly-paid, prestigious jobs, and also in order to communicate outside Dagestan. Thus in remote Majalis, villagers subscribed to ‘Eshko’ courses for themselves and their children in order to compensate for the poor English teaching at school. Knowing several languages acted as a symbol of material wealth, and of successful adaptation to any environment. As in Tatarstan, before the revolution the written language in Dagestan was based on the Arabic script and thus Arabic was at least the fourth most important language for many Dagestanis. In deeply religious families Arabic was considered an important resource which offered the opportunity to continue one’s education in the East, and to read religious literature with ease. In ordinary Dagestani families it was perceived as the language of the Koran, embodying the form and meaning of the sacred texts and interest in Arabic language was part of the wider socio-cultural processes accompanying the Islamic revival.

Conclusion The first decade of post-Soviet life in Tatarstan and Dagestan has been characterized by a rapid growth in interest in the symbols, rituals and traditions of Islam. The actual practice of Islam in both republics, however, remains extremely diverse. This is partially a result of the way religion in general functions in contemporary secular society. But Islamic practice in the two republics has been profoundly conditioned also by the Soviet past, local customs and the peculiar interweaving of religious and ethnic identities in the regions. By the end of the 1990s, differences in knowledge, observance and techniques of ritual practice had become a factor of social differentiation. As the population increasingly engaged in ritual practice, fears arose that people were adopting a ‘cosmetic’ Islam, in which ritual displays of Islamic faith replaced profound religiosity. At the same time the habitualization of rituals increasingly led them to be perceived by many people as folk rather than religious rituals, while a utilitarian interpretation of religious symbolism also persisted. Amidst this diversity in ritual practice, however, certain rituals – namely circumcision and funeral ceremonies – retained significant meaning in the maintenance of Islamic identity. The main role in transmitting both religious and Islamic values was played by the family, the extended family, the home village and ethnic communities, and the mass media. These institutions allowed individuals to act as passive receivers of Islamic values, although the increasing importance of Islamic knowledge as a form of social capital had strengthened the role of social conformity (local ‘public opinion’) in promoting Islamic values. The Islamic education system, mosques, published religious literature, and

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Muslim communities were important sources of Islamization, but remained secondary to the family and media. A religious education system was being established, but individuals had no strong views on its role in society. Specialized Islamic education was a low priority for the populations of Tatarstan and Dagestan, although the inclusion of Islam as a subject in the school curriculum was considered important, especially in Tatarstan, where it was seen as playing a role in the moral education and ethnic acculturation of children. While still a minority choice, Islamic higher education had some attraction, especially in Dagestan, where it provided educational and material opportunities otherwise unattainable. Nevertheless a cautious attitude was maintained towards Islamic education because of the widespread negative image of ‘insincere, mercenary’ mullahs. Language was considered an important factor in the transmission of ideas and in the successful co-habitation of different ethnic groups. In Tatarstan, the Tatar language was being actively promoted by the state and its institutions and the Tatar language ability of the population had become a significant factor of socio-cultural differentiation. In Dagestan, multilingualism prevailed with Russian remaining the main language of inter-ethnic communication and being perceived as the language of social progress. Interest in Arabic in both Tatarstan and Dagestan was generally limited to the study of the Arabic script; the Arabic language itself was learned only by deeply religious individuals or members of the intellectual elite. In Dagestan, as in Tatarstan, language only became a conflictual issue when a family member chose to promote their native language and demanded the same from other members of the family, when the latter did not share the commitment. The ethnic hue to Islam in the post-Soviet space is a product of the localization of traditions within specific ethno-territorial units. Thus in Tatarstan, especially among non-religious and urban communities, there was a distinctive lack of differentiation between ethnic and Muslim rituals and traditions in everyday practice. Moreover traditional practices were seen as part of an ethno-cultural and religious heritage central to maintaining the link between generations and to reproducing ethnic distinctiveness. In this sense ‘Tatar Islam’ was characterized by two parallel tendencies: the gradual retreat from traditionalism, alongside a revival of rituals at the symbolic level. The tendency to distinguish ‘our’ Islam from that in other republics of Russia, the former Soviet Union and the states of the Middle East was manifest both in Tatarstan and Dagestan, however, and it is the role of Islam in the ethno-politics of the two republics that is interrogated in the following chapter.

Notes 1 In the particular case of Dagestan, the introduction of the law prohibiting Wahhabism in 1997 is at least partially responsible for this fall in public profes-

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sion of Islam since it made people more cautious about expressing their religious convictions. There are two types of alms – khaer, which is given to those who are genuinely poor and in need, and sadaqa, which is given at festivals to those present at the prayers. Sadaqa may be given for other reasons also. When somebody embarks, for example, on a long journey, they give sadaqa to someone who knows the Koran who then recites a prayer in order to provide protection for the person having made the donation. Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar and the month of alsaum (fasting). Gubden is one of the most religious villages in Dagestan. According to historical sources, this village is 3,500 years old. Thanks to the efforts of the local authorities, alcohol and tobacco products are not sold in the village. Music is banned at weddings, and mass festivals are not held. Girls usually leave school at 12 years of age. However, the village was by no means an ascetic island; the villagers had developed trade contacts with the Czech Republic, and people from Gubden were popularly considered to be the wealthiest and most successful traders in Dagestan. There are, nevertheless, significant variations in rites between villages. The animal’s throat is cut and the blood is let during which process a prayer must be said. In Kazan there are special shops where ‘Islamic’ meat is sold. In contrast the display of gold is probably more of a tribute to modern symbols of wealth and plenty. Kalym is a pre-Islamic custom of paying a ransom for a bride. This was also evident from the research process. Tatar respondents were offered the option of being interviewed in either Russian or Tatar, and most preferred to talk in Tatar. Practically every village had its own dialect and the more geographically and socially isolated the village, the more likely it was that the local language was comprehensible only to the native population. For the purposes of the research, however, we rarely had to resort to the services of interpreters, as most of the population spoke good Russian. Indeed, as respondents frequently noted, it was difficult to imagine any one language of Dagestan becoming the language for inter-ethnic communication since linguistic dominance was perceived as ethnic dominance.

6

Islam in multi-ethnic society Identity and politics Elena Omel’chenko, Hilary Pilkington and Gusel’ Sabirova

So intertwined are confessional and ethnic identities in the republics of the post-Soviet Russian Federation that Russian scholars are inclined to view post-Soviet developments as a single process of the ‘revival and reconstruction of ethno-confessional traditions’ (Malashenko 1998a: 7). Since for the current authors this relationship is the object of rather than a premise for study, in this chapter we chart the ways in which ethnic and religious identities and processes are woven together in the social fabric of contemporary Tatarstan and Dagestan. We suggest that the specific ethnic structures of Tatarstan and Dagestan – bipolarity in the first case, polyethnicity in the second – lend quite different significances to ethnic identification in each republic. The role of Islam in society is also profoundly shaped by this ethnic context, it is suggested, working either to cement ethnic distinctiveness (in the case of Tatarstan) or to transcend it (in the case of Dagestan). This chapter also raises questions about how ethnic and religious identities might be mobilized at the political level for the project of constructing modern civic identities. While it is more usual to consider Islam as a force for ‘retraditionalization’ (Malashenko 1998a: 7), we suggest that it contains also remodernizing impulses that facilitate the construction of complex identities that, at the everyday level at least, have the potential to disarm ethnicity as a site of conflict. In developing this argument, we explore the extent to which Islam currently facilitates or hinders the formation of republic-level civic identities. Has the unifying potential of Islam in Dagestan, for example, helped generate any kind of cohesive republic identity out of the polyethnic and clan-based society of Dagestan? Has the elite in Tatarstan managed to foster among ethnic Russians a sense of being ‘Tatarstanis’, or do they remain Russians who happen to be located on the territory of Tatarstan? The situation and role of the Russian populations in each of the republics is considered in some depth here, for even where they are numerically small (as in Dagestan) they have a leverage – via external pressure from Moscow – that carries significant weight in the politics of the republics. Finally the chapter considers the populations’ attitudes to the prospect of Islam becoming more than a favoured religion in a secular state,

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of the formation, in other words, of an ‘Islamic state’ on the territories of Tatarstan or Dagestan.

The benign ‘other’? the revival of ethnic identity in Tatarstan Now it is essential of course – we live in Tatarstan – it is essential to know Tatar, and to observe the customs, as they say. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Although, by the end of the 1990s, the potential for serious inter-ethnic conflict in Tatarstan was considered to have passed its peak, ethnicity remained a sensitive issue in the republic.1 Tatar ethnic identity was expressed by respondents primarily in opposition to a Russian ‘other’ and articulated through a ‘national grievance complex’. This complex was rooted in the interpretation of the history of Tatar–Russian relations and, in particular, the policy of the ‘drawing together’ of individual ethnic groups to gradually form a single Soviet, Russian-speaking people. Memories of this period were often recounted not as factual experiences but in the form of stereotypes about how Tatars had been ‘insulted’, ‘discriminated against’ and ‘put in their place’. However, everyday experiences – of reproach, humiliation or bullying – encountered by, or retold to, individuals appeared to entrench the sense of national grievance. An example of this came in an interview with a Tatar woman describing an experience in a hospital during the Soviet period: This Russian guy starts saying: ‘They were beggars, and we turned them into people…’I really tore him off a strip, and he apologised later. He was ashamed of what he’d said. But a poor Tatar man who was sitting, or lying, in the next bed covered his head with a blanket because he couldn’t bear to hear such talk, and he couldn’t answer back. That’s how intimidated we were. Later he said to me: ‘Thank you – at least you said something to him!’ I am proud of my nationality. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Polices of assimilation, even ‘oppression’, in the Soviet period were cited by respondents as reasons for poor native-language knowledge and negligent attitudes to the preservation of folk traditions and rituals among the contemporary Tatar population. Thus, it was seen as important for the republic to prioritize the promotion of Tatar culture, especially Tatar language. Respondents believed that Russians had not been aware that, in the Soviet period, the Tatar language had been stifled, and that this explained their negative reaction to the desire of Tatars currently to speak their native language freely. Another source of grievance was the lack of Islamic spiritual content in the education system where, it was said,

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communist dogma had been replaced by Christianity and Bible stories. This concern was not formulated in terms of Christian-Islamic confrontation, however – on the contrary Tatars showed a relatively high degree of tolerance towards Christianity – but in terms of equality of opportunity for the advancement of one’s religion. Where Tatar identity appeared as more than the oppressed ‘other’ of Russianness, there were two dominant narratives of ethnic identity. The first, and predominant, one was rooted in an understanding of ethnicity as the body one inhabits: ‘One’s nationality is as important to the individuals as roots are to a tree, I suppose’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). In this narrative, ethnicity was a personal and intimate thing. It was considered innate, or rather inherited from one’s parents and then transmitted via family, education, language and traditions. There was little reflection on the origins and nature of those traditions, however. The second narrative of Tatar identity envisaged ethnicity as a process. While the process (of belonging) was set in motion by the fact of ‘birth’, its momentum was determined by the individual’s growing awareness of the uniqueness and richness of popular spirituality as they developed: Firstly…my parents and relatives are all Tatars; I can’t be French, biologically speaking. Secondly – …now…I like Tatar poetry. The language began to attract me too, I started teaching…So I began to feel that this was very important to me, and life became more interesting…when you begin to appreciate diversity…through spirituality… (Tatarstan, Tatar man) This understanding of ethnicity was characterized by a degree of spiritual reflection on one’s ethnic belonging, and was most commonly found among members of the creative intelligentsia.2 The narrative was fuelled by discussions and reflections on the origins and history of the Tatars, as a result of which new symbols of the nation were produced. One example was the emergence of the popular image of the Volga Bulgars3 as representing the spiritual origins of the modern Tatar nation. The Volga Bulgars had acquired a mystical and mythological significance for Tatars, as is evident from the following description of the ruins of the ancient capital of Volga Bulgaria (which had become a popular tourist site) given by an artist from Naberezhnie Chelny: people come to look at their history…This is a land of mourning; it is all washed with blood. All washed with blood…You just need to say prayers here, observe a minute’s silence, do some mourning, some inward reflection…It is for…Bulgars, Tatars, Chuvash, well, basically, anybody who lives here, it is a holy Mecca. It is not a shrine according to the Koran, it is a shrine to our history. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman)

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Although ethnic identity was both an important and sensitive question in Tatarstan, the degree of significance attached to such issues, and the level of support for the further promotion of Tatar identity, varied significantly across the republic. This is, not least, because respondents’ imagined ethnoscape4 of contemporary Tatarstan was far more complex than any simple division between Tatars and Russians (see Figure 6.15). Tatar respondents differentiated, for example, between Tatarstan Tatars and those living beyond the borders of the republic. Even among Tatars within the republic, respondents marked out Mishars6 as a distinct group: My mother-in-law says that we are Mishars. And although we are pure Tatars, you know, it’s apparently just because of where I was born; you see, we say that Tatars in Bashkiriia and Tatars here are different… (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Apart from linguistic features, respondents cited individual character traits for which Mishars were noted, namely that they were very religious, hard-working and independent (‘try telling them what to do’). On the other hand, it was believed that the Mishars were cunning, excessively active (‘there’s something Jewish in them’) and proud (‘a very fiery people’). When comparing themselves with Mishars, Kazan Tatars stressed their own mild nature, their intelligence and lack of lust for power. A number of territorially rooted Tatar sub-groups such as Kazan Tatars and Chelny Tatars also figured in respondents’ narratives of ethnicity. These groups differed from each other mainly by virtue of their dialect. However, the Kazan Tatars were considered to be ‘pure’, ‘full-blooded’ Tatars, and because of this they were described by non-Kazan Tatars as having a somewhat condescending attitude to others: ‘Kazanites are very proud that they live in Kazan. But we [all other Tatars] are simple folk’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Rivalry between these sub-groups was particularly acute in the

Figure 6.1 The imagined ‘ethnoscape’ of post-Soviet Tatarstan

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interviews conducted with Chelny Tatars, perhaps because Naberezhnie Chelny was one of the centres of the ethno-national movement in Tatarstan. Contrasting themselves with the Russians, Tatars emphasized such common characteristics as industriousness, hospitality, tidiness and goodwill. Russians were ascribed the opposite characteristics. Tatar respondents frequently noted, for example, that Russian villages were not as neat and well-tended as Tatar villages, and that Russian people had lost any responsible attitude to work. Tatars’ descriptions of Russians were categorical and frank, and reflected and reproduced the current inter-ethnic tensions in the republic. However, there was also some sympathy for Russians, who had, as an ethnic group, also been damaged by the Soviet period; this was manifest in the recognition that Russian culture had been ‘lost’. Tatars also differentiated clearly between ‘indigenous’, Tatarstan Russians or immigrant Russians. Tatarstan Russians were seen as ‘locals’, because they knew the local traditions and circumstances, whereas ‘immigrants’ were believed to be more likely to assess the attitude of Tatars towards the Russians in the republic negatively. Alongside the Russians and the Tatars there was a third, hybrid, group in Tatarstan – the Kriashens (Tatars who had converted to Christianity). Selfidentification among this group, and Russian and Tatar perceptions of them, were complicated by the fact that Kriashens spoke Tatar but were Christians by faith. Tatar perceptions of the Kriashens were rooted in the latter’s perceived ‘betrayal’ of Islam. It was popular belief that when Ivan the Terrible had Christianized the Tatar population following the conquer of the Kazan Khanate in 1552, ‘strong Tatars’ had fled (or had been deported); those who stayed and converted were perceived, therefore, to have ‘betrayed’ Islam. In the current period of the revival of Tatar national identity, the Kriashens had found that a common past associated with subordination to dominant Russian (Soviet) culture – and in particular the social rejection of the Tatar language – that had previously rendered differences between Tatars and Kriashens irrelevant, no longer sufficed to unite them. As Islam became an important factor identifying ‘real’ Tatars, the Kriashens had found themselves unilaterally distanced from the Tatars. However, at the level of everyday interaction, this was not a confrontational factor; indeed the Kriashens’ ambiguous position between the Tatars and the Russians evoked sympathy. In the final instance, this ‘in-between’ identity was more problematic for the Kriashens themselves than for those around them. The widespread articulation – and tone – of ethnic ‘stereotypes’ in Tatarstan, both among Tatars and Russians, reflected dominant discourses of ethnicity and nationality within the republic. Respondents believed that the development of Tatar identity and the expansion of the social space in which the Tatar language was used might, in time, generate conflict with the Russian population. However, any potential deterioration of relations was perceived as issuing from the political realm, never from any latent hostility between people of different ethnic backgrounds themselves. Thus, respon-

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dents believed that the future of inter-ethnic relations in Tatarstan depended on the climate in relations between Russia and Tatarstan. As one respondent put it: ‘Everybody is waiting to see what Russia does, or what Kazan does’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). Many credited the President of Tatarstan, Mintimir Shaimiev, with the stabilization of the political situation in Tatarstan in the second half of the 1990s. This reflected, again, the belief that extreme manifestations of nationalism were advantageous primarily to politicians not people. Tatar interviewees were optimistic that peace would be maintained in the republic; a hope grounded in the belief that the cultures and fates of the Tatar people and the Russian people in Tatarstan were intertwined. To separate the two peoples was considered ‘impossible’ for, as one Tatar woman argued: ‘Scratch any Russian and you’ll find a Tatar…If you try and chop at the roots, the whole tree is doomed’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Tatar beliefs about themselves were that they were more prone to submission than aggression. The idea of the Tatars creating a mono-ethnic state was not seen therefore as even a long-term prospect, and respondents felt that politicians must be restrained from any moves towards national partition. Indeed, the only indication of any ‘nostalgia’ towards the Soviet era lay in the fact that the system had held in check the development of nationalism and ethnic segregation. One respondent noted that: ‘I liked the fact that under the communists you were not allowed to abuse other nationalities, and nobody ever said “you Tatar” or “you Jew”’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Tatar national identity in the post-Soviet period emerged from respondents’ talk as steeped in contradiction. On the one hand Soviet national policy was perceived negatively by almost everyone, because the national cultures of non-Russian peoples had been rendered subordinate. At the same time, stereotypes and stories of Soviet or Russian oppression were often accompanied by broadly positive assessments of ethnic Russians. Thus, it would appear, elements of the ‘national grievance complex’ were being mobilized in order to promote self-awareness among the Tatar population, but were not utilized to encourage hostility towards the Russian population. In this sense the complex worked as a catalyst for the development of Tatar identity, rather than for fomenting anti-Russian sentiment.

Dagestan: ethnic distinction, diversity and tolerance The more complex ethnic webbing of the Dagestani peoples resulted, perhaps paradoxically, in a less sensitive attitude towards ethnic identity than in Tatarstan. While the very small number and close proximity of many of the ethnic groups in Dagestan lent itself to frequent vocalization and display of ethnic distinctiveness, such manifestations were contextualized within a developed sense of tolerance towards others. Thus, in Dagestan, unlike Tatarstan, ethnic stereotypes related mostly to everyday encounters and were expressed with simultaneous conviction and affection. Negative

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ethnic stereotyping was articulated in the love-hate tone of sibling ‘rivalries’: ‘Avars are the most religious and the richest people’, ‘Lezgins show no respect and are the poorest people’, ‘Dargins are the cleverest and most cunning’. Such practices generally related to everyday problems in a resource-deprived social context and reproduced received stereotypes rather than real conflict. Where tension did emerge, it was generally in the process of the distribution of social capital: getting a job, gaining admission to university, elections for members of parliament and the head of the republic and so on. Opportunities and access to status-bestowing resources sometimes depended directly on family (tukhum) ties. Every ‘national’ (including ‘Dagestanified’ Russians) who had reached a position of power immediately sought to surround themselves with relatives and people of their own ethnicity, creating almost insuperable barriers to the advancement of ‘others’ within this hierarchy. However, respondents recognized the ‘everyday’ (non-political) nature of such conflict and were confident that such tendencies would not develop into more serious inter-ethnic conflict. Thus, despite the ethnic diversity and distinctiveness of the peoples of Dagestan in terms of culture, language, numerical strength and degree of religiosity, the most striking differences were not so much between ethnic groups as within them. Ethnic distinctiveness was expressed primarily through a set of ethno-cultural traditions whose origins were associated with one’s native village or blood relations while the large number of interethnic marriages contributed to the formation of new identities and new interethnic ties. In this sense Dagestanis held a ‘trans-ethnic’ identity forged from a series of interlocking layers of kinship and political affiliation (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 24). These ethno-cultural differences were determined by geographical, territorial and cultural factors: rural or urban residency,7 religious or non-religious community, and the historical circumstances of the formation of the ethno-cultural neighbourhood. The peculiar ethno-territorial identification found in Dagestan may be attributed in part to the policy of the amalgamation of ethnic groups in the process of ‘national consolidation’ undertaken during the 1930s–1960s, which had led to the nominal enlargement of the main ethnic groups – the Avars, Dargins and others – through the incorporation of some of the smaller ethnic groups. Depriving these smaller ethnic groups of independent status encouraged them to adopt territorial rather than accept ‘false’ ethnic identities. The fieldwork conducted for this study encountered such identities particularly strongly in three settlements: Gubden, Kubachi and Majalis. In the census, most of the inhabitants of these three communities registered as Dargins – ‘They all put themselves down as Dargins, but they are not Dargins…They are quite different…the Soviet authorities merged them and recorded it thus’ (Dagestan, Dargin man) – but they preferred to describe themselves as Gubdenis, Kubachians and Kaitaigis respectively. All three communities had their own dialects and each village represented an individual model of ethnic, religious and social identification. Gubden was one

Interior design in Kubachi village, Dagestan. 11 July 1998. Photo: Elena Omel’chenko

Children from Majalis village, Dagestan. 19 July 1998. Photo: Elena Omel’chenko

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of the most Islamized communities in Dagestan and had retained a working mosque throughout the Soviet period. By the end of the 1990s each ‘quarter’8 had its own mosque; there were twenty-seven mosques in the village at the time of fieldwork. In contrast, Kubachi was a mountain settlement where Islam did not enjoy such high status as in Gubden. Kubachians were well-known not only in Dagestan but throughout Russia for their silverware, however, and had managed to preserve their traditions in dress, utensils and interior design. In contrast to both these communities, Majalis was steeped in neither religious nor ethnic folk tradition, but appeared to be a classic example of the universal Soviet village. The different trajectories of these villages reflected the more complex process of ‘assimilation’ in Soviet Dagestan. Whereas in Tatarstan, the Soviet period appeared to have a single manifestation – the subordination of minority ‘Tatar’ identity to Russian (Soviet) culture – in Dagestan assimilation processes had two distinct dimensions. On the one hand there was, of course, the influence of the dominant Russian (Soviet) culture on national traditions via language, media, culture and universal secondary education. On the other hand, cultural exchange and inter-ethnic borrowing was rooted in the long-term cultural engagement of different ethnic groups and, in particular, of inter-ethnic marriages and processes of ethnic consolidation. This is not to suggest that Dagestan has been unaffected by the disintegrative and separatist tendencies that have coloured the development of Russia’s other republics over the last decade. In Dagestan – just as in Tatarstan – sections of the population expressed resentment of past

Entrance to Gubden village, Dagestan. 12 July 1998. Photo: Vladimir Pavlov

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Russification and called for the restoration of ethnic equality. However, the aggravation and politicization of ethnic conflict has been inhibited by the practice of long-term neighbourly relations, which had generated a sense of living in a truly inter-national space: I am an internationalist, there’s nothing I can do about it. I might say what I think of the Avars, if something prompts me to…My wife is Russian, and what about my daughters? They’re married…one of them to a sort of Azerbaijani, the second is an Avar, although his mother’s from Gor’kii…and the third’s a Cossack of all things. How can we talk about nationalism?! (Dagestan, Avar man) The absence of any elite with a vested interest in separatism has been significant also; Dagestan’s cultural and academic intelligentsia was essentially fashioned in the Soviet tradition of internationalism. Above all, however, the very ethnic complexity of Dagestan has served to constrain extremism amongst any constituent group and led to the development of a process of elite bargaining based on the maintenance of ethnic elite parity (Ware and Kisriev: 2001: 106). The delicate nature of this parity was ever present, however. Concentration of power in the hands of any one particular ethnic group rapidly generated whole clans within the state hierarchy and limited access to economic and social resources for the representatives of other ethnic groups. Thus a greater threat to the precarious ethnic balance in the republic was posed by the exploitation of the system of ethnic balancing than by popular ethnic stereotyping: You travel around the area…you ask what problems people have with other ethnic groups. They’ll look at you in confusion…And on an everyday level, there aren’t any, except for the intelligentsia who want to secure themselves some job or other under the guise of ethnic…of sharing out the pie. (Dagestan, Avar man) The climate of heightened ethnic awareness had encouraged the ethnic revival of the smaller ethnic groups and calls for the establishment of their own written languages. Conflicts between mountain, mountain foothills and plain peoples were also latent, if not already active.9 Such disputes had been complicated by the forced resettlements of the Soviet period – particularly that of the Chechens who were deported from their traditional lands in Dagestan to Kazakstan in February 1944 – which have resulted in an almost irresolvable set of claims and counterclaims from returned deportees, resettlers and new migrants.10

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‘Ethnic minority’ status in formation: the Russian communities The heightened role of Islam and the growth of ethnic consciousness among non-Russian groups in Tatarstan and Dagestan have had important consequences for the non-Muslim – mainly Russian – populations of the two republics. Used to belonging to the passive majority, the Russian populations of the republics failed to promote their own ethnic and religious identities during the rapid growth of ethnic and religious consciousness in the early 1990s. By the end of the decade, as a result, the Russian populations felt their own ethnic identities to have been neglected, or even undermined. Mosque-building and the growth in the public display of Islamic symbols were obvious manifestations of Russian exclusion. Russian respondents articulated more fundamental concerns, however, about the way in which the old ethnic ‘minorities’ had introduced new practices in the upbringing of the younger generation, which signaled not only their different way of life but constituted a potential threat to the ethnic identification of the Russian community and challenged its confidence in the ultimate strength of the ‘great Russian people’. The Russian population in Tatarstan: turning the tables Interviews with ethnic Tatars revealed that individuals were aware that Russians were unhappy with the Tatarization policies being pursued in Tatarstan. In interpreting their position, however, the starting point was always a comparison with the position of Tatars in the Soviet period. Tatar respondents thus either denied that current policies gave cause for Russian grievance (‘they don’t feel aggrieved or hurt’), or ascribed such grievance to the fact that Russians were used to being ‘in charge’. Even in the most extreme statements of Tatar respondents, however, there was never any hint of ethnic ‘supremacism’; Tatars did not think they could be or should be ‘feared’. In reality, the position of Russians in Tatarstan was governed by a complex of social problems. In everyday talk their difficulties were most readily articulated in the expression of discomfort with the rapid expansion of the public display of Islamic symbols, which – unlike in Dagestan – was something associated wholly with the recent period. Fears about the growing manifestation of Islamic symbols were fuelled by the myth of a threat from the ‘Tatar countryside’, envisaged as a stronghold of Islamism. Russian respondents were convinced that Islam had been preserved in its harshest forms in rural areas, and that individual manifestations of Islamic advances in the towns were the result of Tatars coming in from the countryside. Such manifestations were distinguished, therefore, from a more general revival of religious spirituality and morality, whether Christian or Islamic, which was perceived positively. Indeed, Russian respondents clearly differentiated Islam in Tatarstan from Islam as associated with Chechnia and Dagestan, and saw the revival of Islamic faith as a positive development, as suggested by the

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A village church in Laishevskii raion, Tatarstan. 22 August 1997. Photo: Gusel’ Sabirova

following Russian respondent: ‘Let the Muslims believe in their Allah. We believe in our Lord God. Everyone can have their own. The more they build the better. Perhaps the people will change. There will be less cruelty’ (Tatarstan, Russian woman). The confidence of the Russians in Tatarstan that Islam was not a threat to them was reinforced by the republic’s location in the centre of Russia, by the secular nature of Tatarstan society, by the perceived affinity of Tatars with Russian culture, and by the fact that it would be impossible to establish Islam in its classical form in Tatarstan. Thus, Islamization was perceived by the Russians first and foremost as part of the process of ethno-national revival in Tatarstan. It was other aspects of this national revival that alienated the Russian population. Russians felt excluded, in particular, by the penetration of Tatar language into public spaces such as public transport (where stops were announced in Tatar), shops (where products were labeled in Tatar) and the workplace (where appointments and promotions were felt to be determined by ethnic belonging). Many Russians felt strongly that it was important for them to know Tatar. However, negative perceptions of the expansion of the Tatar language increased with age: parents, who gave themselves no hope of learning the language, often believed that their children would also be unable to learn Tatar. The exodus of Russians from Tatarstan was frequently attributed to the uncertainty surrounding the future of their children as they negotiated education and employment pathways, and there was evident concern among Russians in Tatarstan about a potential link

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Russian peasants in folklore costume, a village in Laishevskii raion, Tatarstan. 22 August 1997. Photo: Gusel’ Sabirova

between language knowledge and employment opportunities. Just as the fear of ‘rural’ Islam was based largely in ignorance about Islam as a faith, so too fears about language policies were fuelled by media reports of extreme language policies such as those introduced in the Baltic States; these were often cited as a worst-case scenario for future developments in the republic. Russian and Tatar respondents agreed that the social inclusion of the Russian population in contemporary Tatarstan was most threatened by their inability to speak Tatar and by the restriction of employment opportunities to those of non-Tatar ethnic background. Their interpretation of these issues differed fundamentally, however, as a result of their different perceptions of the status of the Russians in the republic. While Russians themselves identified with the Russian (rossiiskii) majority of the Russian Federation – being, by chance, located in Tatarstan – Tatars saw them as ‘Tatarstan Russians’, on a par with Tatarstan Tatars. Effectively Russians in Tatarstan sought to identify themselves as part of the ‘bigger’ Russian majority, while being positioned, and perceived by Tatars, within Tatarstan as an ethnic minority. Russians in Dagestan: Dagestanis in all but religion Russians in Dagestan made up an insignificant percentage of the population, and they were highly assimilated and adapted to Dagestani culture.

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Russians interviewed were often the children and grandchildren of specialists who had come to Dagestan in the prewar and postwar period in order to develop the republic’s economy. While continuing to identify as Russians, they displayed a high degree of solidarity with the ‘nationals’, as they called them, stressing their positive qualities and features: hospitality, respect for their elders and mutual support. When discussing the Russians who lived in the ‘other’ Russia, many Russian Dagestanis criticized them for their rudeness, their proclivity towards alcoholism, laziness, the absence of real support and help for one another, the scattered nature of their families and the lack of a good upbringing11: our people are so much more respectful, so much gentler then they are. There are Cossacks down there in Stavropol’, in Rostov oblast’…They are basically coarse by nature and very rowdy. And I contrast them with our people, the Dagestanis. (Dagestan, Russian woman) Given such a high degree of integration, it is not surprising that the respondent group included individual Russians who had converted to Islam – a young man who had moved to a strongly Islamic village and a female student of the Islamic University in Makhachkala – although such conversions were not a mass phenomenon. Russian respondents explained the recent exodus of Russians from the republic12 not as a response to ethnic oppression, but to the economic situation in Dagestan, the military conflict in Chechnia and concerns for their children’s future. This flight – which was far from exclusive to the Russian population – might have been still more intense were it not for the fact that the Russian language had remained widely accepted as the language for inter-ethnic communication. Language was not a mechanism of ethnic exclusion in Dagestan – as, for example, in Tatarstan – and indeed the polyethnicity of Dagestan lent the republic a tolerant atmosphere with regard to all ethnic groups, including Russians. In fact, many Russians who had left Dagestan in the course of the preceding decade had subsequently returned having found a cold welcome in Russia. Such emigrants had found themselves labelled as people of ‘Caucasian nationality’, or even ‘Chechens’.13 Russian respondents in areas of high concentration of Russians – Kizliar, for example – suggested that only those Russians without the material resources or social networks to enable them to leave had remained. This was confirmed by some natives of Kizliar who described themselves as hostages to Russia’s (Moscow’s) new policy towards Dagestan. Others who remained, however, clearly wished to do so; they were well integrated into Dagestani society and explained their decisions with reference to the positive attributes of ‘their’ Dagestani identity and culture. Dagestani Russians were generally more wary of Islam than Russians in Tatarstan, and their assessments of Islam as a religion were harsher. Islam

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was described as a cruel, merciless, dangerous religion and, looking to the future, many cited the example of Chechnia. Islam was often envisaged as a return to the Middle Ages, characterized by out-of-date laws, the neglect of education, the oppression of women and an undemocratic (non-Western, uncivilized) power structure. The gender question was central here: Russian respondents viewed Islam above all through the prism of gender relations, as a religion that institutionalized unequal relations between men and women. Although Islam was an important unifying force in the republic for nonRussian ethnic groups, therefore, it remained a divisive factor between ‘nationals’ and Russians. Among non-Russians, there was a widespread denial that Russians were ‘oppressed’ in any way in Dagestan. This narrative was partially a defensive response to the perceived spread of ‘Muscovite sentiments’, a euphemism for the conscious dissemination of ‘national hatred towards the Caucasus’ through the media and the stance of the Moscow city authorities. This context led some respondents to suggest that images of oppressed Russians were being created by fanatic (Russian) nationalists, and that the mass migration of Russians was a myth peddled by the media. They suggested that any violence against Russians in the republic was purely criminal, and thus ethnically indiscriminate. If Russians were targeted, respondents suggested, it was only because they did not have a large clan of relatives to defend them. Negative attitudes towards the Russian population were expressed very rarely, and as a rule only in relation to the Soviet past.14 The older generation remembered that most schoolteachers had been Russian, and continued to hold them in great respect: ‘Even now, in the countryside, if someone’s clever and knows a lot, people say they are “like a Russian”’ (Dagestan, Avar woman). The deteriorating situation for Russians in Dagestan thus evoked sympathy among Dagestanis (the ‘nationals’) who recognized that Russians were being eased out of important social spheres. While some respondents were reluctant to call this ‘oppression’, others were unequivocal about the unenviable position of Russians: ‘Well, basically the Russians have become slaves here, I’d say’ (Dagestan, Kumyk woman). Dagestanis believed that anti-Russian discrimination was rooted in the failure by the authorities to control ethnic employment policies, the lack of attention on the part of Moscow to new pro-nationalist processes in Dagestan and, of course, the rapid revival of Islam. Quite often ‘nationals’ went as far as to set up special commissions under the auspices of town councils to protect the Russian-speaking population. Nevertheless, the Dagestani population concurred with the Russian community that it was not ‘discrimination’ against Russians that was the main reason for their current emigration from the republic; to blame was rather the socio-economic crisis in Dagestan, which was causing representatives of other Dagestani nationalities to leave the republic as well.15

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Beyond one nation-one state: dilemmas of civic and ethnic identity If at the individual level, widespread ethnic stereotyping was accompanied by a general ethnic tolerance, at the political level a delicate balancing act was conducted in both Kazan and Makhachkala. Republican governments had three common goals: the maintenance of ethnic harmony within the republic, the retention of good, working relations with Moscow and the promotion of a republic-level civic identity as the basis of economic prosperity and political stability and progress. The significance of each of these goals varied between the republics: whereas in Dagestan the first was paramount, in Tatarstan, the building of Tatarstani identity was crucial to the prospect of increased independence from Moscow. Tatarstan: the slow road to independence The population of Tatarstan has shown consistently strong support for statehood. Data from the Colton and Hough survey in 1993 suggested that 42 per cent of the population of Tatarstan already completely or partially supported the transfer of control of the army, police and security forces to the jurisdiction of the sovereign republics, compared to just 20 per cent of the population of Dagestan for example (Gorenburg 2001: 86). The signing of the bilateral treaty between Tatarstan and Russia in 1994 was thus seen as an important step in the development of Tatar national consciousness. Respondents participating in the research undertaken for this book evaluated positively its contribution to the socio-economic development of Tatarstan, the maintenance of civil peace and consensus and to establishing a model for building relations with Russia. The Treaty of 1994 was thus understood as both an achievement of the Tatarstan government and people and, by some sections of the population, also as a process; the beginning of Tatarstan’s long mission to acquire statehood. The consciously upbeat celebration of the tenth anniversary of the Declaration of State Sovereignty of Tatarstan in Kazan on 30 August 2000 serves only to remind us that the Tatarstan leadership has little intent of giving up any of the concessions won from Moscow, despite the formal expiry of the Treaty and the finding by the Russian Federation constitutional court (in June of the same year) that Tatarstan’s claim to be a sovereign state was unconstitutional (Graney 2001: 32). The desired future political trajectory of Tatarstan was understood differently by respondents, however. Interview data suggested that respondents were more or less equally divided between three main positions:16 anti-separatist, gradualist and secessionist. The first group – anti-separatists – wholly opposed any separation of Tatarstan from Russia. Some respondents objected to the very question of the sovereignty of Tatarstan being raised in any form for fear of possible confrontation and conflict with Russia and the disruption of peace and order in the republic. Political inexperience and

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economic insecurity were additional arguments levied against independence by respondents. These individuals saw the way forward rather as being through the development and maintenance of treaty-based relations with Russia from within the Russian Federation. Gradualists supported the idea of full sovereignty for Tatarstan alongside a gradual restructuring of the Russian Federation into a confederation, and often cited Tatarstan’s favourable economic position, relative to Russia, in support of eventual independence. However, sovereignty was viewed as conditional upon sufficient economic development and accumulation of experience among the republic’s political leadership. Secessionists, in contrast, saw independence as a precondition for the efficient development of the republic’s economy. These respondents pointed to the intangible quality of the existing ‘sovereignty’, behind which Tatarstan continued to be dependent on Russia. Even those who strongly supported secession, however, saw this as implying the development of cooperation and friendly relations with Russia rather than confrontation with Moscow. The growing support for sovereignty for Tatarstan was articulated by respondents in the increasing tendency to adopt the term ‘Tatarstani’ to define one’s civic belonging. At one end of the spectrum, respondents employed categorical statements of Tatarstani identity that excluded any sense of being ‘Russian’.17 Standard statements by Tatar respondents included: ‘I consider myself Tatarstani, I don’t want to be part of Russia’; ‘I’m certainly not Russian, only Tatarstani’; ‘Tatarstani of course, only Tatarstani’.18 Respondents in this group were most prone to ‘nationalist’ sentiment and envisaged a distinct form of national development for the republic. At the other end of the spectrum, some respondents continued to identify primarily as Russians (where Russia was understood as USSR writ small), but not Tatarstanis. Where ethnic Tatars articulated this feeling, it signified the hangover of Russian domination, as expressed by the following respondent: I am still Russian; I don’t yet feel myself to be Tatarstani…Well, there’s still pressure on the authorities from Russia all the same…Despite everything…Well, I feel that we are becoming Tatarstanis, but we haven’t got there yet, not completely. There is still a Russian feeling, there is pressure from them. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) Between these two polar positions, lay a multitude of configurations of Tatarstani and Russian identity. In this middle ground, respondents felt themselves to be both Tatarstani and Russian. For some, Tatarstani identity was becoming increasingly dominant as the republic etched out its particular space in the Federation and these respondents generally had a positive attitude to the new identity: ‘Tatarstani, but probably in Russia I guess’; ‘Tatarstani, of course, primarily, but not without Russia. Russian secon-

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darily, of course’. The other group of respondents who held a simultaneous sense of self as both Russian and Tatarstani revealed rather a nostalgia for the Soviet past, which they transferred to the multi-ethnic ‘Russian’ (rossiiskii) identity. This was expressed in a conscious preference for a two-tiered identity: ‘I am Russian, and Tatarstani, and I really liked living in the Soviet Union. I felt like a human being’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Such respondents adopted the Russian federal discourse that placed state identification above territorial belonging, often as a response to the heightened role of ethnic factors in the public sphere. Dagestan: tarred with the ‘secessionist’ brush? In contrast to Tatarstan, in Dagestan a relatively well-developed sense of Dagestani identity existed alongside very low support for any vision of an independent Dagestan. The lack of aspiration to secession was wellgrounded economically, politically and culturally. Dagestan remained heavily dependent on Russia economically while, politically, secession from Russia evoked visions of political instability in the region, encapsulated by the notion of ‘a second Chechnia’. Indeed, the example of the development of other republics, which had seceded not only failed to inspire the Dagestanis, but on the contrary reinforced their negative perception of secession from Russia. In cultural terms, there was a significant Dagestani diaspora in Russia (particularly in Moscow and its neighbouring oblasts) and out-migration continued apace, making secession unpalatable. Indeed, seceding from Russia and possibly acceding to another state – Azerbaijan, Iran, Turkey or Chechnia for example – was viewed as culturally more unacceptable than the current state of affairs: I don’t think there’s any alternative. Why? Because…our culture, the economy, and yes, politics too, are all interlinked with Russia, not with any other, third country. That means even if we wanted to join Azerbaijan, say, or Chechnia, or somewhere else, tomorrow, their laws would not suit us. Why? Because we are already people of Russia, we live by the canons and laws of Russia. (Dagestan, Azeri man) Effectively, Russia, ethnic Russians (russkie) and the Russian language underpinned the multi-ethnic identity of Dagestan; respondents could not imagine having to choose a new official language and flag for the republic, for example. Given the weight of these multi-faceted reasons for remaining within the Russian Federation discussion about any possible separation from Russia was portrayed as provocation. There were fears that some kind of secession movement might be incited by individual leaders of various, armed ethnonational movements in Dagestan with localized power bases, even though

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secessionism had no broad popular support. Other factors blamed for the emergence of the question of secession included the military action in Chechnia (which had broken down trust between ethnic Russians (russkie) and Dagestanis both on an official and personal level, and the policies of Western countries – Turkey, America and Britain – which, it was suggested, had a vested interest in a deterioration in relations between Dagestan and Russia. From the Dagestani perspective, therefore, the only real issue in relations between Dagestan and Russia was the creation in the federal Russian media of a folk devil image of Caucasian peoples. Dagestan, it was claimed, was portrayed as a region of threat, and the significance and scale of armed clashes in the republic, for example, were deliberately embellished and exaggerated while nothing about the republic’s life or culture more widely was reported. Any media interest, it was thought, was of a sensationalist nature, stimulated by the proximity of Dagestan to Chechnia. The anti-Muslim propaganda in the federal press, it was claimed, might provoke an internal division of Russia into Christian and Muslim worlds, and this contributed to a distaste for, and almost total mistrust of, all reports in the ‘Moscow media’. The rejection of secessionist ideas, however, does not imply the weak articulation of ‘Dagestani’ identity. On the contrary, this was well developed; ‘If a person lives in Dagestan then they are Dagestani…it would be good if it didn’t say Dargin, say, or Avar or Kumyk in our passports, but just Dagestani’ (Dagestan, Dargin man). Dagestani identity was rooted partially in internal republican traditions of neighbourly cooperation – institutionalized via the jamaat – and intermixing of ethnic groups, but had also been moulded by ‘outside’ perceptions of it. In the USSR, the image of ‘Dagestanis’ was embedded in notions of ‘the peoples of Dagestan’, the Caucasian folk-dance ‘Lezginka’, ‘Caucasian longevity and hospitality’ and ‘multi-ethnic Dagestan’. In the post-Soviet period, Dagestani identity had been re-forged rather defensively in response to new Russian images of ‘people of Caucasian nationality’ and the Caucasus as a ‘zone of national conflict’. Falling under the category of ‘people of Caucasian nationality’, Dagestanis in Moscow were subjected to innumerable document checks, which offended their dignity. This change in status for Dagestanis in Moscow had been experienced particularly painfully by those who travelled regularly to Moscow, or who had studied there in Soviet times, and stories of the treatment of Dagestanis in Moscow were frequently recounted by respondents. While the current political attitude to and image of the Caucasus was primarily to blame for the tensions, they were exacerbated by cultural misunderstandings and miscommunications. The attitude to Dagestanis on the part of the Moscow authorities, for example, flew in the face of the central tenet of Caucasian hospitality, that guests should be helped and treated with respect. Thus Muscovites – who had become increasingly inward-looking as the cost

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of living steadily rose – failed to understand the concerns of ‘hot-tempered’ Caucasians asserting the need to uphold traditions of respect for seniority, good-neighbourliness and mutual assistance. The determination of Dagestanis to stand up for their civil right to freedom of movement around their own country and to equal treatment with other guests in the capital, irrespective of their facial structure, complexion and colour of their eyes and hair, only inflamed the situation. The result was that deep-seated grudges were formed as Dagestanis felt that they were being rejected by Russia, or more strictly speaking, Moscow: This gives me a negative attitude not to the Russian people themselves so much as to the ‘Caucasian nationality’ policy…Is it my fault that I am of Caucasian nationality?…You are looking at an individual person…But that’s it – you’re ‘a national’!19 Hands up… (Dagestan, Dargin man) We’re not aliens. It can be really hurtful…It is very nasty and very hard to take when you are called names. ‘Look at all these black so-and-sos who’ve come here!’ It is so hurtful, you know. We are not just anyone. When Americans go there, they get a lot of respect, they are accepted. And we are Russians! Even black people there, nobody says anything to them, real black people. (Dagestan, Lezgin woman)

Islam, the state and politics Interpreting popularly held views on the role of Islamic values and norms in the socio-political development of the two republics was complicated by the peculiar understanding of ‘state’ and ‘politics’ in post-Soviet Russia. In Tatarstan and Dagestan, Islam as a political force was interpreted negatively, being associated with the reactionary policies and mercenary aims of the nationalist movements in the republics. In contrast, largely positive attitudes were articulated with regard to the possible role of Islam in the state structure. This is explained by both the widespread distaste for the ‘political process’ in Russia, but also more specifically by the fact that when articulating their views, respondents were clearly equating ‘the state’ with ‘society’. Thus what respondents were approving were the construction of mosques and the opening of religious institutes, and the attendance of state leaders at Islamic festivals. However, when asked what they thought about any more profound ‘Islamization’ of the republics, including the introduction of Islamic laws, few respondents offered formulated responses, inhibited as they were by a poor level of information about both the way in which states function and about the ways in which Islam might play a role in such a system.

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Tatarstan In Tatarstan, respondents regarded the state and Islam as necessarily engaged. Islam was viewed primarily as having a moral and ethical role in society and required state support in order to carry out this function. Male respondents discussed the question of Islam and the state more extensively than female respondents and, although they never talked of the possible creation of ‘an Islamic state’, supported a further rapprochement between state and religion: There is simply no question of religion replacing the state, but to separate religion from the state altogether isn’t right either, I think…At the end of the day the state is there to satisfy the needs of citizens in all spheres, including the cultural sphere and the religious sphere. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) Thus while only 3 per cent of Muslim believers (and only 2 per cent of all those surveyed) in Tatarstan considered that the shariat should be introduced in the republic, the majority of both believers and non-believers thought that its regulations should be acknowledged in the republic’s legislative practice (Kaariainen and Furman 1999: 219).20 Among respondents in Tatarstan a positive attitude to the shariat was often encountered, largely because of the low level of awareness as to what its introduction would actually entail. This response was also rooted in the perceived need for the state to act as a moral and ethical regulator; in this sense Islam was portrayed as a possible resolution to growing crime rates and a lack of educational models. Nevertheless, any full Islamization of the republic was seen as impossible in the near future, not least because of the ethnic and religious composition of the republic. As one Tatar respondent stated quite simply, ‘While Russians [russkie] and Tatars both live here, how could you have Islam here? What are you thinking of ? That could never happen!’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Dagestan As in Tatarstan, attitudes to the further Islamization of Dagestan were not uniform. Those most positively disposed towards the shariat were, on the one hand, the most religious members of the population who viewed it as an important regulator of relations in Islamic society: All the laws of the shariat are geared towards people, there is no law which is anti-people, everything is for the sake of people, for the sake of the welfare of people here and in the afterlife. (Dagestan, Dargin man) On the other hand, supporters of the introduction of the shariat were also concentrated in a small group of Dagestanis who were ill-informed

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about its principles but who saw it as a possible instrument for solving the severe crime problems facing the republic. The Islamic intellectual elite and religious elders also explored the republic’s Islamic heritage for anything that might be instrumentally used to extricate Dagestani society from its current crisis and suggestions for the employment of shariat laws in specific areas such as the tax system, and jurisprudence had resulted. If a common base line on this question was to be constructed from respondents’ statements, then it would probably be that respondents believed that Dagestan should be a secular democratic state, but one in which Islam was given attention at the highest level. For much of the largely progressive population of Dagestan, the introduction of the shariat was interpreted as a return to the Middle Ages and the idea that it might become the legislative basis for the republic was rejected. At a pragmatic level, it was considered unthinkable that Russia would allow the creation of a Muslim state within its borders. Moreover religion, it was thought, should remain the personal affair of individuals and, as such, remain separate from politics and the state. The public, it was felt, was also not sufficiently religious to accept the ideas of the shariat and valued personal freedoms too highly to accept some of the strict behavioural codes within the shariat, for example in relation to women. In practice, strong adat traditions in Dagestan would constrain the development of the Islamic shariat, meaning that the shariat, at most, might work together, or in competition, with adat norms to govern everyday life:21 If the shariat becomes the basis of law, it will spell misfortune for the people. The people will never accept…the shariat as the basis of law…In his time Shamyl tried to introduce the shariat in Dagestan, for twentyfive years, under him and before him. The people didn’t accept it. The people lived by their own customs, traditions, adats…even if they set up or establish an Islamic republic, like the Chechens say…The people live by their adats, which have been renewed and revised to conform to conditions today… (Dagestan, Avar man)

Religious extremism: ‘Wahhabism’ The association of Islam with the activities of terrorist groups, even where such groups used the banner of Islam, was rejected by Muslims in both Tatarstan and Dagestan. At the same time, living as they did in a global environment in which terrorism, aggression and extremism were part of the perception of modern Islam, respondents were keen to distance their own beliefs from ‘militarized’, ‘aggressive’ images of Islam. At the federal Russian level, this aggressive Islam appeared discursively as Wahhabism. While Wahhabism as a religious movement and Wahhabism as a construct of the official state discourse in Russia are two different phenomena, the research undertaken for this book focused not on unpicking those differences, but

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rather upon reconstructing the popular image of Wahhabism22 among the populations of Tatarstan and Dagestan at the end of the 1990s. In the process of negating Wahhabism, respondents also generated a picture of what they saw as constituting their ‘own’ Islam. Tatarstan In Tatarstan at the end of the 1990s, individuals’ understanding of Wahhabism or Islamic fundamentalism – as about Islam in general – was often vague and poorly informed, being based largely on rumour, guesswork and information gathered in a fragmentary way from the media, predominantly television. The clearest conception of Wahhabism was found among the intelligentsia, who expressed a consistently negative attitude towards it. This group associated Wahhabism with Chechnia and the ‘Arab’ countries and ruled out any possibility of the total Islamization of Tatarstan on the grounds that the republic was a ‘Europeanized’, multi-ethnic republic. The only possibility of a ‘Wahhabi’ scenario developing in Tatarstan was considered to be via a nationalist non-popular political coup. Non-intelligentsia interviewees in Tatarstan expressed the view that Wahhabis were distinguished by different Islamic traditions; they tended towards aggression, cruelty and inhumanity. At the same time, respondents were conscious that this image was based upon representations of Wahhabis transmitted by a media with their own agenda: I would say that the media show the extremes – the shariat court in Chechnia, say, Wahhabism in Dagestan and in the Arab Emirates. You can only judge it by what’s in the media. It’s the same with clothes – particularly for women – the chadra in Iran, you only judge by those factors. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) Thus, on the one hand, in Tatarstan no ‘real’ threat was perceived to emanate from Wahabbism: Wahabbism, according to one Tatar interviewee ‘has just been made up by the Russians’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). Yet, paradoxically this belief itself – in the context of the complex, ethnically charged environment in republic – revealed that Wahhabism remained, indirectly, a potential issue of confrontation. Dagestan In Dagestan, attitudes to Wahhabism were also generally negative, but more complex and multi-faceted. This was because there were not one but two major sources of information about the movement: the media, and firsthand knowledge. As in Tatarstan, probably the main source of information was the media, which waged an intensive negative propaganda war against

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Wahhabism, matched only in its ferocity by the state campaign against it. The Dagestani population had an alternative source of information, however. Many respondents had acquaintances that had converted to Wahhabism, had attended the sermons of visiting Wahhabis, had had the opportunity of taking part in intellectual discussions with them, or were simply neighbours with them. For Dagestanis, therefore, the issue of Wahhabism was real rather than a ‘fiction’ and thus during interviews in Dagestan the discussion of Wahhabism was frequently initiated by respondents themselves. Moreover, because respondents were drawing on experience as well as stereotypical images in talking about Wahhabism, it appeared as a complex and contradictory phenomenon. At the most general level, there was a widespread negative attitude to Wahhabism. Respondents talked about Wahhabism as ‘a frightening faith’, ‘a non-Muslim faith’, ‘a corruption of faith’, ‘a forbidden faith’ and having been ‘specially invented to provoke strife between Muslims’. Emotional responses, such as the following one, were common: ‘I despise them, I hate them, I literally shudder when I think of them’ (Dagestan, Dargin woman). Thus, Wahhabism had already been mythologized at a popular level. Wahhabis’ rites and rituals were seen as deviating from Dagestani Islam: ‘they throw the deceased into the bushes’, ‘they dismember them’, ‘they only pray three times a day instead of five’, ‘they do not acknowledge the Prophet Muhammad’. There was also talk of the differences in their outward appearance, especially the importance attached to beards and a particular style of dress including the infamous rolled up trousers. Secondly, Wahhabis were described as ‘fanatics’ that might kill for their religion. Another popular belief was that Wahhabism had originated and developed courtesy of Western finance (being associated in particular with Britain). There was a widely held view also that young people were being recruited for hard currency and that Wahhabis themselves were rewarded financially for recruiting new members: A very good friend of his suddenly became a Wahhabi for no apparent reason. He asked him: ‘Why did you let that happen? You’re a regular guy, but you’ve started growing this beard and dressing up like them.’ And he said: ‘What can I do, if they’ve given me a thousand dollars?…I needed the money really badly, and there was nowhere I could get it from. So, yes, I took it. They said, bring some more people in, for every two people you bring into this community, we’ll give you another thousand dollars. (Dagestan, Azeri man) It was widely believed that Wahhabism had spread from the Middle East or from Chechnia. Its growth in the Caucasus was linked to the development of educational contacts with the Middle East, Saudi Arabia being named in particular in relation to Dagestan. The external nature of Wahhabism was a

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central component of Dagestanis’ understanding of the phenomenon; it was seen as a response to the developing crisis, and as an instrument for instigating inter-ethnic tension for the benefit of a few individuals. ‘Aggression’ was strongly associated with Wahhabism, even by those who were otherwise sceptical about media images of Wahhabis. This image was partially related to appearance – ‘they’re like ninja turtles, with their eyes and they’re all black and white’ – but also related to their ritual practice. Interviewees told many stories about the ‘strange’ behaviour of friends and relatives who had joined the Wahhabis, stories mainly to do with funeral rites. Such accounts reinforced visions of Wahhabism as non-Islamic, or even anti-Islamic, and produced images of Wahhabis as a group of desperate people whose aims were the religious and national division of Dagestan. More fully developed arguments were encountered among intelligentsia respondents who pointed to historic links between Islamic fundamentalism and the outbreak of war: If Wahhabism – i.e. the Wahhabis – have arrived, they are evil people, it means war will break out. This is bad. It means unrest…In Afghanistan, Pakistan, wherever there is war, it can be traced back to Wahhabism. In Chechnia, we were told – I don’t know how true it is – that Wahhabis appeared there first…Here we have not yet learned to fear them. But they have already put down roots, and are doing their work here. But perhaps it is not too late even now. The government is also taking action against them. (Dagestan, Dargin man) Despite this generally negative image of Wahhabism and its propagators, the public’s mistrust of the media and a traditionally open-minded attitude to different religions and religious trends meant that the popular perception of Wahhabism differed considerably from the image served up for public consumption. Several respondents, albeit mainly from intelligentsia circles, noted that Wahhabi arguments and propaganda made sense in the light of real problems with Dagestani Islam, such as the increasing cost of rituals, as well as dishonesty and insincerity among clerics. Such respondents also commented on the way in which ‘Wahhabism’ was invoked as a bogeyman, for mothers to use at night when their children wouldn’t sleep (Dagestan, Avar man). Wahhabi sympathisers interviewed in the course of the research, in contrast to their public image, demonstrated openness, thoroughness and a willingness to meet and talk. Driven by a determination to explain how inadequate people’s perception of Wahhabis was, they sought to distinguish ‘pure Wahhabis, believers who are purely observing religion’ and who had no political agenda, from ‘extremists’: People react negatively to this in Dagestan, because there are extremist Wahhabis. But in Saudi Arabia there are Wahhabis everywhere, only

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they are of a totally different persuasion, they are completely different people. Here it’s all, I don’t know, their interpretation is wrong, they call themselves Wahhabis, of course, but they aren’t Wahhabis, they’re extremists. Basically if you read about Wahhabis, they shouldn’t be bad people. There’s nothing bad in them. It’s all wrong here. (Dagestan, Avar man)

The Chechnia factor Images of Wahhabis cannot be seen in isolation from the wider Chechnia factor, for the ongoing military struggle of Moscow with its renegade republic has been particularly painfully experienced in Russia’s Muslim republics, especially, Dagestan which has been directly affected by the fighting. Tatarstan The situation in Chechnia had a minimal impact on ordinary people’s attitudes to the republic, and did not shake their resolve to establish friendly relations with all Muslims. Indeed, the unity of the wider Muslim community was perceived to be the key to restoring peace as a whole: We should have good relations, friendly relations, that’s the first thing, we should all unite. They should not secede. If a Tatar Muslim goes to serve in Chechnia and he is killed, what sort of Muslims are they if they kill each other? Tatar Muslims and Chechen Muslims should unite. I really don’t understand why they need to fight. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Religious people were most likely to believe that contacts should be developed with Chechnia and such respondents described Chechnia as an ‘independent republic’, which had ‘good Muslim traditions’. For many Tatars, establishing firm contacts – particularly trade contacts – was a way of preventing any future conflict with the Chechens. For some of these respondents, Chechnia – and indeed Dagestan – were examples of a sincere attitude to Islam and national pride, which might inspire Tatarstan. For others, conversely, it was thought that the Chechens could benefit from the historical and cultural potential of the Tatars: We have always been the leading force in Muslim culture in this region – in Russia even. In Kazan there have always been libraries, academics, teachers, poets – world famous ones too – there is all of this in Kazan, of course, in Tatarstan. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman)

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However, other Tatar respondents were not in favour of developing any contacts with Chechnia, considering that the economic weakness of modern Chechnia, the warlike nature of the Chechen people and their departure from true Islam all served to make Chechnia unpromising and even dangerous as a potential partner. Dagestan For Dagestanis, whose republic borders the war zone of Chechnia, the events in Chechnia generated concern, anger and fear for the future of Dagestan. It would be impossible to discern a single attitude to events; feelings of sympathy with the Chechens co-existed alongside a conscious disassociation from them. Dagestanis interviewed did not approve of Chechen nationalism nor their drive for sovereignty. However, neither did interviewees support the methods chosen by the Russian government to resolve the conflict. This position was further enhanced by the general attitude to the Yeltsin administration of the time,23 which was openly accused of causing the dire state of affairs in Dagestan. At one level, Dagestanis empathized with the Chechens: they were neighbours, Caucasians and Muslims. Those members of the public who supported the Chechens tended to express wider dissatisfaction with Russian politics in general, which, it was said, benefited politicians and the elite whilst bringing suffering to ordinary people everywhere. Dagestani perceptions of the Chechen conflict moreover were formed through a process of projecting the problem onto themselves: If I were to be attacked tomorrow…Whether I wanted to or not I’d probably retaliate…If I’m being oppressed, am I supposed to ignore it, or what?…Whoever it is…If the Germans come, or the Arabs – I must defend my motherland…For any patriot, where he lives is his motherland…It’s in our blood. And if war breaks out in Dagestan tomorrow, it’ll be like that too. There will be a guerrilla war and all the rest of it, until it’s over, until someone wins. That’s the way it’s always been with us…It’s in our blood, we’re hot-blooded. (Dagestan, Dargin man) At the same time, Chechens were being killed not by Russians, but by the Russian government. Moreover, Chechens were considered quite different – alien even – from Dagestanis or indeed the Caucasian peoples as a whole. Ware and Kisriev suggest that Dagestan’s current anti-Chechenism is a result of a ‘history of marauding and livestock rustling along the Chechen border, attacks upon Dagestanis travelling through Chechnia before 1996, perceptions of the 250,000 Chechen refugees sheltered in Dagestan from 1994 to 1997 as boorish and ungrateful, and the plight of hundreds of Dagestanis who have endured brutal captivity and torture at the hands of

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Chechen kidnappers since 1997’ (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 28). This was confirmed by our interviews, although their narratives suggested a more long-term experience of centuries living as neighbours that had engendered a stereotypical perception of the Chechens in which the negative predominated over the positive: They rob us, so how are supposed to respect them, why should we respect them? And behind all these atrocities which they have perpetrated against us, in Moscow they offer ‘protection’ to somebody. They’re involved in racketeering. Does that do them credit as people, as representatives of the Muslims?…They’ve got themselves a world-wide reputation. Why should we respect them? I personally hate them, I remember my father saying that the Chechens are animals. Stalin had the right idea when he deported them all in three days. We should do the same thing to them now, to avoid all these outrages. (Dagestan, Azeri man) Attitudes to the Chechens were reinforced by perceived differences in their everyday behaviour; differences which were largely attributed to religious rather than ethnic practices. In Dagestani villages, it was said, Chechen families tended to keep themselves to themselves, showing no inclination to openly interact with the indigenous population:24 The Chechens have their own clique. They’re always getting together…If a girl talks to…an Avar or a Dargin…the elders tell her off, and don’t let her out. They might even beat her…They have their own customs…when they greet each other they stand up. When an older [non-Chechen] person passes by, they don’t even move out of the way to let them past. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) While some ethnic groups in Dagestan had a historically conditioned dislike of the Chechens, the peoples of Dagestan and the Chechens were united by a common history and ethno-cultural kinship. This derived from the fact that at one time Dagestan and Chechnia were united within the borders of Shamyl’s Imamat, but also from the notion of the existence of a distinctive ethno-cultural group known as the ‘Caucasians’. This unifying bond has subjected to considerable attack in the last few years, however. Firstly, the term itself has become increasingly undesirable as a form of identification as it has become associated with the neologism ‘persons of Caucasian nationality’. However, most of our interviewees believed that the Chechens had already broken the Caucasian code of honour, for a ‘normal Caucasian’ would never kidnap women or guests in order to sell them.25 The aggression and cruelty associated with Chechens was perceived as being incompatible with Islam. The belief that Wahhabism had taken hold of

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Chechnia, therefore, simply reinforced the notion that Chechens had a compromised version of Islamic faith. When events in Chechnia began, the Dagestanis were sympathetic towards the Chechens and even told stories of how people had given refuge to Chechen families fleeing the military operation. However, after Dagestani border settlements were attacked by Chechen fighters, the Dagestanis’ attitude changed and by the end of the 1990s the Chechens had effectively compromised themselves in the eyes of Dagestanis, as Caucasians, neighbours and Muslims, thereby destroying all the bases of their common identities.

Conclusion Ethnicity is a major political issue in both Tatarstan and Dagestan, yet its discursive construction is quite different. In Tatarstan, Tatar ethnicity is being actively mobilized at the public and individual level as a response to a perceived erasing of Tatar identity in the Soviet period. Although only a minority of the Tatar population supports total Tatarization, ethnicity permeates everyday life in Tatarstan and valorises conformity to particular ethnic models. The state-led ‘national revival’ – based on a combination of Islamism, Turkism and nationalism (Amirkhanov 1996: 27) – moreover, has contributed to the formation of an ethno-centric environment in the context of which the parallel revival of Islamic traditions takes on a particular significance in re-forging contemporary Tatar identity. Ethnic tension in Tatarstan was thus tangible and readily articulated, especially in relation to language issues. Dagestan is ethnically a much more complex society than Tatarstan, yet ethnic tensions were further from public consciousness. This was certainly partially because of the deep socio-economic crisis in the republic at the end of the 1990s, which overshadowed ethnic and religious concerns in respondents’ minds. It is also explained by the very poly-ethnicity of a republic in which almost every village prided itself on its own dialect, folk traditions and adat norms. Thus, while there could clearly be no single version of Islam, nor a unified national identity in the republic, Dagestan was a region with its own established ethno-cultural traditions of neighbourly co-existence. This had generated a clearly articulated notion of being ‘Dagestani’, underpinned by a restrained perception of one’s own ethnicity, ancient traditions of intercultural interaction and a recognition that ethnic partition was impossible in such a multi-ethnic state. The ethnic polarization evident in Tatarstan had been held in check in Dagestan. Russians in the two republics have been affected by the revival of ethnoreligious revival differently. In Dagestan, it is the growing importance of Islam which has had the greater significance since Russian has remained the language of interethnic communication. Notwithstanding this, Russians were being eased out of important social spheres and this was attributed by respondents to a failure at the republican political level to control ethnic

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employment policies, a lack of attention on the part of Moscow to new pronationalist processes in Dagestan, and, of course, the rapid revival of Islam. The main problems for Russians in becoming involved in Tatarstan’s social community were the influence of ethnic belonging in obtaining employment and the requirement of Tatar language skills. The much greater size of the Russian population in Tatarstan also meant that the switch to the use of Tatar language signs in public spaces – on public transport, in shops and in the work place – engendered a sense of social exclusion. In both republics, however, post-Soviet experience had encouraged the development of local ethno-state identities: people increasingly felt that they were Tatarstanis or Dagestanis. At the same time popular support for sovereignty espoused by the leaders of the particular ethnic communities was limited. Even in the context of negative stereotyping of ‘Caucasian peoples’ in the Russian media and of military action against neighbouring Chechnia by Moscow, Dagestanis could not imagine a future for the republic outside of Russia. This finding is confirmed by data taken even at the ‘height’ of ethnic mobilization. A survey of the population of Dagestan conducted in December 1993 by Colton and Hough found that on three key markers of ‘separatism’ (support for declarations of sovereignty by the former autonomous republics of the Russian Federation, support for selfdetermination of the republics, and transfer of army, police and security forces to the jurisdiction of the republic), only between 20–22 per cent of the Dagestani population showed separatist sympathies (data taken from Gorenburg 2001: 84–6). In Tatarstan, questions of the official status of the republic were discussed more widely and openly, but there was no universal support for radical ideas. Separatist sympathies in both republics were thus primarily articulated by small groups of nationalist-minded individuals, and in neither case was an Islamic model for reorganizing the state viewed as something achievable or even desirable. A further discouragement for the promotion of a secessionist path to the formation of an Islamic state was the model of Chechnia. While in both republics there was considerable sympathy for the Chechens, and almost universal disapproval for the policies of the Russian government, the populations of both Dagestan and Tatarstan also dissociated themselves from the Chechens, ascribing their fate to particular characteristics of the Chechens as an ethnic group. Islam was only a secondary factor here; the spread of Wahhabism within Chechnia was evidence rather than cause of the ‘wrong path’ taken by Chechnia. Chechnia and its brand of Islam served first and foremost, therefore, as a model against which to define a more ‘Europeanized’, peaceful and ‘lenient’ Islam prevailing in both Tatarstan and Dagestan.

Notes 1 During fieldwork this sensitivity was articulated most often in cautious responses to questions posed by interviewers. In other cases respondents proactively raised

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questions concerning ethnicity and moulded the interview situation to permit them to elaborate their views on the issue. Such sensitivities were not encountered in Dagestan. The heightened awareness of the cultural distinctiveness of the ethnic group manifest in this narrative of Tatar identity was not xenophobic in any way. Awareness of cultural difference was thought to facilitate the reproduction of diversity. For a more detailed discussion of the Volga Bulgars, see Chapter 1. The term ‘ethnoscape’ is taken from Appadurai. The term ‘scape’, he writes, indicates ‘deeply perspectival constructs inflected by the historical, linguistic and political situatedness of different sorts of actors: nation-states, multinationals, diasporic communities, sub-national groups, villages or neighbourhoods’ (Appadurai 1990: 296) ‘Ethnoscape’ refers particularly to human movement, distinct from, for example ‘technoscapes’ (the flow of technologies) or ‘mediascapes’ (the flow of messages and symbols). This ethnoscape reflects only the stereotypical perception of respondents. In ethnographic terms there are many more subgroups determined by traditional patterns of settlement (zakamskie, chistopol’skie, al’met’evskie Tatars, for example). The groups depicted in Figure 6.1 are the dominant ones in popular perception because they are the most resource-rich. In academic literature, Mishars are presented as a separate ethnographic group of Tatars of the Middle Volga region. They are distinguished by a particular dialect belonging to the western dialect group of the Tatar language. They live along the right bank of the Volga in Mordova, Chuvashiia and Tatarstan, and Nizhnii Novgorod, Riazan’, Penza and Ul’ianovsk oblasts. The origins and ancestry of the Mishars is still disputed, however (Mukhamedova 1972). In urban areas where there was greater access to the media – secular and religious, national and nationalist – there was a rich selection of cultural models and life styles in evidence (ethno-national, Russian, Western and even Eastern). The level of continuity of tradition in the towns was dependent on the intensity of contact with relatives in the native rural areas. A ‘quarter’ is a group of houses enclosed by a square of streets. For more detailed discussion of these issues see Bobrovnikov (2000: 101–4). One example of such territorial dispute was encountered during fieldwork, namely in a number of Russian villages of the Kizliarskii district where the Russians contested the right of the new migrants – Avars coming down from the mountains – since they were not the original ‘indigenous’ population. This is a pattern of cultural identification observed also among Russianspeaking returnees from the former Soviet republics (Pilkington 1998: 165–5). The outflow of Russian specialists from the industrial centres of Dagestan had begun in the 1960s and 1970s, but accelerated dramatically from 1992. In 1926 Russians had constituted 39 per cent of the population of the republic, but by 1995 they made up just 16.6 per cent. While the outflow of Russians between 1992 and 1996 was more than compensated for by the inflow of refugees from Dagestan’s ethnic diasporas in Kazakstan and Central Asia and those fleeing the Russian–Chechen war, the outflow of Russian specialists remained a significant social and economic blow to the republic (Bobrovnikov 1996: 56). These mutual misidentifications between returning Russians and local communities are again confirmed by earlier research (Pilkington 1998: 173). Nationalist-minded interviewees, for example, might admit that the Russians made an important contribution to the development of the Dagestani economy, but suggest that it was they who also took advantage of the republic’s assets and held privileged positions.

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15 In fact the research uncovered a wide range of opinion on the reasons for the exodus of Russians, its scale and repercussions. This range of opinion might reflect underlying differences in people’s attitudes to Russians but other factors – region of residence (especially proximity to trouble spots such as Kizliar), level of religiosity, experiences of living near to Russians and level of industrial development of the area – clearly shaped respondents’ views also. 16 The qualitative nature of the data collected under the auspices of this study does not permit the correlation of social background of respondents with attitudes to secession. Data from the Colton and Hough survey of 1993, however, suggested that support for regional separatism in the autonomous republics was generally positively correlated with intellectuals, those with higher education and with the political elite. Women were least likely to support separatism. The relationship between religiosity and support for regional separatism varied by republic. It was positively correlated in Dagestan but negatively correlated in Tatarstan. The correlation between Islamic affiliation and support for regional separatism however was reversed, being positively correlated in Tatarstan but negatively so in Dagestan (Gorenburg 2001: 92–100). 17 Henceforth in this chapter the words Russian and Russian(s) correspond to the Russian terms rossiiskii and rossiianin/rossiianka (rossiiane) respectively, that is, ‘citizens of the Russian Federation’, unless otherwise indicated. 18 These identity statements were numerous and are thus cited in paraphrased as opposed to literal form. 19 In this instance ‘national’ might be translated as ‘ethnic minority’. However in other cases it is used to indicate non-Russians when they are the majority (e.g. non Russian ethnic groups in Dagestan). 20 Only 29 per cent of believers and 34 per cent of non-believers thought the shariat should not be taken into account at all by republican legislation. 21 Although in some Dagestani villages there had been attempts to reorganize public life according to the laws of the shariat, these were individual cases, and as a rule concerned only norms of interpersonal behaviour. 22 In order to facilitate conversations about Wahhabism with respondents who were poorly informed about Islam, terms such as ‘fundamentalism’ or ‘pure Islam’ were also employed in interviews. 23 Indeed, Dagestanis generally related the growth of nationalism (Chechen nationalism included) to the break-up of the USSR, the dissolution of which was harshly criticized by almost all Dagestanis. 24 Interestingly, local villagers call the Chechens natsmeny, implying ‘ethnic minority’ status. Ware and Kisriev also note that Chechen dependence upon kinship ties (in contrast to Dagestan’s jamaat system) inhibited the development of positive relations with neighbouring ethnic groups (Ware and Kisriev 2000: 28). 25 The emphasis here is on ‘sell’; a ‘normal Caucasian’ might beat or even kill a woman, but never sell her.

7

Gender discourses within Russian Islam Elena Omel’chenko and Gusel’ Sabirova

The gender question – or more strictly the positioning of women with regard to men within the Islamic community – is a central tenet of both popular and academic thinking about Islam. For some, images of the ‘veil’, shariat divorce laws, polygyny and the confinement of women are symbols of a harsh and restrictive regime. For others, these images invoke an exotic, mysterious way of life, full of touristic pleasures. For others still, Islamic gender codes signify an ideal, or model, upon which the morals and ethics of future generations might be based. The highly charged discursive context of gender and Islam creates particular challenges to the researcher; if researching ethnicity or gender alone forces the researcher to address her/his own subjective positioning, researching the interrelationship between gender, ethnic and religious identification places an extraordinary burden on the researcher’s capacity for reflexivity.1 This, to some extent, explains the failure of Russian sociological literature to explore fully the intersection of gender and Islam in Russia, and the current authors make no claim to have met these challenges fully either. However, the discussions that developed among the team of researchers – itself comprising men and women from different ethnic and religious backgrounds – about impressions from the field at the end of each day of interviewing helped the team recognize, if not suspend, their own preconceptions. The narratives of gender articulated by respondents were exceptionally diverse, making the composite images generated below inherently problematic. Moreover such composites cannot transmit the different significance attached to ‘gender’ in respondents’ talk as a whole. Some respondents – of both sexes – considered gender to be at the heart of the Islamic system, others mentioned gender only in passing. Some reasoned in the abstract, building imaginary constructs about the ‘roles’ or ‘duties’ of men and women; others drew more concrete examples from life. Some respondents reproduced Islamic canons in their stories, while others’ reasoning was clearly underpinned by the established principles of sex and gender roles. In order to be able to convey at least a flavour of the material collected, however, this chapter focuses primarily on collating ‘portraits’ of men and women as drawn by respondents as they talked about their expectations

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and impressions of the characteristics of ‘real Muslim’ men and women. These portraits draw on ideals and stereotypes as well as invoking examples from among individuals close to the respondents: their mothers and fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers, wives and husbands, sisters and brothers. These composite portraits of ‘real’ Muslim women and ‘real’ Muslim men are then used to compare perceptions of male and female respondents, as well as to assess the influence that the ethnicity of respondents, the nature and degree of their religiosity, and local and cultural factors might have had in the production of these images. Four themes in respondents’ talk about how gender and Islam work together are outlined: images of (Muslim) women and (Muslim) men; attitudes to polygyny; displays of Muslim identity; and views on the significance of ethnicity and religion in marriage choices.2 Reflection on these narratives allows a preliminary analysis of how the recent ethno-religious revival in Tatarstan and Dagestan has affected people’s attitudes to gender, and how people in the two republics would feel about any movement away from the current residual ‘Soviet’ notions of gender relations towards Islamic gender models and practices.

Muslim masculinities and femininities in post-Soviet Russia This first section outlines the images held by Muslim men and Muslim women in Tatarstan and Dagestan of what it meant to be ‘a real Muslim man’ and ‘a real Muslim woman’. These images, themselves contradictory, were in no way a reflection of actual gendered behaviour or relations in the two societies. For example, despite the recurrence of the image of ‘the true Muslim woman’ as one who does not engage in waged employment, who is primarily concerned with bringing up children and avoids any form of public engagement, in fact women in both Dagestan and Tatarstan were no less likely to be in paid employment than women elsewhere in the Russian Federation. If women respondents were ‘at home’, then this was usually due not to their religious conviction, but a product of the structural changes that have brought rising unemployment to all parts of post-Soviet Russia. Indeed the apparently greater capacity for adaptation among women to the new economic circumstances of Russia (Bridger et al. 1996; Ashwin 2000; White 2001) has meant that, in some cases, women have become, quite literally, the breadwinners of the family, not only preparing and serving the food on the family table, but being the primary or sole source of income for its purchase. In presenting these ‘ideal portraits’ of Muslim men and Muslim women, therefore, the authors seek not to accurately describe the current gender regime of the republics under study, but rather to re-present the variety of images of Muslim masculinities and femininities employed by men and women in Tatarstan and Dagestan as they seek to explain to themselves current processes of change, evaluate actual relations, think about possible futures and shape their own gendered identities.

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‘Purity’ of body and mind: women talking about women In Tatarstan, the image of a Muslim woman was associated primarily with her family role and responsibilities. This role essentially comprised maintaining a clean and tidy home, bringing up the children, and displaying unconditional fidelity and love for her husband and for children (her own and other people’s). A Muslim woman was thus imagined as a ‘married woman’. Women were perceived to ‘flower’ only after marriage, as a result of which they acquired true beauty, authority and pride. A Muslim woman had to be a mother and had to have many children. Children had to be looked after and cared for properly; a mother’s task was to bring up the children (especially girls) according to Muslim traditions. The ability to cook well and abundantly was particularly highly valued. Thus a woman’s work was considered to be her husband, home and children, and a true Muslim woman was not imagined as working outside the home: My grandmother was a true Muslim, she never worked – well, apart from during the war…what was always important for her was the family, her family, making sure her husband was fed and the children looked after… although we grew up in a modern society under socialism, the example of our grandmothers made a great impression on us, we saw that women can be different. They were real women. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Respondents frequently cited images of women from Middle Eastern Muslim countries to indicate how women ‘should’ be, while traditional images of Soviet women – epitomized as someone who ‘goes to market with a string bag’ or ‘goes outside wearing make-up’ – were invoked to express what she should not be. Thus ‘real’ Muslim women were thought to be obliged to lead a healthy way of life, both morally and physically. They should not drink, smoke or talk loudly. The key to achieving this purity was true belief as expressed in a woman’s loyalty both to God and her husband. The husband was considered the family mediator between the woman and God; he was ‘God’s representative’. A real woman was thus passive, ‘somewhere in the background’ and obliged to honour and obey all older men in the family. A woman’s modesty was manifested above all in how she dressed. Women cited the older women in the family as examples of those who genuinely and consistently followed the appropriate rules. In contrast, young Muslim women were invariably suspected of following fashion rather than the dictates of the soul. In Tatarstan, no significant differences between the images of women offered by religious and non-religious women were found. This probably reflects the relative homogeneity in terms of religiosity in Tatarstan society and the absence of the kind of debate about women and Muslim identity that was evident in Dagestan. Despite the rapid development of the Islamic revival, therefore, the ‘true Muslim woman’ continued to be imagined in

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terms of values associated with the past, possible futures, or ‘elsewheres’ (‘foreign, Middle Eastern’). In the present, Tatar women’s images of a Muslim woman had a clear ethnic hue; a woman was firstly a ‘Tatar’, and only then a ‘Muslim’. Notions of being a Muslim woman in Tatarstan consisted primarily in their differentiation from the Russian ‘other’ in terms of perceived moral ‘standards’ as well as domestic practices, with little evidence of any real impact of the idealized ‘Muslim woman’ on everyday gender relations. In Dagestan, the emphasis was slightly different; the familial position of women was again imagined to be at the heart of a woman’s identity, but a woman on her own was not unimaginable. A Muslim woman in Dagestan was the provider (kormilitsa) in the family, quite literally. The household was held together by her and it was her responsibility to keep that household in good condition. A woman on her own, therefore, was conceivable, although only after marriage; after being widowed or following divorce.3 The gender division of household work was very important in maintaining traditions and maintaining family harmony. As a rule, husbands did not do anything that women were supposed to do: ‘If I say to him, “Erakhar, go and get the kettle”, or “bring me some water”, he says, “No, that’s your job”’ (Dagestan, Kumyk woman). ‘Purity’ (chistota) – of home, body, attitude, and thought – was central to how women thought about Muslim women’s identity in Dagestan. A ‘real Muslim woman’ should be occupied at all times; if she had ‘free’ time, then

Women from Kubachi village, Dagestan. 19 July 1998. Photo: Elena Omel’chenko

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it was expected that she occupy herself with something useful for the home such as sewing, knitting, embroidery,4 playing with the children, or with reading the Koran. In religious families, women were forbidden to watch television, listen to secular music or go out in the neighbourhood. Extreme manifestations of adherence to Islam were criticized, however, even among religious women. Muslim women from Arab countries were often cited as examples of such fanatical attitudes: Arab women are very intolerant. They are very aggressive women, because the Arabs have the shariat, every man – not just Muslims – has nine wives…You can’t argue with what Allah said, but I don’t agree with that…I don’t know how you can share a person…But all they do is, you know, clean the house and bring up the children. And do the cooking. They don’t have any other duties. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) The strict division of domestic duties was not as important to non-religious women as to deeply religious women; the former tended to see this division as effectively ensuring that women did everything. Non-religious women doubted the sincerity of those who championed a strict version of adherence of Islam, seeing the growing interest in Islam and its traditions as a ‘fashion’, and maintaining that women always retained the right to free choice. Thus, despite widespread pro-Islamic feeling, Dagestani women retained a strong identification with the ‘Caucasian woman’ and her love of freedom. Submission to one’s husband and token adherence not just to his whims but also to those of his guests was thus often accompanied by a strict, fearless and strong-willed moral position as well as defiance towards any absolute male authority or power. ‘First and foremost a mother’: men talking about women In Tatarstan, male perceptions of a real Muslim woman sited her firmly in the home. She was seen as the keeper of hearth and home and as responsible for bringing up the children. She was also a dependable helper who provided support for her husband. The attitude that a woman’s function was to bear children was considered to be enshrined in the shariat: ‘In Islam, a woman is first and foremost a mother’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). Thus if his first wife was childless, a man was considered bound to take a second wife, because without children a family could not be considered truly Muslim. Large numbers of children were also considered to be features of Muslim families, because one or even two children did not constitute a real family. According to Tatarstani men, a real Muslim woman should be quiet, silent, submissive and obedient; in explaining the differences between Muslim women and other women, men most frequently cited submission to

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her husband. A woman’s fear of God (her attitude to religion) was reflected in her attitude to her husband as Allah’s mediator: ‘Well, according to Islam, a woman should be gentle, obedient, and submissive. In the presence of men she should wear socks and a headscarf; she should not show her body’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). For a woman, her husband was the window to society for he was the family’s representative in society. A Muslim man’s wife, meanwhile, represented the familial dimension of the man, the ‘face’ of his family in the eyes of relatives, neighbours and colleagues. Her obedience was important because by adopting this subordinate position, a Muslim woman complemented male identity, and made her husband ‘whole’ in the eyes of others: In Islam, in a family the man is the boss, he is god, and the woman is his assistant, his right hand…In the presence of a man a woman is not god, but without a man a woman is god… (Tatarstan, Tatar man) For Dagestani men, ‘purity’ – physical, moral and ethical – was central to the understanding of a Muslim’s woman’s identity and ‘respect for men’ was a central part of this purity. Men saw household duties as essentially a woman’s sole responsibility, although a man might choose to assist: ‘Responsibilities – whatever there is at home, whatever work there is at home, she has to do it all. Men also help, some do. I am a man, but I won’t help. That’s not human’ (Dagestan, Kumyk man). Islam’s prohibition of women appearing ‘freely’ among other men (‘strangers’) meant that it was considered that Muslim women should not work outside the house. Ideas about women’s education were interpreted by religious men in a similar vein. Such education should ensure maximum adherence to the demands of physical and moral ‘purity’ and, secondly, maintenance of the status of the wife. Women’s education, they believed, could not be undertaken in the interests of a future career in the public sphere. Women were thus considered to have been created in order to care for men and to bring up children. Indeed, this accorded women a special respect. It was a man’s job to know how to pursue a particular policy with regard to his wife in order to maintain his position of superiority without going too far. He had to know how to put pressure on his wife at the right time, to skilfully and subtly make a woman follow him. This policy was partly for show, since an intelligent woman should know how to quietly do things her own way while not formally challenging her husband’s will. Men valued highly such tact and skilful manoeuvring. Physical and moral purity were closely linked. Religious men believed that the whole system of ‘abstinence’ for women in Islam was directed towards preserving this overall purity. Her face, body and spirit should be protected from the glances of ‘strange’ men, because any look from a stranger might contain ‘desire’, and thus offend, humiliate or sully the

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woman. The Islamic system, they believed, was structured in such a way as to protect her, not to belittle, restrict or humiliate her. A Muslim woman should be beautiful and keep herself in shape, therefore, but only for the enjoyment of her husband. Displays of her femininity were acceptable only within her social role as ‘wife’; everything in her was exclusively for her husband. Women’s rights were redefined as ‘the rights of a man and his wife’ (as one religious Avar man put it) since by definition a Muslim woman should have a husband and could not exist without him or outside of him. For this reason men were focused ‘outwards’ (outside the home, on work, career, and a social life) whereas women were focused ‘inwards’ (on the home). The relative spheres of activity for men and women were not so strictly determined by less religious, better educated men or by men resident in urban areas, especially the capital city. Among such men, it was considered necessary only to ‘shield’ women from certain types of work, rather than prohibit work outside the home totally. The understanding of what constituted ‘hard’ physical work (outside the home) and what was ‘light’ work (domestic work), however, was somewhat idiosyncratic. Dagestani men believed that in the past it had been possible to distinguish mountain women from lowland women. Women from the mountainous regions, it was said, had been ‘freer’ in the sense that they had been allowed to speak their minds and even tell their husbands what to do (as long as nobody was around). Thus while such women had had no status outside the home, in the domestic sphere at least they had carried more weight than their husbands. Past differences between women of different ethnic backgrounds and different localities were considered to have disappeared, however: In the city today, there’s no difference between a Dagestani woman, an Avar woman or an American woman. A Lak woman, say, is no different from a Tatar woman; a Kumyk woman is no different from a lady from Moscow. The television teaches us well, particularly young people. (Dagestan, Avar man) Defenders of the family name: men talking about men In Tatarstan male respondents considered that the key to a strong Muslim family was the dominant position of the man within it: In Islam a man is, so to speak, one level higher than a woman, he is the boss…Everything he says should be law for his wife; this is where order in Islam comes from. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) Within the imagined family, the man’s word was law. He alone had the right to pass moral judgement and he bore responsibility for the conse-

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quences. A true Muslim was also considered to be the master and the keeper of the family name; a social dimension to a man’s familial role. Moreover, a Muslim man should be of use to society and be responsible not only for his own family, but for relations, neighbours and friends as well. In Tatarstan, a Muslim man was considered to be not only the material but also the moral buttress for the whole family – its protector. He should not smoke or drink vodka; he should work a lot, and well. He was the public face of the family and this required him to be politician, strategist and warrior. His imagined role with regard to the children was to transmit to them an understanding of the purpose of life and to teach his sons (primarily) purposefulness, conscientiousness and responsibility. Thus while the woman was the keeper of the hearth and home, the man was considered ‘the keeper of the status of the family’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). A Muslim man was considered to be Allah’s social representative, and women were considered to be incapable of comprehending the nuances of Islam as fully as men. Only in old age, when she had left behind the ‘squalor’ and potential infidelity of her fertile period, could a woman approach a true understanding: ‘I think that a man should have very strong faith in the Almighty. And he should have greater knowledge of the religion of the Almighty than women do’ (Tatar man). A Muslim man’s fear of God and the strength of his faith were considered to be manifested in how he dressed and how he behaved towards other people. In Dagestan men as well as women were seen to have a familial duty first and foremost. It was in the family that a man’s most important characteristics were shown since it was in the family that a man became a true Muslim, mentor to the entire household – not only the children, but his wife, her unmarried sisters and younger brothers – and protector of the home. He bore full responsibility before the local community for everything that happened in his house. However, whereas a man remained ‘a man’ in the family, women were seen only in their roles as ‘wives’. Thus Muslim men talked about ‘a man and his wife’: ‘Yes, basically the man is the boss in our republic. The head of the family’ (Dargin man). There were frequent references to the concept of a ‘real man’ (nastoiashchii muzhchina) which, although a term met frequently in Russia more widely, was used by respondents to explain the specific nature of Dagestani men. By tradition Dagestani men (‘real men’) were distinguished by a number of markers: they were true to their word, whatever the cost, they did not undertake women’s work, and they were genuinely hospitable: ‘When guests come, he does everything, carves the mutton, everything he can do about the house, he does, our Dagestani man’ (Dagestan, Kumyk man). A Dagestani man was noted for his generosity, and for being a man of principle. However, he should also be careful; he should not be a simpleton whose thoughts and feelings were accessible to everybody. He should not flatter, be subservient, inform or backbite. In describing the division of male and female responsibilities, men’s duties were quite well

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defined on the one hand, but they were also contradictory. A man was supposed to provide fully for his family, and his wife to stay at home. In reality, however, the situation was often reversed: ‘There are families where women are involved in commerce – it used to be called speculation, but now it’s commerce. Women go to market and work on farms and in production’ (Dagestan, Dargin man). A strong man is a family man: women talking about men Tatarstani women imagined ‘real Muslim men’ as associated with a strong family, by which was meant having lots of (‘about ten’) children and a faithful wife. The male role in the family was as a ‘stone wall’ or ‘fortress’ behind which the family was safe. The man should be able to take responsibility for his wife, children and relatives and this was made possible by economic security. Thus a real Muslim man should also be a real breadwinner: ‘Basically he doesn’t do anything within the family, but providing for the family is entirely down to him. He should be the breadwinner, ensuring that the family doesn’t want for anything’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). In fact, however, modern men were quite far removed from these ideal constructs as evident from the fact that, in discussing male qualities, women emphasized the need for them to earn money, support and take responsibility for the family. In reality the current socio-economic crisis had meant that a large share of these duties was falling to women: If a man marries a woman he should provide for her. If men went to market, according to Islam, and respected their family, and brought up their children in Islam, and didn’t shout or drink, and were nice to people, and if they taught order, that would be good. I think that would be very good. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) Tatarstani women also associated Muslim masculinity with discipline and order. Real Muslims were noted for their imperiousness: they liked women to be subordinate to them and wanted to conquer, even capture, them. And they required women to confirm their absolute superiority. This had both its positive and negative elements as women interpreted it. On the one hand, this imperiousness was seen as a moral force necessary in bringing up children. On the other hand, it was more important to have a ‘proper’ attitude to women and provide real support to them, than to be a strictly adhering Muslim: ‘I think that the main thing for them, for men in Islam – after all husbands used to be very cruel – I think they shouldn’t be cruel…’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Dagestani women, whether believers or nonbelievers, considered the authority of the man to be absolute within the family; his supremacy was not open to discussion: ‘Men are thought of as our pride. A man has the right to do anything…A woman can’t take the

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lead, that’s not done. We consider all that sort of thing to be shameful’ (Dagestan, Dargin woman). Moreover, since male supremacy was an innate quality, there was no point trying to prove or disprove it: ‘Allah himself ruled that men are superior…how should I put it…A man is what will make a child for these women’ (Dagestan, Dargin woman). A man’s position was supported by his familial status, where he should always be ‘the master’. However, innate male supremacy did not undermine the role of the woman, or wife; maintaining male authority and superiority was simply a condition of the normal and natural order of things. A strong man was complemented by a proud woman, who was strong in her own way. Indeed, in some instances, men’s notion of their own superiority might be utilized by women to free themselves from excessive responsibility.5 As in Tatarstan, Dagestani women considered that men should be responsible for providing for the family materially: If there is no meat or no food, it is definitely the man who should concern himself with that. Everything – meat, food, wood, straw, everything to do with the household…Petty jobs are for the woman – washing, cleaning, cooking, this and that. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) Dagestani women believed that men commanded more right to fidelity; a woman’s infidelity was sufficient grounds for divorce, but a man was not required to be strictly faithful: ‘If a man is unfaithful, that is not considered shameful. We know such men. Why should it be shameful? It shouldn’t be shameful for a man…but a woman should keep her pride intact, she mustn’t do that at all’ (Dagestan, Dargin woman). There was in Dagestan also a peculiar pride about the local men; many women spoke of Dagestani men as the object not just of their own pride, but of national pride. They were considered brave, generous and extremely hospitable. However, ‘Caucasian’ men were also considered to be at risk of developing a superiority complex, as a result of the idea of supremacy inculcated in them from childhood.

Forming a family: ethno-religious preferences As is evident from the composite portraits of ‘true’ Muslim men and women, the family was considered by both male and female respondents to be a key site for the construction and display of Muslim masculinities and femininities. The family was the most important vehicle for demonstrating and testing the genuineness of religious and ethnic loyalty via the display of the appropriate performance of female and male roles in the observance of fasts, holidays, attendance at the mosque, appropriate dress and conducting of wedding and funerals. But how is that family formed to ensure successful complimentarity? How important is the degree of religiosity, or indeed common religion or ethnicity, of individuals in selecting a marriage partner?

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Tatarstan Tatar respondents (both men and women) almost universally considered that marriages should be ‘mono-ethnic’, which in the context of bi-ethnic Tatarstan meant ‘Muslim’. This conviction was strongest amongst older respondents, however, and was rooted in the experience of observing how relations develop between relatives in mixed families, and had been reinforced in the context of the republic’s resurgent national policy. Although the practice of ‘selecting’ a groom or bride was less widespread than in Dagestan, nonetheless parents played a key role in choosing a spouse for their children and the opinion of relatives and the community remained important: ‘[I will do] whatever my parents say…if they say she should be Tatar, then I’ll marry a Tatar, I mean a Muslim’ (Tatarstan, Tatar man). Religious Tatars had a particularly negative attitude towards marriages with Russians, particularly of Tatar men to Russian women. The close proximity of the Russians made such marriages commonplace, producing defensive phobias of the kind expressed by the following respondent: ‘I don’t really mind, of course – she can marry whoever she likes – an Azeri, a Turk. Not a Russian, though – that would be a tragedy for me’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Male respondents readily explained the impossibility of such marriages by reference to the failure of Russian women to meet Muslim standards of moral and physical ‘purity’: they dressed ostentatiously; they drank, smoked and were undiscriminating in their friendships and relationships. Older people tended rather to see the different customs and traditions of the Tatar and Russian people – different ways of celebrating weddings and family holidays and of treating guests and relatives – as a barrier to mixed marriages. These differences meant that any family occasion held the potential for serious family conflict: That’s not the way to do things – you get people singing in Tatar in one corner, and people dancing about to the accordion in the other. They say, we’ll do it our way today, and your way tomorrow. You can’t do that. (Tatarstan, Tatar man) The first of these family difficulties was usually encountered upon the birth of the first child when the question of their religious initiation was encountered. Decisions about what faith the child enters were often heavily influenced by the relative strength of relatives on either side of the family. Sometimes parents performed a ‘second’ ritual, which effectively violated the faith in both Islam and Orthodoxy. The language in which the child is brought up at home was another site of conflict. However, possibly the most difficult problems recounted by respondents related to funeral rites, perhaps because these were particularly important for Tatars (see Chapter 5):

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People pass away, but burial rituals are different. For example, the son of a colleague died recently. He is a pensioner, a Tatar, and she is Russian. They buried him, but I don’t even know what ceremony they used. The wife tried to do a Christian burial; the husband is a Muslim, he tried to follow some Muslim rituals. They somehow commemorated the seventh day, and the ninth, and the fortieth and the fifty second… (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) In reality, however, in explaining the negative attitude to marriages with Russians in Tatarstan, the religious factor was secondary. Dislike of such marriages among Tatar respondents was first and foremost a product of the ethnic revival among Tatars expressed as a rejection of Soviet ‘internationalism’ that had been experienced as ‘Russification’. Thus there was nothing absolute or immutable about attitudes to mixed marriages, which depended on levels of education and culture, and on age. People who had formed ethnically mixed families themselves in the Soviet period – as a consequence, for example, of having studied together in higher education – or those who were related to such families, showed a more tolerant attitude to the issue. Moreover, many respondents felt that all the barriers erected to such marriages could be overcome by strength of feeling and youthful determination. Dagestan In sharp contrast to respondents in Tatarstan, in Dagestan at least non-religious Dagestanis considered ethnicity to be unimportant in choosing a marriage partner: In Dagestan we do marry people of different ethnic backgrounds – Dargin girls marry Avars, Avar girls marry Dargins or Lezgins, Kumyks or Russians. I think the main thing is as long as he’s an honourable man, a good man. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) Religious Dagestanis, however, did express concerns about the problems that might be faced by a mixed-ethnic family. One such concern was that of language since in families of mixed ethnicity, Russian often became the only language for fully satisfactory communication within the family. No less important was the compatibility of adat traditions, which differed among different ethnic groups. Moreover, in many regions a mistrust of ‘strangers’ and newcomers – inherent in tukhum mentality – remained intact. A guest might be pandered to in every way, but a stranger becoming a family member was considered a threat. Thus where possible marriages within the tukhum were viewed as a particular success:

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A Russian convert to Islam, Makhachkala, Dagestan. 12 July 1998. Photo: Elena Omel’chenko

[You should marry] from within your own tukhum – if it works out. If it works out, then great, if not…For example, I’m a Kumyk, and my husband is a Dargin. They also traditionally choose one of their own number. Well, it’s whatever the fates have in store. (Dagestan, Kumyk woman) Some insular communities were particularly protective of their local identities and in such villages marriages between relatives were reportedly on the increase. This was a phenomenon linked also to the ever-increasing wealthbased stratification of the Dagestani population which meant that families and tukhums strove to avoid relinquishing property to other families. It was also encouraged by the widespread practice of ‘collecting information’ on future relatives; keeping marriage within the tukhum, meant that the individual concerned was open to full view. Moreover, a ban on marriages within families, it was suggested, had been part of a general policy of internationalism and a determination, on the part of the communists, to ‘mix up’

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ethnic groups and, in this way, deprive them of their uniqueness, beauty, strength and health. There was a more tolerant attitude towards Russian women in Dagestan than that encountered in Tatarstan. Whereas in Tatarstan Russians were excluded specifically as potential spouses,6 in Dagestan Russians were only excluded as part of a broader objection to ‘Europeans’, or rather nonMuslims: It doesn’t have to be an Avar, basically there’s no difference what the nationality is, the main thing is that he’s a good man, although he must be a Muslim. Not a European, not a German, not a Russian. (Dagestan, Avar woman) The different attitude to Russians in Dagestan was also explained by the greater degree of assimilation of the Russian population into Dagestani society and by the understanding that a Russian woman marrying into a Muslim Dagestani family would have to adopt Islam and bring up the children as Muslims. In this sense, marriage to a Russian did not threaten any wider moral decline in the republic. Thus, primary importance lay with the maintenance of the norms of Islamic faith rather than with ethnic background, as indicated by the following Avar man reflecting on the possibility of marrying a Russian woman while already married to an Avar woman: If I had the chance I could marry a Russian woman. I have the right to marry a Russian. If I can find a nice woman who suits me, and if I have the money, I will marry a Russian. We never make any distinction between ethnic groups – never. Anyone who comes to woo my daughter – I’ll give her away. But only to a Muslim, of course. (Dagestan, Avar man)

Polygyny The problem of polygyny occupies a central, sometimes ambiguous position in the perception of Islam. On the one hand, it is an issue centrally bound up with the principles of building a family, allocating roles within the family and the hierarchy of power (material, spiritual, physical and sexual), all of which were considered highly important subjects for reflection by respondents. At the same time, the issue was considered to be part of a perceived image of Islam that parodied more than represented it as a faith. The strongest criticism of polygyny was articulated by women – particularly young, non-religious and unmarried women – in Tatarstan. In their criticisms of the practice, women noted that it violated the rights of the woman in the family and demeaned her dignity. On the other hand, it was felt that since a woman could not be forced to become someone’s second or third wife, then there was no harm in her doing so if she so wished. In

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reality, in any case, it was agreed that having more than one wife was only possible for the very rich and, the economic realities of the day meant that many men were not able to provide for one wife, let alone more than one: ‘But what are men like these days? Show me one who could provide for me…These days it is the men who are a burden on the women. No. That’s impossible here’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Less critical attitudes to polygyny were informed primarily by pragmatic arguments. The practice, for example, effectively simply legalized the already existing institution of mistresses and gave some status and respect – recognition of a legal father, the right to bear the family name, etc. – to both the ‘mistress’ and her children. It was also considered an acceptable resolution to problems of infertility. Given the importance of children to the concept of the Muslim family, described above, polygyny allowed a man to fulfil his duty without abandoning his first wife if it turned out that she was unable to have children. In Tatarstan, men – especially religious men of all ages – had a generally positive attitude towards polygyny, although this attitude was formed on the basis of an abstract possibility (‘good in principle’) rather than being rooted in personal experience. For male respondents, the demographic situation in the country was considered grounds for adoption of polygyny. Since the Tatarstani population had ‘fewer men and more women’, men taking more than one wife would, in their consideration, result in fewer single women and fewer unsupervised children. However, men considered that it would be a huge responsibility for a man to decide to marry more than once, because he would assume responsibility not just economically, but also morally and educationally, for her and her children. Such a man was deserving of respect, therefore, as a strong and morally stable individual. In Dagestan, in contrast, there was some actual experience of men taking more than one wife, although while many respondents knew men with two wives, having several wives remained rare. Thus, in forming their attitudes to polygyny, Dagestani men made reference not to ideal images but to concrete examples from the actual experience of relatives, neighbours and fellow villagers: I remember this guy in the mountains. He had three wives. Everything was equal, the three wives were equal. They took it in turns to work, to look after the cows and the bulls. Well, they have to be fair, so nobody takes offence. No rows, no offence. (Dagestan, Dargin man) As in Tatarstan, Dagestani men were on the whole favourably disposed to polygyny. They tended, however, like the respondent above to think more practically about the importance of the man’s role in maintaining peace within the family. The positive attitude to the practice was justified, as in Tatarstan, by reference to a first wife’s infertility (generally euphemistically

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referred to as having ‘a sick wife’). Like Tatarstani men, in Dagestan men used the demographic argument to justify polygyny and suggested that it played a social function in reducing the misery of unmarried women and thus facilitated equality. In this context, men referred to official support for polygyny among the republic’s leaders and to propaganda in favour of the practice on television and in the mosques. One man from Gubden described a special programme he had seen about polygyny devoted to the prophet and his nine wives, one of whom he had married not because she was beautiful or young, but to save her from loneliness: Here in Gubden they tell the story of how if a woman was unmarried for a long time, she was asked: ‘Who do you want to marry?’ She would answer, ‘So-and-so.’ Then the imam would summon that person, and he would have to take her as his wife. In other words there was nothing depraved about it…So all rich people, even the late Gamidov, had three wives, they said. But he kept his three wives fifty times better than we do. Isn’t that a good thing? (Dagestan, Dargin man) Specific to Dagestani men, however, was the suggestion that the practice of polygyny was Islam’s mechanism of regulating sexual relations ‘outside’ marriage, ensuring men did not ‘have affairs’ or contract sexually transmitted diseases. The need for this was sometimes grounded in narratives of Caucasian men’s particular sexual needs, which, it was said, made one wife not enough for them, especially during times when she was ‘unable’ to fulfil her marital duties. However, male respondents recognized that by no means everybody could afford to have more than one wife, and this was sometimes a source of irritation to men since material wealth was very important to a man’s social status. Public demonstration by rich Dagestanis of their male superiority was thus perceived by many men as a personal insult, and provoked not just envy but aggression. To deeply religious women in Dagestan, polygyny was acceptable but it was considered to place certain obligations on the man that were often difficult to achieve. He would have to build a separate house for each wife, in effect creating several proper functioning homes. He would also have to ensure ‘equality’ between wives in terms of both dividing his time spent with each and in dividing his income between them. The only thing considered inadmissible to religious women was the divorce of ‘old’ wives. However, even in some religious villages such as Gubden, public opinion did not yet fully approve of the public demonstration of such practices. In these situations, men simply did not advertise their bigamy (or polygyny), although their families knew about it and the ritual of makhar (the religious consecration of marriage) was performed, so the woman was considered to be a lawful wife. Non-religious women in Dagestan thought it unlikely that anyone would agree to bigamy if it entailed living under one roof for this,

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would be emotionally very unpleasant and encroach upon a woman’s pride. Some people, it was thought, might agree to become somebody’s second or third wife for reasons of material comfort rather than for religious reasons.

Islam on display: original sin and national pride Clothes, especially women’s clothes, were of great symbolic significance in both republics in maintaining Islamic identity, in the sense of preserving its physical and moral purity. In Tatarstan, however, there was a more utilitarian approach to these practices than in Dagestan. In Tatarstan, the Islamic dress code was perceived, in the same kind of way as a national costume, as appropriate for holidays and celebrations rather than everyday wear: ‘It’s not possible in this day and age to wear Muslim clothes all the time – you’d stick out like a sore thumb’ (Tatarstan, Tatar woman). Thus although correct Muslim dress codes – defined as ‘long sleeves, legs covered, no bare feet, especially around older people’ – were widely known, they would be adhered to only on specific occasions. A headscarf, for example, might be worn when receiving guests. The practice of dressing ‘correctly’ was primarily characteristic of older people, and it was seen as most acceptable for them to do so. For middle-aged people, adopting a Muslim dress code was deeply problematic, for they associated it with Soviet-style theatrical performances by national folklore troops. Women of this age group also said that they felt uncomfortable, even embarrassed, to adopt such clothes as it signified an undesirable, conscious public demonstration of their adherence to Islam. Young women, even those studying in Islamic institutes, were resistant to Muslim dress codes; while they were prepared to wear such clothes within the walls of the institute, in town they preferred to look ‘civilised’. Many respondents, therefore, thought that the status quo should not be changed: real Muslim traditions should be maintained by the older generation and rural people but not extended further. Middle-aged and elderly Tatar women paid particular attention to their national pride; it was important, for example to tie one’s headscarf ‘in the Tatar way’. However, all Tatar women expressed a negative attitude towards the more extreme manifestations of Muslim dress, such as the wearing of the veil (paranja). A woman who was completely covered, it was suggested, looked ‘provocative’ rather than modest and attracted rather than avoided the attention of others: That’s no good at all. Two years ago I was going to Bulgar on the same bus as these girls in paranja. One of them was eating bread, and lifting up that thing…You can be religious, and have a strong faith, but you live in contemporary society, you shouldn’t be a scarecrow. (Tatarstan, Tatar woman) In Dagestan there was a stricter attitude towards upholding the rules for

Women from Gubden village, Dagestan. 7 July 1998. Photo: Vladimir Pavlov

A girl by the door, Gubden village, Dagestan. 12 July 1998. Photo: Vladimir Pavlov

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wearing Muslim dress, especially in the religious villages7 where gender codes were deeply embedded in ethno-religious identity. The colour, size and method of tying headscarves, for example, differed from region to region and it was possible to determine where a woman was from by the cut of her dress. Women’s clothes were subject to particular restrictions, and the covering of women’s bodies was said to be related to their capacity for original sin: When Adam and Eve sinned, and Allah asked Adam why he was crying, he said he was repenting his sins. But Eve said that she was crying because she couldn’t see Adam…Allah decided that he had to be stricter with women, that their religion was weaker. So a woman should be completely covered, but a man only from the navel to the knees. (Dagestan, Dargin woman) In the early stages of the Islamic revival in Dagestan, attention to correct outward appearance – especially that of girls – was supported by the state’s official education policy. School principals ensured that girls did not wear trousers or short dresses to school, and they were sent home to change if they disobeyed. In Dagestan, the attitude to men’s attire was stricter than in Tatarstan. Men were required to be clean and well-groomed; male hairdressing shops, for example, frequently offered ‘manicures for men’. In addition to the

Three old men from Gubden village, Dagestan. 11 July 1998. Photo: Vladimir Pavlov

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tiubeteika (skullcap), which was considered normal apparel, according to the shariat men should cover all their ‘private parts’ and so it was important that all buttons were fastened ‘like a soldier’. Dagestani masculinities incorporated a strong sense of pride in their outward appearance, and men paid close attention to how they looked, although what was considered attractive and prestigious varied according to ethnic group and place of origin. In addition to tiubeteiki, many Caucasians (Laks, Azeris, Chechens) wore papakhi (fur hats); the quality and height of these indicated the status of their clan. In Dagestan, men played a greater role than in Tatarstan in deciding how a woman should dress. This was not restricted to Muslim clothes but concerned secular wear too, since an attractively and expensively dressed woman (wife) was an important symbol of a man’s worth and status. However, the reverse was also true: if a man was dressed neatly, attractively and – by Dagestani standards – fashionably (always in a white shirt), this was evidence that he had a good wife.

Conclusion Studying the narratives of respondents revealed that the terms musul’manin and musul’manka expressed not only a religious identification but were themselves complex identity statements with their own ethno-gender specifics. In everyday cultural practice, the lives of Muslim men and women were remarkably diverse. This diversity was rooted in individuals’ ethnic origin, their place of residence, their family status and their level of religiosity. The authors’ attempt to uncover the gender dimension of contemporary Islam in Russia, therefore, produced not a neat binary experience of men on the one hand and women on the other, but a complex mix of ethnically and religiously coloured gendered images and practices that was sometimes difficult to explain. In both republics, Muslim women were imagined primarily in the familial dimension and the ability to bring up children ‘correctly’ and honestly as well as to cook well and abundantly was emphasized. However, whereas in Dagestan a woman’s maintenance of purity (of body, mind, home and action) was considered paramount, in Tatarstan it was her submissiveness and silence that was stressed. In both republics, too, men were more categorical about women’s roles than women themselves. Men tended to see women only in their roles as wives; it was through this wifely role that the woman acquired any social status, and through assisting her husband that she established herself as a woman. In this sense husbands – men – acted as both the gate and the barrier to the social world for ‘their’ women. Among women, there was a tension – especially in Dagestan – between women from different socio-cultural strata and localities8 and religious and non-religious women. In Dagestan, women concurred on the need for a Muslim woman to marry. However, for non-religious women, obeying one’s husband was not as important as retaining one’s right to free choice. Moreover, for both groups

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of women, ‘Arab’ women were not recognized as a model of a real Muslim woman; fanatical adherence to rules was not welcomed. Both republics – Dagestan in particular – were characterized by a ‘guestcentred’ culture. This encouraged a great deal of posturing in representations of gender roles; the maintenance of male superiority in the family, for example, was often displayed to guests rather than being a real reflection of family relations. Moreover, families were characterized above all by complementarity and mutual dependence. In Dagestan in particular, the man (husband) was the pride and honour of the wife, and the wife (woman) was the pride and honour of the man. In Tatarstan, however, social and familial roles were more balanced and men were less focused on the family. Threats to Muslim identity appeared in different guises in the two republics. In Dagestan, men expressed concern that the ‘openness’ of women in the modern world was divesting them of their purity and pride and demeaned their honour. In Tatarstan, it was the ‘Russian threat’ that dominated respondents’ talk. Tatarstani men talked of Muslim women who smoked, drank and behaved in an ostentatious manner – that is, were ‘like Russians’ – and the marriage of Tatars to Russians was widely perceived as threatening.9 The analysis of gender stereotypes and gendered characteristics of everyday cultural practice presented in this chapter describes the diverse and contradictory space of the gender order in the two republics at only its most general level. Inevitably, this space is much more complexly constructed than it appears here; within it ideal constructs, historically formed impressions, familial traditions and real gender practices are deeply entwined. While the full diversity of experience cannot be captured here, therefore, we have sought to construct at least a snapshot of the emergent gender orders in the two societies. This picture incorporates both observation of real gender practice, but also reference to the ‘ideal constructs’ via which Muslims in Tatarstan and Dagestan seek to make sense of that practice. Attention to both these levels of analysis is considered important, for it reveals some of the key paradoxes of, and challenges for, Russia’s Muslim communities. In Dagestan, for example, the problematic adaptation of religious practices to an essentially contemporary (Europeanized) urban life has resulted in the co-existence of two gender systems. On the one hand there is a secular imperative towards public life, openness, the display of wealth, plenty, property and beauty to society at large which inclines men and women seek to display the success of their family to the outside world. This competes, however, with the requirements of the Islamic religious system which teaches modesty, privacy, insularity, humility and ascetic duty to Allah. Indeed these systems might even co-exist within a single family.10 In Tatarstan, the problem is rather one of the reconciliation of the gender implications of the revival simultaneously of both religious and ethnic identities. Thus, on the one hand, Tatars articulate a resistance to ‘Russian’ models of gender rela-

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tions and there is a rising interest in Islamic gender norms as the Tatar population seeks to express its national identity. At the same time, actual gender practices continued to borrow heavily from ‘Western’ models of relations between men and women and there was a reluctance, especially on the part of women, to contemplate any serious challenge to this model.

Notes 1 For a good example of a recent attempt to address this problem, see Suvorova (1996). 2 The picture remains partial however, being constructed on the basis of an intensive, but relatively short period of field work in the republics; in reality gender representations of Muslim identity are undoubtedly even more diverse than suggested here. 3 Divorce occurs, although is not approved of, in Dagestan. Family and clan participate in attempts to reconcile couples during extensive family discussions. Divorced women have no authority and rarely enjoy sympathy. 4 Such domestic skills were passed on from older women – mothers, mothers-inlaw or elder sisters. 5 One female respondent from Makhachkala recounted how a friend of hers used the deeply religious nature of her husband to her own advantage; thus her husband went to market, carried all the heavy bags and, if she was tired, might order her to lie down while he did the cooking himself. 6 In sharp contrast, in Tatarstan one respondent commented that a woman could marry ‘a German or a Frenchman, anyone but a Russian’. 7 During field research in Dagestan, the fieldworkers also adhered to these rules; before entering each village dress was adapted to correspond to local rules, which generally involved scarves, covered shoulders and long dresses for the women and, for the men, clean white shirts and trousers – no jeans – and clean-shaven faces. 8 In Dagestan, women from different regions were not necessarily familiar with other (women’s) rituals and traditions. 9 In contrast, for Dagestanis, Russians were almost as distant as Europeans, and ‘mixed marriages’ connoted marriage between Dagestanis of different ethnic backgrounds rather than between ‘ethnics’ and Russians. 10 For example, in one Russian family in Makhachkala, one twin sister graduated from a secular faculty at the university and then converted to Islam, deciding to devote herself entirely to religion. The other sister secured a good position as an accountant in a Makhachkala bank. The first dresses emphatically in the Muslim manner; the other just as emphatically in the European style.

Conclusion Hilary Pilkington

Can Muslim and Christian faith communities live together? What kind of political, ethnic and cultural order is required to facilitate such co-habitation? Does Russia provide a model for reconciliation and co-habitation? Or is the Russian Federation itself increasingly vulnerable to the further expansion of ‘Islamic extremism’ (Poliakov 2001: 21), situated on the ‘front-line’ in a new war between Islam and the West? What does that mean for the future of the Russian Federation? These are some of the fundamental questions that underpinned the research begun in 1996 upon which this book is based. Since that time these questions have come to be voiced far more widely and more urgently than we could have anticipated. In this concluding chapter, we outline how Russia’s ‘Islamic problem’ has been re-cast in the light of the events of 11 September 2001. More importantly, however, we compare and contrast the way in which Islam has been engaged – in both public and private spheres – in the process of shaping ethnic, national and religious agendas in Russia’s autonomous republics. It is this detailed historical and contemporary ethno-political and socio-cultural contextualization of Islam, we argue, which provides the starting point for answering the ‘bigger’ questions posed above. When the Soviet Union was formally dissolved on 31 December 1991, the survival and development of the Russian Federation as a multi-ethnic, multi-confessional and culturally pluralistic integral state seemed far from assured. The centrifugal political forces which had torn the Soviet Union asunder threatened also the nominally federal political constellation of Russia. Islam’s renaissance, as an important factor of cultural and national self-assertion and identity among Russia’s Muslims, was one of the forces to emerge from the ensuing ideological void and shifting sands of civil society in post-Soviet Russia. The revival of Islam in the Muslim autonomous republics of the Russian Federation was from the start deeply entwined with changing state formations, however. The renaissance was sparked by the implementation of the Law on Freedom of Conscience (1990), which allowed the restoration and construction of mosques and medresses, and was fully in line with the spirit of the early 1990s of accelerated ‘democratization’. However, the close integration of Islamic renaissance with the

Conclusion 265 development of ethnic national movements in Russia’s autonomous republics was shaped by certain policies of the Russian government in the first phase of its own post-Soviet independence. Such policies included the intensive ‘sovereignization’ of the subjects of the Federation; a pro-Western positioning in Russia’s external relations; a tangible indifference towards the regions, as well as an underestimation of just how much ‘sovereignty’ they would choose to swallow; a policy of neglect towards the needs of the Muslim population; and a relative disregard of Islam in comparison with Orthodoxy. Consequently, by the mid-1990s Russia had ‘an Islamic problem’, and Moscow chose to deal with the challenges posed by its Muslim enclaves selectively. On the one hand, the bilateral treaty of 1994 with Tatarstan appeared to signal a new ‘model’ for allowing controlled sovereignty for Russia’s autonomous republics in an environment of political stability, relative economic prosperity and ethno-national restraint. However, the success of the ‘Tatarstan model’ has been interpreted generally as evidence of the republic’s strength and Moscow’s weakness; a product of elite bargaining rather than political vision. Thus, Sharafutdinova argues, the Soviet-era elite in Tatarstan successfully appropriated a moderate version of the nationalist agenda and used it as a powerful resource in the republic’s relations with Moscow (Sharafutdinova 2000: 1). Thus the potential for conflict with the centre remained latent – awaiting a ‘strong hand’ to appear in Moscow. The delicate nature of the division of power enshrined in the bilateral treaty became evident in the course of 1999. The treaty agreement expired on 15 February 1999 and its renewal was obstructed by a new policy of strengthening Russian unity emerging from Prime Minister, soon to become President, Vladimir Putin. By mid-2000, a series of legislative acts had been passed which sought to recoup for Moscow much of the power that the regions had been offered by Yeltsin. In particular, two decisions of the Russian Federation constitutional court (June 2000) had rendered Tatarstan’s claim to be a sovereign state ‘unconstitutional’ (Graney 2001: 32). In contrast, yet simultaneously, the failure to find a peaceful resolution to the claims of the ethno-nationalist movement in another autonomous republic, Chechnia, had led to a grotesque and unresolved civil war (1994–6), which was resumed in December 1999 following a series of terrorist attacks in Moscow, Volgodonsk and Buinaksk attributed to ‘Islamic extremists’. Significantly, the new military campaign drew much greater public support than had the first, which had been met with profound ambivalence, if not outright distaste, by the Russian population. This was especially true of southern Russia, as the conflict threatened to spill over into the North Caucasus more widely, causing mounting concern among the leaderships and populations of the other North Caucasus republics. By the end of 1999, as the Western world was engaged in the ‘end of millennium’ party, Moscow was embarking upon a renewed military intervention in the North Caucasus. Thus the second millennium ended with Russia apparently,

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once again, staring into the abyss of ethno-political unrest and being condemned by the West for its failure to resolve its ethnic problems in a ‘civilized’ manner. Less than a year later, Russia’s frustration with the West’s condemnation of its military intervention in the breakaway republic had turned to Schadenfreude. In Russia the attacks of 11 September 2001 evoked immediate and wholehearted condemnation by Russian politicians as well as widespread popular empathy with the American people; President Putin ordered a minute’s silence for the victims, while in Moscow ordinary Russians laid flowers and candles outside the American embassy and in Ul’ianovsk region, workers at a private food store donated three days of wages and store proceeds to victims of the incidents (Popeski 2001; ‘As workers volunteer funds, services’ 2001). However, the sub-text to these statements was plain to all. The Russian assertion that world peace could no longer be ‘bought’ via elaborate missile defence systems had been vindicated; ‘the real threat’ according to Dmitrii Rogozin, came from ‘terrorism, in all its forms, in the North Caucasus or the Middle East or any other place’ (Rogozin 2001). Moreover, in the statements of both public figures and ordinary citizens alike, there was a righteous tone that articulated a clear sense that America, and the West more widely, had reaped the harvest it had sown in arming the mujahedin in Afghanistan in the first place and in allowing trans-national Islamic organizations to act as a front for terrorist groups. In this vein, Tatarstan’s Muslim Religious Board declared that Osama bin Laden and the Taliban ‘emerged with the help of the US and Pakistan special services’ (‘Leaders of predominantly Muslim republics keep silent…’ 2001). Islamic specialists working closely with government departments and agencies had been fuelling these popular suspicions since well before the events of 11 September. Ignatenko, in an article in the daily newspaper Nezavisimaia Gazeta in 1999, for example, had called Osama bin Laden ‘a phantom created by the CIA’ (cited in Poliakov 2001: 22). The point of such statements was not to soften criticism of terrorism conducted in the name of Islam, but rather to expose underlying geo-political processes perceived to be at work. Islamic extremism, even according to the ‘moderate’ official line, was interpreted as ‘one of the consequences of the global destruction of the bipolar system of socio-economic and political competition between socialism and capitalism’ (Poliakov 2001: 22). The USSR – as an ideological counter-weight to the West – had restrained the rise of a new wave of Islamism and thus the collapse of socialism, according to Poliakov, had ‘left Islamists face to face with the West’ (Poliakov 2001: 22). In the aftermath of the events of 11 September, America was chastised similarly by Mukaddas Bibarsov, Chairman of the Volga Muslim Religious Board, for ‘using the slogan of combating terrorism as a pretext for reshaping the world order’ (‘Leaders of predominantly Muslim republics keep silent…’ 2001). The very real shock and pain displayed in Russia as the events of 11 September unfolded, therefore, revealed clearly not only the

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global resonance of local tragedies in the contemporary world, but the confirmation of profound fears. In both public and private, Russians expressed the hope that the West would now take seriously the ‘external’ Islamic threat. The events of September 2001 occurred while this book was in its final stages of editing, and are in no way recognized or anticipated by the research outlined in the book. However, those events have caused the authors not to doubt, but rather to re-emphasize, the central themes of the research. The understanding of Islam as having many different faces – ‘ours’ and ‘foreign’, ‘official’ and ‘unofficial’, ‘traditional’ and ‘fundamentalist’ – remains, we think, vital to the analysis of the post-11 September world. Above all, the work undertaken by the authors confirms the need to see Islam not as a homogenizing trans-national movement, but to contextualize it in a vast array of local, ethno-political, socio-economic and cultural environments, which shape its nature and role in society. In the case of post-Soviet Russia, for example, the central hypothesis at the outset of the research in 1996 had been that while in Tatarstan, the Islamic revival would constitute a predominantly cultural component of a developing nationalism, in Dagestan, Islam might evolve into an integrating, factor, with the potential of overcoming ethnic division, in the formation of statehood. The actual research confirmed the need for such contextualization, whilst only partially confirming the specific hypotheses constructed. In the case of Tatarstan, the hypothesis was largely confirmed. Although we fall short of confirming the official Tatarstan government line – that Tatarstan has achieved a ‘peaceful resolution of the ethno-nationalist movement’ and that Shaimiev has implemented ‘economic and social policies that, at least on the surface, addressed the needs of the entire population’ (Sharafutdinova 2000: 1) – we accept that Islam has not emerged as a powerful force separate from the Tatar national movement. Indeed, the latter has been manipulated and controlled itself by the Shaimiev government. However, in the more Islamized and polyethnic Dagestan, Islam has become an integral component of ethnic and clan politics. In Dagestan, the political, economic and clerical domination of Avars and Dargins has been accompanied by the integration of traditional Sufi or tariqatist Islam (in which Avars also dominate) into the Dagestani official establishment. As a result, opposition to the present regime has developed mainly within the framework of popular fundamentalist Islam, or Wahhabism. Thus, although there have been individual instances indicating that Islam could play a unifying role in Dagestan (see Chapter 4), to date Islam has become one of a number of divisive factors in post-Soviet Dagestan, rather than the integrating factor originally hypothesized. In this final chapter, we summarize the research findings, which have led us to this conclusion about the different role of Islam in the two republics.

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The public face of Islam in post-Soviet Russia Our research showed that the impact of Islam on the policy-making process has been much greater in Dagestan than Tatarstan. The Islamic factor in largely secularized and bi-ethnic Tatarstan has not had a direct impact on the republican leadership and its policies. The major political goal of the Tatarstan political establishment has been a prolongation of the special relations between Kazan and Moscow enshrined in the Bilateral Treaty of 1994, and, despite Putin’s new ‘hard line’ with the regions, the Tatarstani authorities believe that they can still find ways of ‘persuading’ Moscow to find ‘special solutions’ for the republic (Sharafutdinova 2000: 39; Faroukshin 2002). Policies of the ‘Tatarization’ (that is the promotion of ethnic Tatars) of political, economic and cultural spheres of society and the formation of alternative autonomous political structures have led to a persistent indirect role for Islam in Tatar politics, however. The Tatarstan authorities have facilitated the breakaway of the Tatarstan Islamic establishment from the Federal Islamic centre in Ufa and the formation of a separate Tatarstan Muftiiat, based in Kazan. The latter has been perceived as an indispensable attribute of Tatarstan’s sovereignty. In February 1998 the Tatarstan authorities orchestrated the unifying Congress of Tatarstan Muslims and promoted Gusman Iskhakov as the ‘right’ and loyal Muftii of Tatarstan. Our research has revealed that Shaimiev’s government has provided indirect support to Muftii Iskhakov’s policy aimed at making Kazan the Islamic capital of Eurasia, centralizing Tatarstan’s Islamic communities and withdrawing Tatarstan’s Muslim community from the jurisdiction of Ufa, under Muftii Talgat Tadjuddinov. The strengthening of the symbolic function of Islam in Tatarstan politics has been accompanied by some attempts to revive its ideological function. To this end, the leading Tatar official theoretician on Islamic issues, Rafael Khakimov, has advocated the restoration of Tatar reformist Islam, or jadidism, as a viable basis for the Tatar national idea. In Dagestan the impact of Islam on the policy-making process has been more visible than in Tatarstan due to: the much deeper economic crisis, aggravated by the lengthy economic blockade, the substantially higher level of religiosity of the population, the spontaneous popular Islamic activities within Dagestan, and an uneasy relationship with rapidly Islamized neighbouring Chechnia. The Dagestani political agenda has been dominated by the perceived need to combat rising Islamic fundamentalism, or Wahhabism, and a common anti-Wahhabi stance has brought together the Dagestani government and Islamic officialdom, represented by the Muftiiat. Since the end of 1997 the Dagestani authorities have opted for propaganda and administrative warfare against local Wahhabis, most of whom belong to two of the largest and most religious ethnic groups, the Avars and the Dargins. The official crackdown on the Dagestani Wahhabis has backfired, however, and succeeded only in fuelling the extremist branch of the Wahhabis and pushing their leaders into closer alliance with the Chechen radicals. Since early 1998 the Dagestani and Chechen Wahhabis have been renouncing the

Conclusion 269 present Dagestani and Chechen governments and pushing for the formation of an Islamic state comprising Chechnia, Dagestan, Ingushetiia, KabardinoBalkariia and Karachaevo-Cherkessiia. The ban on Wahhabism in Chechnia in July 1998 – following a similar ban in Dagestan from December 1997 – provoked the Wahhabi jihad (the Islamic holy war) against the legitimate leaders of Chechnia and Dagestan. Western Dagestan – Tsumadinskii, Botlikhskii, Novolakskii and Buinakskii districts (raions) – has been invaded from Chechen territory by Chechen, Dagestani and foreign Islamists of the Islamic Liberation Forces. In order to curb the Islamist insurgence, the Dagestani authorities sanctioned the formation and armament of popular self-defense guards and pressed for strengthening the involvement of the Russian federal armed forces in Dagestan and the North Caucasus as a whole. In practice, however, this distribution of arms among so-called ‘loyal’ ethnic groups has served only to exacerbate existing ethnic tensions. Furthermore, the official association of Wahhabism with political extremism and international terrorism, on the one hand, and an increasing portrayal of any Islam-related beliefs and practices as manifestations of Wahhabism, on the other, have fuelled a nation-wide Islamphobia. The net result of the latter has been the further aggravation of inter-confessional and inter-ethnic relations in multi-cultural Russia. Where Islam has been mobilized as an ‘opposition’ force, it has also been more effective in Dagestan than Tatarstan. In Tatarstan a failing nationalist opposition has sought to bring Islam to the political agenda, while in Dagestan a number of active national movements exist alongside purely Islamic movements and organizations. The national movement in Tatarstan has been significantly weakened since 1994 through two processes: the cooption of key figures in the movement into the political establishment, as a ‘loyal opposition’; and the isolation of ‘irreconcilable’ Tatar nationalists through the denial of official financial and political support. Politically undermined and demoralized, Tatar nationalist organizations have lost support and, in some cases, disintegrated. At present Tatar Islamic nationalists enjoy minimal popularity among the Tatar population and hold little hope of political success in the foreseeable future. The political value of evidence of a tough nationalist opposition for political bargaining with Moscow, however, has encouraged the authorities to orchestrate controlled, nationalist protest in the republic. To date there is no evidence of any viable Islamic opposition in Tatarstan despite several attempts by the Tatar Muslim clergy to create some sort of Islamic political organization. In Dagestan, in contrast, a number of Avar, Lak, Kumyk, Nogai and Lezgin national movements have been particularly articulate and assertive in calling, among other things, for the federalization and autonomization of Dagestan and for wider political, economic and cultural rights for the respective ethnic groups. Dagestan, moreover, has witnessed widespread activity by purely Islamic organizations and parties, the most radical of which have been the AllRussian Islamic Party of Renaissance and Al-Islamiyya.

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In both republics, the Soviet-era Islamic establishment has been challenged by ‘unofficial’ Islamic movements. Since 1999 in Tatarstan there have been two de facto Muftiiats. Official support is accorded to the newly founded Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Respubliki Tatarstana (DUMRT), since it is perceived to provide the requisite ‘spiritual filling’ to sovereignty. A second Muftiiat – Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Tatarstana (DUMT) – remains loyal to the all-Russian Muftiiat in Ufa (TsDUMR). The latter has propagated the flexible and tolerant Hanafi madhhab of Sunni Islam, which has been practiced by the Volga Tatars since 922 and which emphasizes the non-political nature of Islam. Formally, the official Muftiiat declares adherence to the traditions of Tatar Hanafi Islam. However, our study of the curricula of Tatarstan’s Islamic University, colleges and schools (medresses), as well as interviews with a number of its students (shakirds), has shown evidence of the proliferation of Wahhabism, a form of the most rigid and strict Hanbali madhhab of Sunni Islam. Given the Tatar-Russian ethnic composition of Tatarstan and its Orthodox-Islamic religious make-up, the spread of Wahhabism, which is intolerant of nonMuslims, has a destabilizing potential. On the other hand, the largely secular make-up of society limits the possibility of any nationwide religious conflict in the republic. Dagestani Islamic officialdom has been divided along ethnic lines. Since 1994, there has been only one officially recognized Muftiiat in Dagestan, the Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Dagestana (DUMD), dominated by the politically ascendant Avar ethnic group and controlled by the leading Naqshbandi sheikh, Sayid-efendi. In spite of its official status the DUMD has been accepted only by Avars; Muslims of the other major ethnic groups have maintained their allegiance to the unofficial, but still influential, Kumyk, Dargin and Lak Muftiiats. Compared to the Tatarstan Islamic elite, the Dagestani clergy have shown greater competence in Islamic matters, strict adherence to the Shafii madhhab of Sunni Islam, closer affiliation with traditions of Sufi Islam and stronger resilience to non-traditional forms of Islam, Wahhabism in particular. In contrast to Tatarstan, where popular Sufi-affiliated Islam was undermined by the purges of the 1930s, in Dagestan unofficial Islam has been at the forefront of political and social life. It has two faces: Sufism, represented by Naqshbandi, Shadhali and Kadiri tariqas (brotherhoods); and Islamic fundamentalist Wahhabism, or the safi (pure) Islam. The tariqatists are numerically superior to the Wahhabis. Indeed, Wahhabism has been a relatively recent development in Dagestan, facilitated by the annual participation of thousands of Dagestanis in the hajj to Mecca and Medina, as well as in the ‘umra (small hajj), the growing number of Dagestanis studying abroad in Islamic centres such as Turkey, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Jordan and Egypt, the significant flow of foreign teachers of Islam into Dagestan’s Islamic schools and universities, the promotion of Wahhabism by foreign Islamic missionaries, and the growing availability of Islamic liter-

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ature published by foreign Islamic centres. Wahhabi activity peaked initially in the first half of the 1990s and was concentrated in the districts of Kiziliurtovskii, Buinakskii, Khasaviurtovskii, Karabudakhkentskii and Tsumadinskii. However, the increasing attraction of Wahabbism as a solution to Dagestan’s problems is self-evident as the Wahhabis’ strict mores, revolutionary camaraderie and regular wage payment are contrasted to continuing economic and political crisis, rampant corruption within state structures and widespread crime and hostage-taking. The official crackdown on Wahhabism, which began in December 1997, has actually resulted in a growth in the number of Dagestani Wahhabis, their political radicalization and subsequent rapprochement with Chechen Islamists and guerrillas. Since 1999 the Chechen and Dagestani Wahhabis have been engaged in a military jihad seeking to create an Islamic state on the territory of Chechnia and Dagestan. Thus despite evidence of some infiltration of official structures in Tatarstan by Wahhabism (due to the weakness there of official Islamic structures), the threat of Wahhabism remains greater in Dagestan where it draws on a much wider social base, due to the higher religiosity of the Muslim majority, and is fuelled by poorer economic conditions.

The private face of Islam in post-Soviet Russia The growing spiritual and cultural status of Islam has made it attractive to the populations of both Tatarstan and Dagestan. At the interface of the ‘public’ and ‘private’ faces of Islam, have been the ‘national’ intelligentsias in each republic, who, whilst generally supporting the continued separation of Islam from the state, have articulated some of the popular feelings about how Islam might be made to work in the interests of the improvement of society. In Tatarstan, the majority of Tatar–speaking Tatar intellectuals stressed the importance of Islam in the national self-identification of Tatars and said they would welcome the gradual strengthening of Islamic ethics and morality in family life and the incorporation of Islamic social norms into public life. The non-Russian intelligentsia in Dagestan had even greater expectations of Islam,1 perceiving it to be a crucial factor in the moral salvation of a spiritually degenerate and criminalized society. There is support for the development of an Islamic educational system and the introduction of elements of the shariat into public life as the only viable deterrent to the process of criminalization. At the popular level, however, Islam is embraced primarily in psychological, moral and cultural terms and is linked only indirectly to broader social and political issues.2 The ‘privatization’ and ‘localization’ of Islam in the Soviet period has left no unified system of Muslim identification and observance of Islamic rituals to guide the process of re-Islamization. Islamic identity in Tatarstan and Dagestan is characterized, therefore, by a close interaction with local ethnic traditions and widely accepted social, including clan, values.

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In Tatarstan, in particular, Tatar and Muslim identities are closely intertwined. The Tatar intellectual and spiritual elite encoded Tatar Islam as a progressive, peaceful, more civilized version of Islam, where the object of comparison is ‘all other Islams’ (Islamic-oriented states of the East, the former republics of the USSR and the Russian republics), but in particular Chechnia, Dagestan, Turkey, Iran and the Arab countries (Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Algeria and Iraq). The ‘differences’ between Tatarstani and ‘other’ Islams hinged on differences in the performance of Islamic rituals, the ‘peaceful’ nature of Islam in Tatarstan, and the relative ‘disorganization’ and ‘leniency’ of Islam. The acknowledged relatively low level of development of Islam in Tatarstan was seen as either a positive or a negative factor depending on individual expectations of the religion. Perceptions of Islam in Chechnia varied, from an admiration at the willingness of Chechens to lay down their lives for their faith, to a desire to dissociate ‘real Muslims’ from any acts of war. The predominant tendency, however, was to explain events in the republic as a result of the ‘cocktail’ of Islam mixed with the peculiar Chechen ‘spirit’ (courage, strength of conviction, hot-bloodedness and willingness to resort to arms to defend their faith). In contrast, Tatars were portrayed as more moderate, tolerant and placid. Islam in Tatarstan was also contrasted to Islam in Arab countries by way of its developing, formative, ‘renascent’ nature. The ethnic, linguistic and cultural proximity of Turkey made it an important point of comparison and reference in Tatarstan. Turkey was considered to be more ‘democratic’ than the Arab countries and as positioned, like Tatarstan itself, somewhere ‘between East and West’. In Dagestan, there was also an awareness of an Islam that was ‘ours’. Whereas in Tatarstan this was linked to the ethno-cultural role of Islam, in Dagestan Islamic identity was conditioned on the one hand by deeply rooted ethnic-territorial identities, and on the other hand by the development of broad contacts with the Muslim East. Adat norms also remained widespread and together with tukhum (clan) and jamaat (village commune) loyalties, contributed to the specific character of Islamic identity. As in Tatarstan, the distinguishing features of Dagestani Islam were recognized in the form of differences in Islamic rituals, attitudes to women, the role of Islam in the social structure of the state and a general ‘Europeanization’, by which was meant a greater role for individual choice about faith and religion. In contrast to Tatarstan, however, Dagestanis offered a consistently positive assessment of the traditions of ‘their’ Islam, and believed it to be stronger even than in the countries of the East. This was related to the fact that Islam in Dagestan had retained some of its original roots and drew on a rich history of Islam in the republic, well-known religious leaders and academics and the retention of Islamic traditions of venerating Sufi shrines. Thus the current revival of Islam – as measured by the number of mosques and ‘believers’ – was often seen in Dagestan as a specious revival.

Conclusion 273 One of the factors cited most frequently when comparing Islam in Tatarstan and Dagestan with ‘other’ Islams was the position of women in the East. Islamic gender role norms were weakly incorporated into everyday practices of Islam in the Russian Federation. In Dagestan the position of women varied widely according to social background and status; the most pronounced difference was between the cities and the religious villages. The majority of Dagestani families did not consciously conform to any Islamic model of a woman’s role, however, and given current levels of unemployment, women often became the family breadwinners de facto. Respondents noted how families put on a public show of ‘respect for the man’, but that this often did not reflect relations within the family in private. In Tatarstan there was no such ‘public’ demonstration of traditional, Islamic gender relations, and it was Islamically oriented young people who were most keen to preserve the traditional Islamic patriarchy. The preference for mono-ethnic and, still more, mono-confessional marriages was manifest in Tatarstan and Dagestan, although in both republics the number of mixed marriages remained high. No matter how ‘different’ other people’s Islam was, however, Muslims were always considered fellow believers, and thus the image of them was generally positive, unlike that, for example, of Russians who remained the predominant ‘other’ against which Islamic identity was forged in both Tatarstan and Dagestan. Stories passed down of the past oppression of Muslim minorities in the former USSR have aggravated current ethnic relations and the last decade has seen a stable out-migration of Russians from the republics. Although Russians were choosing to leave the republics rather than being ‘driven out’, representatives of the Russian intelligentsia in Tatarstan, for example, expressed concern that the ongoing Islamic renaissance had not been accompanied by similar processes within Orthodox Christianity. They also noted the discrepancy between official policy, which urged the formation of a civic nation of Tatarstanis, and the reality of contemporary Tatarstan in which an ethnic nation of Tatars, rooted in Tatar, Turkic and Islamic cultural traditions, was being forged. The current position of Russians in Tatarstan was negatively affected primarily by the curtailment of career opportunities, the increasing use of Tatar language in public spaces (such as shops) and the formalistic approach to the teaching of Tatar language to the children of Russians. According to Aleksandr Salagaev, sociologist and leader of the Russian Culture Society, ethnic selfawareness of Russians in Tatarstan is growing, however, and might now be compared to the level of awareness among Tatars in 1991 (‘Russian movement leader says Russians’ self-awareness on rise’ 2002). Ethnic Russians in Dagestan constituted a small proportion of the population and thus were more assimilated and adapted to Dagestani culture. Although still identifying as ‘Russians’, they displayed greater solidarity with the ‘local ethnics’ (who they referred to as natsmeny) whose positive qualities were emphasized. Indeed, Russian respondents in Dagestan criticized ‘other Russians’

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(those outside the republic) for their rudeness, alcoholism, laziness, lack of genuine cooperation, absence of proper upbringing and lack of family values. There are no ‘straight’ correlations between Islam, ethnicity and nationalist politics in post-Soviet Russia. In Tatarstan, Islam has shown itself to be weak and largely incorporated. This has left it vulnerable to being mobilized by the post-Soviet regime in Tatarstan as an ‘attribute’ of Tatarstan statehood, whilst at the same time to being utilized as a restraint on ‘extreme’ ethno-nationalist political agendas. Paradoxically, however, the very weakness of official Islam has allowed Wahhabism to creep into official Islamic educational and religious institutions. The predominantly secular disposition of the population (both Tatar and Russian) and of the post-Soviet regime in the republic makes widespread religious conflict unlikely. Indeed, for the vast majority of the Tatar population, ‘being Muslim’ is something conceived of as inseparable from ‘being Tatar’. Processes of Tatarization thus potentially present a greater challenge to social and political stability in the republic than do those of Islamization. Although the Shaimiev regime has consciously sought to isolate the nationalist opposition, the very processes employed to shut down dissonant voices effectively limits the freedom of others; this adds to the alienation already felt by the Russian population and thus, indirectly, increases the potential for ethnic conflict. Although there is little hard evidence as yet of social protest or political organization among the Russian population of Tatarstan, the process of renegotiating centre–periphery relations, in the light of the expiry of the bilateral treaty and of President Putin’s recentralization policies, is likely to encourage significant political posturing in both Moscow and Kazan. As a result, certain policies – such as the Latinization of the Tatar language – are likely to become ethnically contested issues. The potential for widespread popular ethnic conflict in Tatarstan remains low, however; the population is adamant that not even the worst excesses of politicking can undermine centuries of Russian–Tatar cohabitation. In Dagestan, conversely, Islam has emerged as a powerful force in postSoviet society and has revealed its potential to overcome divisive ethnic differences in the polyethnic republic. In the course of the first decade of post-Soviet life, however, Islam has failed to realize this potential, instead becoming deeply entwined with clan and ethnic power struggles. As a result Avar-led traditionalism (Sufism) has become the state ‘norm’ while Wahhabism, which has more popular support than in Tatarstan, has emerged as a real opposition force. Consequently, Islam has become yet another disunifying factor in the republic. Serious ethnic conflict in the republic has been avoided to date largely because all ethnic groups share a non-separatist vision of the future of the republic, and thanks to the maintenance of traditions of dividing political power and favour along established norms of ethnic parity. However, struggles for economic and political power have been resolved, on occasion, through violence and the regime is

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perceived by the population as corrupt and unprofessional. Set against continued social and economic impoverishment in the republic and the rise of ‘non-traditional’ Islam, the potential for social destabilization and conflict in Dagestan remains high.

Notes 1 2

It should be noted that during the period of study – 1997–9 – the Dagestani intelligentsia generally had greater freedom of speech via the media than the intelligentsia in Tatarstan. The research for this book focused on understanding the distinctive qualities of Islamic faith in post-Soviet Russia, rather than measuring and defining who might or might not be counted as a ‘Muslim’. Nevertheless, the research did identify six generational cohorts among the population with regard to their attitude to Islam. The oldest (those aged over 75) and the youngest (aged 10–22) show the greatest interest in Islam since both have grown up in periods in which Islam has been socially acceptable. Respondents aged between 22 and 30 revealed a wide range of views varying from active belief to indifference to Islam. The intermediary cohorts tend towards atheism at the older end of the spectrum and superficial observance of rituals at the younger end.

Appendix Key events in the history of Russia and Islam

685 680s–690s 922 988 1240–1380 1257–66 1340 1341 1533–84 1552 1613–1917 1690s 1694–1725 1722 1762–96 1773–5 1773 1788 1790 1806 1806 1818 1820s–1870s 1824–59 1831 1844 1853–6 1855–81 1861 1860s

Arab conquest of Derbend (Dagestan) Proliferation of Sunni Islam of Shafii madhhab in southern Dagestan Adoption of Sunni Islam of Hanafi madhhab by Volga Bulgars Adoption of Christianity by Kievan Rus’ Genghizid (Mongol) domination of Russia Reign of Khan Berke in the Golden Horde Khan Uzbek officially introduces Sunni Islam of Hanafi madhhab in the Golden Horde Reign of Timur (Tamerlane) begins in Central Asia Reign of Ivan IV (‘the Terrible’) Russian conquest of Kazan Khanate Reign of Romanov dynasty in Russia Majority of Dagestani Muslims profess Sufism Reign of Peter ‘the Great’ Persian campaign of Peter ‘the Great’ Reign of Catherine ‘the Great’ Pugachev popular revolt Adoption of the Law on Religious Tolerance Establishment of the Muftiiat in Ufa Foundation of Vladikavkaz Establishment of the Russian rule over Ossetiia Russian conquest of Kabarda and Derbend Foundation of Groznii and Nal’chik Russian-Caucasian war Imamat of Imam Shamyl in Chechnia and Dagestan Establishment of Muftiiat in Bahchesarai Foundation of Petrovsk (Makhachkala) Crimean war Reign of Alexander II Emancipation of the serf peasantry in Russia Russian annexation of Dagestan

Appendix 277 1868–1917 1860s 1867 1872 1873–1917 1876 1851–1914 1883–1918 1905–7 1905 1905 1905–17 1905–17 1906 1914 1916 1917 1917–22 1917 1917 1917 1917 1917 1917 1917–23 1918–20 1920 1920s–1950s 1921 1921 1922–36 1924 1924–53 1924–43 1927–31 1937–9 1941

Russian protectorate over Bukhara Russian annexation of Kazakstan Creation of Turkestan Governorship-General Establishment of Muftiiat in Baku Russian protectorate over Khiva Russian conquest of Kokand Life of Ismail Bey Gasprinskii Publication of the newspaper Terjuman First Russian bourgeois-democratic revolution August, First All-Russian Muslim congress October, adoption of the October Manifesto Activity of the Kadet party Activity of the Ittifaq-i-Muslimin party January, Second All-Russian Muslim congress Outbreak of the First World War June 25, Tsarist Decree on conscription of Turkestani Muslims February/March, second Russian bourgeois-democratic revolution overthrows Tsar Basmachi revolt in Central Asia May, First Muslim congress in republican Russia May, establishment of the Emirate of the North Caucasus June, formation of the Alash Orda party July, Second Muslim congress in republican Russia August, Nadjmutdin Gotsinskii establishes the Imamat in Chechnia October/November, Bolshevik revolution Proliferation of Muslim Communism Civil War and foreign intervention May, formation of the Tatar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic Forced resettlement of mountain peoples on the Caspian lowlands in Dagestan Bolshevik conquest of the North Caucasus Formation of the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic of Dagestan Territorial organization of the USSR January, death of Lenin Stalinist dictatorship Peak of anti-Islamic campaign Introduction of Latin instead of Arabic alphabet in Muslim regions of the USSR Introduction of Cyrillic instead of Latin alphabet in Muslim regions of Russia 22 June, Nazi Germany invades USSR

278 1943

Appendix

Formation of Muftiiats in Ufa (DUMES), Buinaksk (DUMSK), Baku (DUMZ) and Tashkent (SADUM) 1943–4 Mass deportations of Chechens, Balkars, Karachais, Crimean Tatars and other Muslim peoples to Central Asia 1944 May, establishment of the Council for the Affairs of Religious Cults (CARC) 1945 9 May, Soviet victory over Nazi Germany 1948 Moscow recognizes supremacy of Tashkent Muftiiat (SADUM) over Muftiiats in Ufa, Baku and Buinaksk 1950s Deported Chechens, Balkars, Karachais and other repressed peop1es return to the North Caucasus after partial rehabilitation 1953 March, death of Stalin 1954 Khrushchev transfers Crimea to Ukraine’s jurisdiction 1954 Adoption of the Communist Party’s resolution on ‘Major Drawbacks in Scientific-Atheistic Propaganda’ 1974 Transfer of the DUMSK from Buinaksk to Makhachkala 1979 Soviet invasion of Afghanistan 1985 April, ascendance of Gorbachev, beginning of perestroika 1988 Creation of the All-Tatar Public Centre (VTOTs) in Kazan 1988–94 Peak of the Islamic renaissance in Russia 1989–92 Peak of the Tatar national movement 1989 Formation of the Tatar Islamic-nationalist organizations: Ittifaq party, Milli Mejlis, Azatlyk and Iman 1989 Break-up of the Muftiiat of the North Caucasus (DUMSK) 1989–91 Activity of the Islamic democratic movement 1989–92 Peak of ethnic and Islamist (Wahhabi) resurgence in Dagestan 1990 June, formation of the All-Russian Islamic Party of Renaissance (IPV) in Astrakhan 1990 August 30, declaration of Tatarstan’s state sovereignty 1990–9 Yeltsin’s presidency in Russia 1990 October 25, adoption of the law On Freedom of Religious Persuasions by the Russian Parliament 1990 Formation of the Mufitiiat of Dagestan (DUMD) 1990 Formation of the Islamic Democratic Party of Dagestan (IDP) under Abdurashid Saidov 1991 August, abortive anti-Gorbachev coup d’etat 1991 December, break-up of the USSR 1991–present Shaimiev’s presidency in Tatarstan, re-elected in 1996 and 2001 1991 March 21, referendum on Tatarstan’s sovereignty 1991 Adoption of Tatarstan’s Constitution 1991 Al-Bahaiyya’s community is formed in Tatarstan 1991 December, formation of the Islamic Party of Renaissance of Dagestan under Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev

Appendix 279 1992 1992 1992 1992 1993 1992–8 1993 1994 1994 1994 1994 1994–6 1995 1995 1996 1996 1997 1997 1997 1998 1998 1998 1998 1998 1999 1999 1999–2000 2000 2001

Federal Treaty between Moscow and its subjects Dagestan’s authorities sign the Federal Treaty Formation of the Supreme Co-ordination Centre of the Spiritual Boards of Russia (VKTs) Ahmadiyya’s community emerges in Kazan Formation of the Muftiiat of the Republic of Tatarstan (DUMRT) in Kazan separate from Ufa Gabdulla Galiullin is the Muftii of the DUMRT December, adoption of the Constitution of the RF 15 February, power-sharing Treaty between Kazan and Moscow Adoption of Dagestan’s Constitution Formation of the Islamic Party of Dagestan under Surokat Asiyatilov Dagestani authorities recognize the DUMD as the only legitimate supreme Islamic authority First Russian-Chechen war May, formation of the Union of Muslims of Russia (SMR) June, formation of the Muslim movement Nur January, Milli Mejlis adopts Tatar Kanuni June, formation of the movement Muslims of Tatarstan Tatarstan’s Academy of Sciences recommends the change from Cyrillic to Latin alphabet July, Naqshbandi sheikh Muhammad Nazim al-Haqqani alQubrusi visits Dagestan December, Dagestani parliament bans Wahhabism summer, formation of Islamic Kadar zone in Dagestan August, formation of the Co-ordination Centre for Muslims of the North Caucasus in Nazran’ 21 August, assassination of Dagestani Muftii Abubakarov Formation of the alternative Muftiiat – the DUMT – under Farid Salman in Kazan November, formation of the Omet party under G. Galiullin July, Tatarstan’s State Council adopts a Law on Introduction of Latin for the Tatar Language August–September, Chechen and Dagestani Islamists invade western Dagestan from Chechen territory Second Russian-Chechen war Nationwide celebration of fourteen centuries of Islam on Russian soil 11 September, terrorist attacks on New York and Washington

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Cited interviews Abdulkerim, Ali (1997) Interview with imam Abdulkerim of Buinaksk mosque, 28 July, Buinaksk. Ahtaev, A. (1997) Interview with Ahmed-qadi Ahtaev, the leader of the IPV, 19 July, Makhachkala. Aliev, Abdul Gamid (1998) Interview with Abdul Gamid Aliev, Deputy Director of the Dagestan Scientific Centre, 17 June, Makhachkala. Aliev, Adallo (1998) Interview with Adallo Aliev, 25 June, Makhachkala. Aliev, Salav (1997) Interview with Salav Aliev, the leader of the Tenglik movement, 29 July, Makhachkala. Alieva, F. (1997) Interview with Fazu Alieva, a poet, 11 July, Makhachkala. Amirkhanov, R. (1997) Interview with Reshat Amirkhanov, an historian and activist of the Tatar national movement, 2 September, Kazan. Asiyatilov, S. (1997) Interview with Surokat Asiyatilov, Leader of the Islamic Party of Dagestan, 12 July, Makhachkala. Beliaev, V. (1998) Interview with Vladimir Beliaev, a political scientist, 12 September, Kazan. Beno, S. (2000) Interview with Shamyl Beno, a Naqshbandii and Moscow representative of the Government of Chechnia, Moscow, 24 April. Boreev, T. (1997) Interview with Talgat Boreev, an activist of VTOTs, 10 April, Kazan. Djangishev, M. (1997), Interview with Muhammad Shafi Djangishev, 21 July, Makhachkala. Fazleev, D. (1998) Interview with Djalil Fazleev, the imam-khatib of the Burtash village in Baltasinskii raion, 14 August, Burtash. Gadjiev, V. (1997) Interview with Vladlen Gadjiev, an academic, 18 July, Makhachkala.

290

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Galiullin, G. (1996) Interview with Gabdulla Galiullin (Galiulla), Muftii of the DUMRT, 1992–8, 27 July, Kazan. Galiullin, G. (1999) Interview with Gabdulla Galiullin, leader of the Omet party, 20 April, 20 August, Kazan. Guliamov, R. (1997) Interview with Rashid Guliamov, an activist of the Tatar national movement, 30 August, Kazan. Halim, A. (1997) Interview with Aydar Halim, leader of the Milli Mejlis, 19 August, Naberezhnie Chelny. Idris-haji (1997, 1998) Interview with Idris-haji, an Islamic authority, 15 July 1997, 15 June 1998, Makhachkala. Ibragim, M. (1997), Interview with Malik Ibragim, the imam-khatib of the Tauba mosque in Naberezhnie Chelny, 20 September, Naberezhnie Chelny. Ilyas-haji (1998) Interview with Ilyas-haji, 22 June, Makhachkala. Iskhakov, D. (1998) Interview with Damir Iskhakov, a historian at the Institute of History, the Tatarstan Academy of Sciences, 12 February, Kazan. Iskhakov, G. (1999) Interview with Gusman Iskhakov, Muftii of the DUMRT, 12 August, Kazan. Jalil-efendi (1997) Interview with Jalil-efendi, one of the leaders of the Milli Mejlis, 19 August, Naberezhnie Chelny. Kaiaev, I. (2000) Interview with Ilias Kaiaev, an Islamic scholar, 12 August, Makhachkala. Khakimov, R. (1997) Interview with Rafael Khakhimov, Director of the Institute of History, 2 September, Kazan. Khaplekhamitov, R. (1998) Interview with Rafail Khaplekhamitov, editor-in-chief of the Altyn Urda, 17 August, Kazan. Kurbanov, M. (1997, 1998) Interview with Magomed Kurbanov, Deputy Minister of Nationalities of Dagestan, 17 July 1997 and 20 June 1998, Makhachkala. Litvin, A. (1998) Interview with Alexei Litvin, Professor of Kazan University, 17 September, Kazan. Magomedov, Ali (1998) Interview with Ali Magomedov, head of the Religious Department of the Dagestani Government, 16 June, Makhachkala. Magomedov, Ahmed (1998, 1999), Interview with Ahmed Magomedov, imam of Karlabko village in Levashinskii raion, 16 June 1998 and 17 July 1999, Karlabko. Maltsev, A. (1998) Interview with Andrei Maltsev, an activist of the Russian movement, 12 September, Kazan. Milovanov, V. (1997) Interview with Vladlen Milovanov, an academic and activist of the Russian movement, 29 July 1997, Makhachkala. Minullin, T. (1998) Interview with Tufan Minullin, a Tatar playwright, 13 September, Kazan. Muhammad-Shafi (1997) Interview with Muhammad-Shafi, 27 July, Makhachkala. Mukhanov, G. (1997) Interview with Gennadii Mukhanov, an activist of the Russian movement, 12 April, Kazan. Mukhtar, M. (1998) Interview with Muhammad Mukhtar, 26 June, Makhachkala. Osmanov, R. (1999, 2000) Interview with Rifat Osmanov, the executive director of the fund Hilal, 23 April 1999, 12 April 2000, Moscow. Ramazanov, T. (2000) Interview with Naqshbandi sheikh Tadjuddin Ramazanov, Khasaviurt, 21 August. Rashid (1998) Interview with Rashid, a Wahhabi, 17 June, Makhachkala. Safin, R. (1997) Interview with Reshat Safin, an activist of VTOTs, 10 April, Kazan.

Bibliography 291 Safiullin, F. (1998) Interview with Fandas Safiullin, one of the leaders of the VTOTs, 13 September, Kazan. Sagitova, L. (1997) Interview with Liia Sagitova, a sociologist, 1 September, Kazan. Saidov, A. (1997, 1999, 2000) Interview with Abdurashid Saidov, the founder of the IDP, 8 July 1997, 20 April 1999, 26 April 2000, Moscow. Salagaev, A. (1998) Interview with Alexander Salagaev, a sociologist, 11 September, Kazan. Salihjan, K. (1998) Interview with Kharis Salihjan, press-secretary of the DUMRT, 20 July, Kazan. Salman, F. (1999) Interview with Farid Salman, imam of the Bulgar mosque in Kazan and the Muftii of the DUMT, 16 March, Kazan. Samatov, G. (1998a) Interview with Gabdulkhak Samatov, chief qadi of the DUMRT, 15 October, Kazan. Sattarov, F. (1998) Interview with imam Faizrahman Sattarov, 17 July, Kazan. Sayid-efendi (1999) Interview with Naqshbandi sheikh Sayid-efendi (Chirkeevskii), Makhachkala, 22 August. Siradjuddin (2000) Interview with Naqshbandi sheikh Siradjuddin (Tabasaranskii), Makhachakala, 20 August. Shikhsaidov, A. (1998) Interview with academician Amri Shikhsaidov, 20 August, Makhachkala. Tagirov, I. (1998) Interview with Indus Tagirov, an academician and Chairman of the All-Tatar World Congress, 15 September, Kazan. Tagaev, A. (1998) Interview with Ahmed Tagaev, Deputy Muftii of the DUMD, 22 June, Makhachkala. Terentiev, B. (1998) Interview with Boris Terentiev, a school teacher, 12 September, Kazan. Tolboev, M. (1997) Interview with Magomed Tolboev, Chairman of the Security Council of Dagestan, 22 June, Makhachkala. Yakubov, V. (1998), Interview with Valiulla Yakubov (Yakub), the first Deputy Muftii of the DUMRT, 20 February, Kazan. Zargishev, M. (2000) Interview with Murad Zargishaev, editor-in-chief of the Musul’mane, 27 April 2000, Moscow.

Index

Abadzekhs 27, 29 Abazins 26–7, 29 Abbasid 19 Abduh, Muhammad 34 Abdul Qayum an-Nasiri 33 Abdulaev, Ahmed-haji, Muftii 97, 101, 137, 146 Abdulatipov, Ramazan 139 Abdulkhalimov, Gadji 146 Abdullin, Talgat 72 Abkhazia 45 Abkhaz-Adyghs 27, 31 Abu Nasr al-Qursawi 33 Abubakarov, Seyid Muhammad, Muftii 97, 100–1, 137–8, 140–1, 143, 145–6 Abukov, Iskhak, Kabardian mullah 28 Abu-Muslim, Gubdalan, Deputy Muftii 133 abystais 51 Abystay, R. 74–5 abyz (the eldest elder) 24, 26 Adam and Eve 260 adat 27–8, 50, 62, 88, 91–2, 179, 181, 184, 189, 195, 253, 272 Adyghea 45 Adyghs 27–29, 31, 45 Adzhariia 45 Afghan Taliban (Islamic students) movement 153 Afghanistan 23, 25, 43, 54, 57, 64, 153, 266; war in 52 Aguls 88–90, 152 Ahamedidn 126–7 Ahl-ul-Hadith, and Wahhabis 124 Ahmad ben Hanbal, Imam 124 Ahtaev, Ahmed-qadi 102–5, 154–5, 157 Akaev, Abakar 99, 139, 146 Akchura, Yusuf 64, 78, 81 Akhbar 1

Akhtiamov, B. 80 Akhvakhskii raion 159 Akkin Chechens 48, 94, 134, 136 aksakals (elders), council of 24 Akushinskii, Ali-haji, Sheik-ul-Islam 92 Al-Ahmadiyya, Islamic community 128–9 Al-Akusha, Muhammad 90 Al-Arabi 126 Alash Orda 39; political party 39 Alash Orda, Kazak Party of 40 Al-Aymaki, Abu Bakr 90 Al-Bahaiyya, Islamic community 128 Albania 176 Al-Bukhari, Ismail, Imam 44, 49, 126 Aldzhambekov, B. 98 Alexander II, Tsar, and the great reforms 33 Algeria 52, 272 Al-Ghazali, Abu Khamid 91 Al-hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina) 184, 187 Ali, Muhammed 158 Al-’Id-Al-Kabir 192 Al-’Id-Al-Saghyr, festival 187, 192 Aliev, Mukhu 99, 139 Aligadjiev, Abdulla 97, 136, 138, 158 alimi 203–4 Al-Islamiyya, organization 102, 104, 154–5, 158, 269 Alkin, Ilyas 38 Al-Kudutlya, Muhammad 90 al-Kumukhi, Ali-haji 90 Allah 112, 123, 131–2, 134, 149, 151, 174, 184–5, 247, 249, 251, 260, 262 All-Russian Islamic Party of Renaissance (RIPV) 87 All-Russian Social Democratic Party (RSDRP) 37

Index All-Russian Social Revolutionary (SR) party 37 All-Tatar Public Centre (VTOTs) 66, 118; see also VTOTs All-Tatar World Congress 72, 85 almsgiving 188 al-salat (five daily prayers) 184 al-saum (fasting) 184 al-shagada (declaration of faith in Allah alone) 184 Altay language family 88 Altynbayev, Rafgat 87 al-zakat (almsgiving) 184 Amay 134 America 228, 266 amin 186, 196 Amirkhanov, Ravil 76 Amirkhanov, Reshat 71, 76 Amirov, Sayid 98, 139–40 Amuzgent, the village of 194 Anapa 27 Anatolia, the Black Sea region of 28–9, 31, 91 Ancient Rus 15 Andis 27 anti-Russian discrimination 224 anti-separatists 225–26 apparatchiks 48, 73,98 Arab Caliphate 16–17, 28 Arabic Islam 176 Arab-Khazar wars 17 Arabs 27–28 Armenia 30 Arthaniah 16; see also proto-Russians Asia 27 Asiyatilov, Surokat 97, 99–100, 105–6, 139–40, 143 assimilation, policies of 211 Astrakhan 23, 25, 53, 102, 154 atheism, conflict between Islam and 51 Atheist, publishing house 43 auls (mountain villages) 196 Australia 67 Avar elite 97, 137 Avars 27–9, 31, 46, 48, 88–90, 92, 94, 97, 104, 110, 136, 138–9, 158, 160, 216, 253, 267, 270 Ayaz, Iskhaki 80 Ayub, Anguta 154 Azatlyk, Union of Tatar Youth 66, 77 Azens 89 Azerbaijan 30; formation of the

293

autonomous republic of 38, 39, 54, 110 Azeris 45, 88, 90, 261 Bab al-Jihad (the gateway to jihad) 28 Babatov, Muhammad Mukhtar, Sheikh 97, 107, 136, 138, 148, 151, 158, 201 Badiuzzaman Said Nursi 130 Badr, publishing house 55 Badrudin Botlikhskii 134 Bagauddin Muhammad Kebedov 103–5, 149, 153–5 Bagauddin-hajji, Muftii 167 Baghdat 16 Bahai community 128 Bahaism 129 bahr al-ulum 90 Bakha ad-Din 35 Balkars 27–8, 45, 47–8 Bamat-Girey-Haji 31, 39 Barandjers 18 Barudi, Galimjan 78 Basaev Shamil’ 148, 155, 159; paramilitaries of 149 Bashkir 26 Bashkir Autonomous Republic 40 Bashkirs 25, 38, 44–5; Stalin’s distrust of 46 Bashkortostan 71 Bashrevkom 40 basmachi movement 38–9 Batal-Haji 31 Batsbiis 27 Bayramova, Fauzia 72–3, 83, 85–6 beks 27, 88 Belidji 152, 154 Bersuls 18 Biarmia (the Volga Bulgaria) 16, 18 Biars (Volga Bulgars) 17–18 Bibarsov, Mikaddas 266 (Mukaddos on 266) bibiotuns 51 bid’a (illegitimate innovation in Islam) 8, 124–6, 51, 149 bigamy 257 Birlik, organization 102,110 Black Hundred of Archangel Michael, right-wing organization 35–6 Bolshevik revolution 44, 56, 65, 78, 81 Bolsheviks 39–43, 56, 65, 81, 92, 121 Bolshevism 39, 41, 56 Bosphorus 18 Botlikhskii raion 159

294

Index

bourgeois-democratic revolution (February 1917) 80 Britain 129, 228 British Empire, Muslims of 79 bti 186 Bubi, Abdulla 78 Buddhism 21 Buinaksk 159, 265 Buinakskii district 156–7, 159, 271 Bukhara 16–17, 24, 38, 44, 47, 55; clan 46; the Emirate of 32; medresse 26, 131; the rulers of 33 Bukharaev, Ravil’ 129 Bulgaria 67 Bulgarians 47 Bulgars 5, 18, 21 Burtas 18 Buyuk-Bayram 192 Byzantine Empire 16–17 Byzantine rule 27 Byzantine traditions 22 Bzhadugs 27, 29 Caliphs 54 capitalism 266 caravan-sarais 26 Catherine the Great 24–5, 33; and her war against the North Caucasus 29; religious legislation of 26 Caucasian war 32, 45 Caucasians 237, 261 Caucasus 32, 43, 153–4; and Wahhabism 233; as a zone of national conflict 228 Central Asia 19, 23, 25, 29, 32, 35, 37, 39, 45, 46–7, 50–4, 57, 64, 91, 94; Empire 27 Central Committee of the Communist Party of the USSR 87 chaikhanes (tea-rooms) 50 Charjou tribes 46 Chechen Islamists 108, 271; war (1994–6) 153 Checheno-Ingush Autonomous Republic 48 Chechens 27–29, 31, 47–8, 88–90, 94, 98–9, 110, 136–7, 261, 272 Chechnia 27, 29, 31, 39, 45, 55, 57, 88, 90–1, 95, 99, 103, 109–12, 123, 143; ethno-nationalist movement in 265; military action in 228; and Wahhabism 232–3, 235, 237–9, 268–9, 271–2; war in 148, 154–5, 161, 176, 203, 220

Cherkess 27, 29–31, 46 Cherkessiia 90 Chimmiriza 31 China 25, 32, 64 Christianity 88, 125, 196 Christianization 6; of Kievan Rus 19; of the Muslim population 23 Chuvash 205 CIA 266 Circassians 26 Citizens of the Russian Federation, movement 7 0 civic and ethnic identity 225 civil identities 210 civil society 195 Commissariat of Nationalities 41 Commonwealth of Independent States 63 Communism 54, 56 Communist Party 43, 49, 51–2, 57, 66, 68, 81, 93, 96, 168; of the Soviet Union (CPSU) 172; of Tatarstan 87; see also CPSU Communists 70 Congress of Muslims 100 Congress of Muslims of Dagestan 107, 158 Congress of Muslims of North Caucasus 143–4 Congress of Tatarstan Muslims 268 Constantinople 16 Constitution, and the Election Law 69; of Dagestan 106; of Tatarstan 73 Constitutional Democratic Party (Kadets) 64; see also Kadets constructivism 3 Coordination Centre for Muslims of the North Caucasus 143 Co-ordination Council of Popular Movements 111 Cossacks 29, 94 Council for the Affairs of Religious Cults (CARC) 47, 49 Council of the Dagestani Imams 97 Council of Elders 203 Council of Muftiis of Russia 130 Council of Ulema 106, 119, 138, 145, 147, 156, 159, 142 CPSU 172 Crimea 25–6, 32, 35, 47; war (1853–6) 33 Crimean Tatars 25, 47 Czech Republic 67, 194

Index da’awa (Islamic Recruitment) 55, 130–1, 136, 197, 199 Dagestan 2, 28, 38–9, 45–8, 55, 57, 61, 76, 93–100, 102–6, 108–9, 110–12, 132–6, 136–9, 142–5, 145–54, 154–6, 159, 160–1, 168–9, 215–17; assimilation processes 218; Council of Ulema 141–2; multi-ethnic identity of 227, 233–4, 236–8, 243–5, 249, 252–62, 267–74; Security Council 155, 178–81, 183, 185–201, 203–4, 206–8, 210 Dagestani, Parliament 109; diaspora 227; masculinities 261; National Congress 146 Dagestanified Russians 216 Dagestanis 91, 92, 94–5, 112; and transethnic identity 132, 145, 150, 152–3, 169, 180, 194, 197, 200–1, 207, 216, 253, 257, 270 DagVodKanal (Dagestani Water Company) 146 Dar ul-Islam (Islamic Territory) 78, 148 Darbishev, Magomed 97, 137 Dargins 27–9, 88–90, 94, 96–7, 110, 136–8, 140, 152, 158, 160, 180, 216, 253, 267 democratization, spontaneous 52 Derbend 16, 30 Deren-Ayerli 43 de-Sovietization 95 dhikr (rhythmical repetition of the name of Allah) 31, 136, 186; silent 134 diasporic networks 196 dibris (imams) 90 dilde 35 Dinmuhamedov, Ishmuhamed 121 dua’ bi-tavassul’ (help) 149 Dudaev, Dzhokar, Chechnia’s President 66–7, 110 Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man Evropeiskoi Chasti Rossii I Sibiri (DUMES) 53; see also DUMES Duma, Russian Parliament 36–7, 64, 108; elections 139; Muslim faction 80 DUMD 96–7, 99–101, 104–7, 110, 133–4, 136–40, 142–8, 155–60, 270, DUMES 53–4, 66, 82–3, 131 DUMRT (Tatarstan Islamic Spiritual Board) 66, 73, 75–6, 83, 118–19, 122–3, 125, 130, 270 DUMSK 54, 93, 103–5, 133, 136, 56 DUMT 119, 270

295

Edinstvo i Progress, political party 69 Egypt 52, 55, 148, 200–1, 270 Emir-al-Hattab 112 England 79 Enikeev, G. 80 Equality and Lawfulness, bloc 70 Eshko courses 207 Eslahat Esaslari (Basics for Reform) 79 Essengels 18 ethnic and religious identities 210 ethnic conflict 247 ethnic consolidation 195, 218 ethnic deportations, policy of 94 ethnic identification 206 ethnic identity 3, 178, 181; revival of 219, 262, 253 ethnic minorities 41 ethnic mobilization 175 ethnic polarization 238 ethnic stereotypes 9, 225 ethnic supremacism 220 ethnic tolerance 225 ethnicity, popular narratives of 3, 212, 175, 181, 238 ethnic-religious traditions 198 ethno-cultural identity 175 ethno-cultural traditions 181 ethno-Islamic rites 192 ethno-Islamic values 183 ethno-religious dynamics 196 ethno-religious identity 260 ethno-religious loyalties 46 ethno-religious preferences 251 ethno-religious privileges, the abolition of 41 ethno-religious revival 9 ethno-religious values 195, 197 Eurasia 18–20, 24, 75, 268; Muslims of 64 Eurasian peoples 16 Europe 27, 64; Islamophobic 75 Faizkhanov, Huseyn 33 Faizrahmanism 131 Faizrahmanists 130, 132 Fanagoriiskaia 26 Farghana clan 46 Farid-hazret 74 fasiks (sinners) 147 fasting 186 Fattakhov, Shamyl 129 Fazleev, Djalil’ 127 Federal Security Service 157 Federal Treaty (1992) 96

296

Index

federalization 38 federalization, Dagestan 111 fetwa (theological ruling) 121, 139 fikirde birlik 35 Finns 39, 80 fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) 22, 120 First All-Russian Muslim Congress 36, 80 First Muslim Congress, of Republican Russia 38 First World War, Russia’s involvement in 37, 41, 80 folk rituals 173–4 folk traditions 179, 184, 190, 192, 194–5 France 67 Freedom Square 86 Front of Shamyl, movement 111 FSB (Federal Security Service), Dagestan 111 fundamentalism 1 Gabdulkhak Samatov 122, 125 Gabdulla-hazret Galiullin 74–5 Gadjibekov, Ruslan 99, 101, 139 Gadjiev, Abdulla Ali 107 Gadjiev, Mahmud 108 Gadjimuratov, Shirukhan 140 Gaile Kodeksi (Family Law) 86 Galeev, Damir 85 Galimov, Iskander 87 Galiulla (Galiullin), Gabdulla, Muftii 77, 83–7, 122 Gamidov, Gamid 96, 98, 108, 257 Gamzatov, Arslan-Ali, sheikh 134, 137 Gasprinskii, Ismail 34–5, 78, 80 Gaynutdin (Gaynutdiinov) 130 gazawat (Islamic holy war), against Orthodox invasion 30–1, 91–2 Gekkiev, Mahmud, Muftii 103–4, 133, 136, 156 gender 9; codes 242, 260; discourses 242; division of household 245; practices 262; relations and national identity 262–3, 273; roles 262 Genghiz Khan 21 Genghizid Empire 20 Genghizids 21–3 Genoa 27 Georgia, and Christianity 26–7, 30, 45 German propaganda 47 German states 19 Germans 47 Germany 67

Gimrinskii, Ramazan 134 glasnost’ 81; see also perestroika Golden Horde 20–3, 27–8 Golyamlar Shurasi (Council of Islamic Scholars) 77 Gorbachev, Mikhail 52, 57, 66, 95, 81 Goths 27 Gotsinskii, Nadjmutdin, Imam 39, 92 Government Decree (of 1918) 42 Grachev, Igor 70 gradualists 225–6 Great Britain 55, 67 Great Patriotic War 46, 52 Great Russian people 44 Greater Horde, in Kazakstan 46 Greek Christianity 19 Greek route 16–17 Greeks 27, 47 Groznii, the fortress of 30 Gubden 185, 187, 197, 199, 203, 206, 216–18, 257, 259–60 Gulag 44 Gunib district 154–5 habashites, organization 130 hadith (the Prophet’s sayings) 120, 124, 126, 148 hajj (pilgrimage) 50, 53, 55, 57, 104, 132, 139, 142, 150, 185, 187–8, 202, 204, 270 halal (permitted foodstuffs) 122 Halim, Aydar 84–5 Hanafi Islam 270 Hanafi madhhab (juridical school) 19–22, 28, 88 Hanafism 1 Hanbali madhhab 101 Hanbalism 1 Hanifa, Abu, Imam 124 Harbi Shura (the Military Council) 81 Harbi Shuro (Islamic Military Council) 38 hasan (good), bid’a 126 Hassanov, Dadakhan 54 Hejaz 23 hijab 150, 154 Hijaz 148 Hitler 47 Holland 67 Hungary 19, 67 Iaroslavski, E. (real name Miney Gubel’man) 43

Index ibadat (home of Allah) 149 Ibn Fadlan 19 Ibragim, Abdurashid 81 Ibragimov, Galimjan 78 ideologization of religion 169 IDP 56, 97, 105–6, 133, 137, 139 IDPT 54 Idrisi, Galimjan 64 IJD 154–5 ijima (agreed opinion of legal experts) ijtihad (independent theological judgement) 6, 21, 22, 34, 124, 132 IKTs (Islamic Cultural Centre) 56, 108 Ilyasov, Ilyas-haji 100, 137–8, 140 Imamat 30–1, 91 Imam-khatib 126, 131–2 Imams, young 52–3, 97, 103–5, 122, 133 iman (faith) 34, 83–4, 123 Iman Nuri 125 Iman Publishers 55 Indo-European language family 88 Ingush 27–8, 47–8; Kadiriis 31 Ingushetiia 27–8, 55, 91, 112, 269 instrumentalism 3 inter-ethnic borrowing, 218; communication 205, 208; relations 269 International Women’s Day (8 March) 192 iqama (way of calling) 19 Iran 25–6, 43, 55, 57, 64, 67, 90, 148, 200, 270, 272 Iranian domination 29 Iranians 21, 27, 35 Iraq 148, 272 IRP 102 Isaev, Bagauddin 97, 136 ishans (Sufi sheikhs) 26, 50–1, 125 Ishkuvatov, Albert 72 Ishmi-ishan 121 Iskhaki, Gayaz 64, 78, 81 Iskhakov, Damir 78 Iskhakov, Gusman, Muftii 75, 84, 122–3, 268 Islam and the West 264 Islam: branches of 1; Euro 71, 75, 86, 120; high 51, 62, 134; indigenous 130; non-official 129; non-traditional 275; official 117–18, 123, 125, 132, 159, 267; parallel 44; pillars of 184–5; as a political force 229; popular (narodnii) 50, 119; and power 61; purification of 54; qadimist 76; revival of 9, 77;

297

Russian 242; as a special revival 272; tariqatist 106, 134, 137, 140; unofficial 128, 149, 159, 270; Wahhabi 85 Islamic armed forces 38 Islamic canons 242 Islamic Caucasus, Christianization of 32 Islamic Committee, in Kazan 38 Islamic Communist Party 41 Islamic Community of Dagestan (Jamaat ul-Islamiiun ad-Dagestaniia, JID) 153 Islamic Cultural Centre (IKTs) 56, 108; see also IKTs Islamic Democratic Party (IDP) 56, 97, 105, 137; see also IDP Islamic Democratic Party of Tatarstan (IDPT) 87 Islamic Democratic Party of Turkestan (IDPT) 54; see also IDPT Islamic elite 35 Islamic extremism 264, 266 Islamic festivals 183, 192 Islamic folk traditions 180 Islamic fundamentalism 117, 232, 268, 57; see also Wahhibism Islamic identity 167, 175, 178–81, 184–5 203, 207, 258, 272–3 Islamic Jamaat 159 Islamic Kazakstan 32 Islamic Liberation Forces 112, 269 Islamic Military Congress 38 Islamic modernism 33 Islamic Nation, movement 155 Islamic opposition 269 Islamic order 152 Islamic Democratic Party (of Dagestan) (IDP) 99, 106, 133; see also Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia Islamic Party of Dagestan (IPD) 56, 97 Islamic Party of Renaissance (IPV) 102, 133 Islamic Path, Chechen party 56 Islamic Popular Party 36 Islamic practice 184, 207 Islamic problem 264–5 Islamic radicalism 95, 100 Islamic reformism, Tatar 120 Islamic renaissance 53–4, 167, 171, 183, 264 Islamic Renaissance Party 269 Islamic revival 3, 15, 53, 57, 61, 101,

298

Index

103–4, 120, 129, 132, 207, 244, 260, 267 Islamic rituals 167, 169, 174, 183–4, 189, 272 Islamic Shura (Council) of Dagestan 107 Islamic society 230 Islamic Spiritual Board 80 Islamic state 54, 141 Islamic statehood 153 Islamic umma 1, 15, 48, 143 Islamic values 183, 198, 207 Islamism 131, 266 Islamists 104; IPV 105, 109, 112 Islamiyya, Islamic organization 56 Islamization 77, 86, 88, 103, 117, 122, 132; of central Asian society 54, 144–5, 171–2, 175, 180, 208, 220–1, 229–30, 247; in Dagestan 140–1; of north-eastern Caucasus 28; of the Volga Bulgars 82 Islamized nationalism 76 Islamo-Genghizid traditions 22 Islamophobia 57 Islamskaia Demokraticheskaia Partiia (IDP) 102 Islamskaia Partiia Vozrozhdeniia (IPV) 53, 153; see also Islamic Renaissance Party Israel 85 Israfilov, Idris-haji 138 Ittifaq Party 36, 56, 64, 71–2, 78, 82 Ittifaq-i-Muslimin (1906–17) 36 iul khaere 188 Ivan III, kniaz 22 Ivan the Terrible, Russian Tsar 23, 29, 214 jadidism 6, 34–5, 37, 41, 64, 75–6, 78; revival of 86, 92; see also Islamic modernism jadidists 34–5, 37, 39–40, 42, 64, 76; successors of 78, 80–1 Jalil-efenfi 83 jamaat (village commune) 88, 94, 132, 138, 143, 146, 272 Jamaat (of Dagestan) 153, 156, 161 Jamaat ul-Muslimin (Community of Muslims) 109, 133 jamaat, Wahhabi 151, 155–8, 160 Jamaat-e-Tabligh (Community of the Prophet’s Message) 130

Jamaat-va-l-Khurriyat, organization 107, 109 Jamal ad-Din al-Afghani 34 Jemal Validov 78 Jewish-Christian civilization 86 Jews 27, 33, 49 Jamaat ul-Islamiiun ad-Dagestaniia (Islamic Community of Dagestan, JID) 153 jihad (Islamic holy war) 39, 86, 101, 112, 147–8, 150, 154, 156, 159, 161, 269; against German aggression 4; against Russia 103, 147 Jordan 55, 200, 270 Judaeo-Christianity 2 Judaism 17, 88 Justinian, Byzantine Emperor 26 Kabarda 28–30, 45, 90 Kabarda Party 48 Kabardinian nobility 31 Kabardino-Balkaria 45–6, 112, 269 Kabardins 27, 46 Kadet Party 36 Kadets 64, 78 Kadiri 91 Kadiri tariqa 28, 35, 270; wird of 31, 39 Kadiri, Zaki 78 Kadiriis 32 Kadiriyya 130, 134 kafir (godless) 153 kafirs (infidels) 86, 107, 123, 147, 154, 157–8 Kahharov, Akbar 53 Kakamakhinski, Abdulwahid 99, 134, 137 Kakhulaiskii, Muhammad Mukhtar 134 kalym 194 Kanun 86; see also Tatar Kanuni Karabudakhkentskii raion 159, 180 Karachaevo-Cherkessiia 45–6, 112, 269 Karachais 27–8, 45, 47 Karamakhi 146, 153, 156–7 Karamakhi, independent Islamic territory 144 Karamakhinsk 149 Kasimov Khanate 22 Kasogi, proto-Russian tribes 17 Kaspiisk mafia 139, 157 Kaytag 88 Kazak National Party Alash Orda 36 Kazak Steppes 26 Kazaks 32, 39

Index Kazakstan 25, 45, 47, 54, 64; formation of the autonomous republic of 38 Kazan 25, 42, 55, 64, 67–8, 120, 127, 129, 130, 169, 191, 199, 225, 247, 268; Islamic elite of 23; the Russian conquest of 23 Kazan Khanate 21–3, 68, 125; conquer of 214 Kazi-Kumukh, movement 88, 96, 102, 107, 110 Kebedov, brothers 102 Kerimi, Fatih 80 KGB 49, 66, 104, 133, 135, 168 Khachilaev, brothers 109; clan 98 Khachilaev, Magomed 96–7, 107–8, 110 Khachilaev, Nadirshakh 96, 107–8, 110, 139, 148 Khadzhiev, B. 98 khaer 185, 196 Khakimov, Rafael 69, 71, 75, 78, 84, 268 Khalitov, Ahmet 107 Khamshils 47 Khaplekhamitov, Rafail 85 Khan Berke, conversion to Islam of 28 Khan Uzbek 21 Kharis Salihjan 123 Khasan Kakhibskii 134 Khasaviurt 159 Khasaviurtovskii district 156, 271 Khasbulat Khasbulatov 109 Khasmuhammad-haji 97, 138 Khattab 145, 148, 159; Chechen fighters of 144; units of 155 Khazar Khaganat 6, 16–18, 20, 27 Khazaria 18–19 Khazars 17–18 Khiva, the Khanate of 32; the rulers of 33 Khizri Shikhsaidov 100, 140 khojas 50 Khrushchev 48, 65 Khunzakh 88 Khunzakhskii raion 159 Khwarasm 16 Khwarasmians 21 Kievan Rus 19–20 King Fahd, of Saudi Arabia 55 Kipchaks 33 Kirovaul 158 Kiziliurt 152, 156, 158, 197 Kiziliurtovski district 156–8, 271 Kizliar 180 kniaz (chieftain) 19

299

Kokand 38; the Khanate of 32–3, 35 Kolchak, Admiral 40 Kolesnik, Alexei 69 kolkhoz 57, 93 kollektivizatsiia 46 Komis 18 Komsomol 52, 170–1 Kopa 27 Koran 1, 22, 86, 108, 120, 123–4, 126, 129, 131, 139, 149–51, 156, 168, 174, 185, 204–5, 246; collective reading of 122; free distribution of 55; reprinting of 53 korenizatsiia (nativization) 45–6, 92–3 Kremlin 57 Kremlin, Kazan 75 Kriashens (Tatars who had converted to Christianity) 214 Kubachi, the village of 178, 185, 194, 206, 216–18 Kuchuk-Bayram, festival 187, 192 Kudali 155, 158 kufr (unbelief) 51, 147, 158 Kuiabah 16; see also proto-Russians Kul-Sharif 125 kumgan (pitcher for washing) 190 Kumyk National Council 111, 140 Kumykistan, republic of 110 Kumyks 27–9, 88–90, 92, 94, 96–7, 110, 136–8, 140, 152–3, 160, 180, 253 Kunta-Haji 31, 39, 134 Kuramuhammed Ramazanov 146, 148 Kurban-Bayram 53, 192, 196 Kurbanov, Magomed 144 Kurds 27, 47 Kurultay (All-Tatar Congress) 84 Kuwait 136 Kvanada 157 Kwait 55 Kyrgystan 45 Kyrgyz 32, 33 Kyrgyzstan 46, 54, 102 Labour Day (1 May) 192 Laks 27, 48, 88–90, 94, 96–7, 110, 136–7, 152–3, 180, 261 Latinization 72, 247 Law on Freedom of Conscience 100, 140, 143–4, 264 Lenin 41–2, 65 Lezgin Sadval 111 Lezgins 27–8, 88–90, 94, 96, 152–3, 216, 253

300

Index

liberalization, religious 117 Libya 55 Lithuania 67 Lutfulla Fattakov 129 Lutfullin, Iskhak 127 Luzhkov, Iurii, mayor of Moscow 69 Machachkala 139 maddhab 1, 62, 124–5, 149, 270 Madzhalis 187, 201, 207, 216–18 mafia 109 Magomed-Amin (Gadjiev) 134 Magomedgadji 138 Magomedkhan Gamzatkhanov (Volkkhan) 139 Magomedov, Ahmed 144 Magomedov, Magomedali 99, 100, 134, 139, 144–6 mahalli mejlis (local councils) 78 Makhachev, Gadji 96, 98, 106, 108–11, 139 Makhachkala 54–6, 110, 136, 138, 140, 145–6, 152, 154–7, 159, 180, 185, 187, 191, 197, 201, 204, 225, 254; Islamic University of 223 makhar (the religious consecration of marriage) 257 Maksudi, brothers 78 Maksudi, Hadi 80 Maksudi, Sadri 40, 79, 81 Malaysia 55, 200 Malik Ibragim, Imam 124, 126–7 Malikism 1 Manichaeism 17, 21 Manifesto, October 1905 78 Mansur Ushurma, Chechen holy man 29 Mapa 27 Mardjani, S. 125 Maris 18 Marx 168 Marxism 39 Maslimat, association 109 Matrakhskaia (Pamanskaia) 26 Matrega 27 Mawlid (the Prophet’s birthday) 100, 126–7, 132, 136, 144, 148 mazars 132 Mecca 50, 54, 132, 187, 270 medresse (Islamic secondary schools) 26, 32, 43–4, 49, 52–5, 71, 79, 93, 118–20, 127, 130, 132, 138, 156, 169, 198–9, 204, 264, 270; Wahhabi 153

mektebs (primary Islamic schools) 32, 43–4, 49, 55, 132, 169, 198–9 Mervan, Arab General 17 Meskhetian Turks 47 Middle Ages, Sufi sheikhs 91 Middle East 16, 118, 148, 208, 266 mihrab 50 millet (nation), Turkic unification 35 Milli Firka, Crimean Tatar Party of 40 Milli Firka, political party 39 Milli Idare (National Administration) 38 Milli Mejlis (National Council) 38, 40, 66, 71–2, 77, 80, 83–6 Milli Shura (the Muslim Council) 38, 80 Mir Sultan-Galiev 41–3 Mir-i-Arab, medresse of 43–4, 47, 49 Mishars 213 Mohammad Abu Bakr ad-Derbendi 91 monarchism 41 Mongol, origins of proto-Russians 16 Mongols 21, 27 Mordvas 18 Mordvins 205 Moscow 194, 247, 265, 268–9; relations with 225 muamalat (social practice) 149 muezzins (callers to prayer) 118, 132 Muflikhunov, Nurulla 123, 125–6 Muftiiat (Islamic Spiritual Board) 35, 47, 49, 84, 97, 99–101, 104, 136, 137, 139, 144–7, 160, 268, 270; of Crimea and Transcaucasus 32; European 143; Kazak and Kyrgyz 53; of Tatarstan 74–5, 82–3 Muhajir Dogrelinskii 134 Muhammad Amin 138 Muhammad, Gazi, Imam 109 Muhammad, Prophet 54, 126; prophetic mission of 185 muhtasib 126 Muhtasibat, movement 109; of Tatarstan 75 Mujaddidi, branch of the tariqa 29 mujahedin (Islamic fighters) 52, 266 mullah 36, 49, 50, 118, 188–9, 202–4, 208 multiculturalism 33 multilingualism, in Dagestan 206–8 murids (disciples) 24, 31, 125, 130, 133–4, 136, 138, 159–60; of Sayidefendi 97 murshids (teachers) 125, 148 murzas (Genghizid dignitaries) 23 Musa Jarulla Bigi 78–9

Index Musawat (Equality) Party 39; Azeri Musawat Party 36, 40 Muskom (Muslim Committee) 41 Muslim and Christian faith communities 264 Muslim Brotherhood, organization 103 Muslim Brothers 154 Muslim communism 81; Communists 41–3; congress, resolution of the first 79; dress codes 258; elite 61; femininities and masculinities 243, 250; and festivals 192; identity 2–3, 172–5, 177, 179, 189, 243–4, 262; intelligentsia 47; Military Congress 80; orthodoxy 123; rituals 171, 188, 195, 208, 253; Socialist Committee 39; spiritual elite, and power 117; Tatars 25; traditions 244, 246; umma 124, 153 Muslimat, women’s organization 133 Muslimi, Imam 126 Muslimness 175 Muslims 1 Muslims of Dagestan, Islamic movement autonomy 93 Muslims of Russia, Islamic organization 56 Muslims of Tatarstan (Musul’mane Tatarstana), movement 86–7 Muslims of Tatarstan, Islamic organization 56 Muslims, of the Volga-Urals region 2 musul’manin 261 musul’manka 261 Mutushev, Ahmetkhan, Chechen warlord 39 Naberezhnie Chelny 189–91, 193, 214 Nabukhais 27, 29 Nafigulla Ashirov 122 Nail Khasnutdinov 71 Nakh-Dagestanis 27 namaz (prayer) 34, 123, 132, 169–70, 176, 180 Namus, Party of National Independence 77 Naqshbandi 91; sheikhs 91; Sufism 106, 143; tariqa (order) 6, 24, 28, 30–1, 270; wird 106 Naqshbandiis 31–2 Naqshbandiyya 29, 125–6, 134 narod (ordinary people) 25 Nation of Islam, movement 130

301

national revival 177; of Tatarstan 118 national struggles, Soviet and postSoviet 4 nationality, first and second class 45 nationhood, pursuit of 3 nation-statehood 4 natsmeny 273 Nazim, Muhammad al Haqqani al Qubrusi, Naaqshbandi sheikh 108, 148 neo-qadimism 76 Nestorianism 17, 21 New Year 192 Niiazov, Abdel-Wahid 108 nikakh (marriage) 188–9 Nikonsiiskaia 26 niqab (veil) 150, 154 Nogai 23, Nogais 27, 110, 88–90, 94, 96–7; of northern Dagestan 29 nomenklatura 65, 68, 93, 96, 136; and mafia 98 non-Tatar Muslim reformers 42 North Caucasian Muslims 30 North Caucasus 2, 35, 45–8, 50–2, 54, 87, 91–3, 95, 97, 100, 103–4, 110, 112, 143, 269; the conquest of 30; military intervention in 265–6; Muslims of 29, 76; the Russian conquest of 26–7 Northern Ossetiia 48 nouveaux riches 98 Novolakskii raion 159 Nur 141 Nur, Islamic public movement 56, 133 Nursists 130 Nurul-Islam 144, 147–8 nutsals 88 October Manifesto, of 1905 36–7 October Revolution 46 OIC 83–4 Omet (Hope), movement 85, 87 On Anti-Hanafi Tendencies, resolution 129 On Freedom of Religious Persuasions, bill 104 Orenburg Islamic Board 26; see also Muftiiat Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC) 83; see also OIC Organizing Committee of the Assembly of the People’s Movements and Political Parties of Dagestan 111

302

Index

Orthodox Christianity 2, 19, 21, 26–7, 41, 50, 273; in Muslim regions 29; and the revival of Islam 77; and Russian-ness 76; and Russians 177 Orthodox monasteries 23 Orthodox priests 36 Osama bin Laden 266 Osh, tribal groups of 46 Ossetia 27–8, 30 Ossetian nobility 31 Ossetians 27 Otechestvo-Vsia Rossiia, all-Russian bloc 69 Ottoman Empire 26, 31, 64, 92, 129 Ottoman presence 29 Ottoman Turks 35 otynchis 51 pagan cults 19 Pakistan 52, 54–5, 57, 136, 200, 266; emissaries from 129 papakhi (fur hats) 261 paranja 191, 258 Party of Russia’s Muslims 109 Pechenegs 20 perestroika 7, 52, 66, 77, 81, 95–6, 102, 111, 122, 135 Persian presence 29 Peter the Great, Tsar 25, 29, 33 Petrovsk, the fortress of 30 Pioneer 170–1 pirs (Sufi authorities) 36, 50 Poitiers, defeats of the Arabs at 17 Poland 19, 67 Poles 39; national aspirations of 80 Poliane, Eastern Slavic tribe of 18 Polovtsy, Turkic nomads 20 polygyny 255–7 popular Islam 135 Popular Patriotic Union 70 Primakov, Evgenii, former Russian prime minister 69 primordialism 3 Prophet Muhammad 126 proto-Russians 15–16; tribes 18–19 Provisional Central Bureau of Muslims, in Moscow 38 Provisional Government 38–9, 80–1 Pugachev, revolt 25 Putin, President 85, 99, 247 qadi (judge) 122, 125, 131 qadimism 35; interest in 121

qadimists 34; feudal elites 38 qadis 90, 132 qasis (Muslim judges) 32 qazikolon 53 qibla 50 qutb (supreme authority of the Sufi hierarchy) Radimichi 18 ramadan 50, 53, 86, 186, 192, 203 Rasulev, Gabdrahman, Muftii of Ufa 47, 125 Realpolitik 25 Red Army 47, 92 Refah, movement 56, 109 re-Islamization 54, 76, 102, 107, 140, 175, 271 religious commitment 181 religious communities 129 religious festivals 133, 184, 186 religious identity 196 religious initiation 252 religious practice 175–6 religious revival 177 religious rituals 188, 207; revival of 208 religious symbolism 207 Religious Tolerance, law on 64 Republic of Tatarstan, Constitutional Court of 69 revival of Islam 183; and pro-nationalist processes 224 revival of religious consciousness 175 Revolution, February 1917 39 Rida, Rashid 34 Rizaeddin Fahreddin 78 Romanovs, dynasty 25 Romans 27 rural Islam 220–2 Rus kniazes 21 Russia 42, 67–8, 80, 95, 103, 105, 108, 130–1, 167, 175, 205, 208, 261, 264–7, 268; communist 81; democracy in 137; democratic federal 82; European 143; imperialist 154; multi-cultural 269; multi-ethnic 79; Muslim communities of 167; Muslim peoples of 78; Muslims of 46, 54–5, 57, 103, 109, 173, 175, 264; non-Russian regions of 92; post-Soviet 171, 174, 183–4, 187, 189, 195–6, 271, 243, 274; Soviet 170; umma of 34, 35, 56, 57 Russian army, Muslim units in 76, 81 Russian civil war 42

Index Russian communities, as ethnic minorities 220, 222 Russian conquest (1552) 82 Russian cultural order 15 Russian Duma 78–9, 84, 108, 135 Russian emigration 102 Russian Empire 31, 39, 41, 64, 79, 134; and Islam 24–5; restructuring of 80 Russian Federation 45, 48, 63, 67, 69, 90, 167–8, 243, 264, 273; Muslims in 190; post-Soviet 192 Russian Government 121, 236 Russian grievance 220 Russian immigration 94 Russian Islam 173 Russian military units, in Dagestan 145 Russian Muslim community 174 Russian Muslims 79–80, 174 Russian Orthodox Church 21, 23, 26, 42, 47; institutions 75; norms and values 64; as a symbol of Russian statehood 25 Russian Orthodoxy 6, 62, 123 Russian Parliament 104 Russian Revolutions (1917) 92 Russian state 57 Russian–Chechen wars 57 Russian–Chechen, negotiations 108 Russian–Iranian war (1826–8) 90 Russian–Muslim relations 31, 47, 64 Russian-ness 76; and Orthodoxy 23 Russians 48, 77, 88–90, 94–5, 123, 152, 179, 252–3, 255, 262, 273 Russians–Kizliar 223 Russia–Tatarstan, relations 85 Russification 23, 219, 253 Russification 6; of Dagestanis 94; intellectual 35; in the Muslim regions 52; socio-cultural 61; of Tatars 86 Rutuls 88–90, 152 sabantuy (Tatar national holidays) 85, 193 Sabirov, Muhhamad 70 sadaqa (alms) 169, 185–6, 190 SADUM 49, 51, 53 Sadval, movement 102, 110 Safi Islam 270 Safiullin, Fandas 70–2, 84–5 Said-bey 92 Saidov, Abdurashid 97, 105, 137 Sakalibah 16; see also proto-Russians Salafi Islam 86, 108; see also Wahhabism

303

Salafis 103–4, 109, 124 Salafism 57, 109; intellectual 104 salafiyn 54 Salagaev, Alexandr 273 salat 50 Salman, Farid 119, 127, 130 Samarkand clan 46 Samarkand, medresses of 26 Santlada, publishing house 55 Sarmatian Horde 27 Sassanid Iran 16 Sattarov, Faizrahman 130–2 Saudi Arabia 54–5, 57, 124, 136–7, 200, 270, 272 saum 50 Sayid Ahmed Darbishgadjiev 97, 104–5, 137 Sayid Amirov 96 Sayid Giray Alkin 78 Sayid-efendi Chirkeevskii Sheikh 97, 99, 106–7, 134, 137, 138, 139–40, 141, 156, 158, 160, 270 sayin (bad), bid’a 126 Scandinavia 16 Schadenfreude 266 Scythian Horde 27 Second All-Russian Muslim Congress 80 Second Muslim Congress, of Republican Russia 38 Second World War 49, 93 secularization, the process of 170 Seifulla-qadi, sheikh 134 Semender 16 Serbia 176 Severiane 18 sexual relations 257 seyid (head of the Muslims) 125 Sh Musaev 101 Shadhili tariqa 134 Shadhiliyya 134 Shafi, Imam 124 Shafii madhhab 28, 88 Shafiism 1 shahada 50 Shaimardanov, Fanavil 76 Shaimiev, Mintimir, President of Tatarstan 66–8, 71–2, 76, 82, 84, 87, 215, 247, 267–8; government 72–3, 75; regime 85; and Tatar nationalists 70 Shaimieva, Sakine 75 Shakh Gali 71 shakirds 79, 120, 202

304

Index

shamail 190 Shamanism 21 shamkhals 88 Shamyl, Imam 31, 91–2, 96, 102, 106, 109, 203; imamat of 39 Shapsugs 27, 29 Sharapuddin Musaev 99, 139 shar’ia law 8 shariat 23, 30, 55, 62, 79, 91–3, 100–1, 107, 109, 120, 122, 124–8, 131, 133, 141, 147, 149–50, 153, 155, 158, 159, 172, 230–1, 242, 246, 261, 271; revival of 86; shariat courts 43 Shazali tariqa 270 sheikhs 51 Shi’a 1 Shi’a Islam 34 Shi’a Muslims 47 Shihabuddin Marjani 33 Shi’ism 131 Shi’ite, community 88 Shi’ites 36, 79 Shikhsaidov, Hizri 98 shirk (polytheism) 51, 154, 140, 153 Shlissel’burg fortress 29 Shura 159 Siberia 23, 38, 47, 80, 91 Sifi, trans-ethnic interest group 97 silsila (Sufi transmission chain) 32, 134, 138, 148 Siradjudin Khurikskii 134 Sirajuddin Ramazanov 104–5, 155 Slavic settlers 38 Slavic traditions 22 Slavs 17 SMR (Soiuz musul’man rossii, Union of Muslims of Russia) 56, 96, 107–10, 133 socialism 266 Soghdiana 16 Soglasie (Concord), movement 70 sovereignization 265 Sovet Alimov Dagestana 138 Sovet Imamov (Council of Imams) 137 sovetskii narod 44 Soviet Army 71 Soviet empire 57 Soviet Government 43, 47 Soviet Islam 49 Soviet Muslims 39, 44, 46–8, 52, 93; involvement of 53; isolation of 50 Soviet project 44 Soviet regime 121, 152

Soviet State 47, 52; democratization of 82; disintegration of 54; unification of 42 Soviet troops 52 Soviet umma 46, 49, 52 Soviet Union 47–8, 65–6, 95, 104, 167–8, 205, 208, 264 Sovietization 46 sovkhozes 93 Spiritual Board of Muslims of Dagestan (DUMD) 96–7, 133; see also DUMD Spiritual Board of Muslims of the European part of Russia and Siberia (DUMES) see DUMES Spiritual Board of Muslims of the North Caucasus (DUMSK) 54, 93, 133; see also MUMSK Spiritual Board of Muslims of the Republic of Dagestan (DUMRD) 118; see also DUMRD Spiritual Board of Muslims of the Republic of Tatarstan (DUMRT) 66, 83; see also DUMRT Spiritual Board of Muslims of Tatarstan (DUMT) 119; see also DUMT spiritual purity 185 Sredne-Aziatskoe Dukhovnoe Upravlenie Musul’man 49; see also SADUM Stalin, Josef 41–3, 49, 65, 81 Stalinism 46 Stalinist leadership 93 State Council of Tatarstan 68–9, 71–2, 84, 145–6 State Council of Dagestan 88, 90, 96, 100, 108, 111, 139 Sudan 52, 153 Sufi, ideology 140; Islam 30, 91, 93, 159, 267, 270; leaders 92; madhhab 149; network 31, 44, 93; order (tariqa) 21, 125, 130, 133–5, 150–1; scholars 148; sheikhs (ishans) 24, 106, 203; shrines 50, 135, 272; tradition 93, 143 Sufis 28, 51, 91–3, 103, 150 Sufism 8, 24, 29, 86, 93, 103, 113, 124, 131–2, 134, 149, 151, 153–4, 157, 247, 270; in North Caucasus and Central Asia 44; pseudo-Sufism 130; the role of 91; Tatar 125 Sulaymanov, M. 98 Sulenkent, the village of 194 Sultan-Galiev, M. 81 Sultan-Galievshchina 43, 46

Index Sunna 22, 124, 126, 149–51, 156 sunnet 50, 53, 169, 173, 188–9 sunnetchi 189 Sunni 1; Islam 19, 21, 28, 34, 62, 88, 101, 124, 270; Muslims 36, 47, 79 Sunnism 131 Supreme Coordination Centre of the Spiritual Boards of Russia (VKTs) 122; see also VKTs Supreme Religious Council of the Peoples of the Caucasus, organization 109 Supreme Soviet of Dagestan 154 Suvars 18 Suverinitet, movement 77 Syria 55, 143, 148, 200–1, 270 Tabasaran 27, 88–90, 152 Tabiev, Fikryat 87 tablighites, organization 130 Tadjuddin Khasaviurtovskii 134, 138 Tadjuddin, Talgat, Muftii 53, 74–5, 82, 121, 123, 130, 268 tafsir (an interpretation of the Koran) 130 Tagaev, Ahmed-haji 144 Tagirov, Indus, academician 85 tajdid (renovation) 6, 21 Tajikistan 43, 45–6, 53–4, 102 Tajiks 33 takfir (non-belief) 103, 154, 157 Talas, defeats of the Arabs at 17 Taliban 266 Talishes 27 taqlid (Islamic traditionalism) 8, 124, 132 tariqa 91–2, 130, 133, 135–6, 147, 156; Naqshabandi 125–6; Sufi 117 tariqatism 91, 133–4; radical interpretation of 30; regional form of Sufism 29 tariqatist imam 147 tariqatist Islam 159–60, 267 tariqatists 103, 148, 156–8, 161; Avar 104; Dagestani 107 Tarki 88 Tashkent 47, 49, 53, 55 Tashkent clan 46 Tatar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic 65 Tatar diaspora 71 Tatar elite 80 Tatar ethnic identity 211, 212, 213, 215

305

Tatar ethnicity 205 Tatar ethno-cultural identity 62 Tatar golden age 82 Tatar identity, and language 204–5; reenforcing 238; subordination of 218 Tatar Imams 83 Tatar Islam 62, 64, 86, 208, 272 Tatar Kanuni (Tatar Constitution) 86 Tatar Marxists 39, 81 Tatar Muslim elite 64–5 Tatar Muslims 124, 127 Tatar National Assembly 77 Tatar national awakening 66 Tatar national idea 75, 268; before the Bolshevik Revolution 78 Tatar national identity 61, 65 Tatar national opposition 81 Tatar national revival 82 Tatar National Society of Sh. Marjani 77, 82 Tatar nouveaux riches 68 Tatar party of national independence 77 Tatar Republican Party 70 Tatar-Bashkir republic 40 Tataria 204 Tatarism 78 Tatarism, Soviet 81 Tatarization 71, 77; of Islamic identity 175; process of 68, 247; Tatarization, policies of 268 Tatarness 76–7 Tatars 35, 38, 42, 44–5, 62–3, 77, 79–82, 84, 86, 95, 108, 122–3, 125, 127–8, 167, 175, 177, 188, 193, 204–5, 252–3, 262, 271–2; and creating a monoethnic state 215; Kazan and Chelny 213; Stalin’s distrust of 46 Tatarstan 2, 43, 56, 65–6, 67–8, 71, 77, 82–3, 84, 85–6, 92, 93–5, 96, 102, 117–18, 120, 122, 124–5, 127–30, 168–9, 174–5, 177–8, 180–1, 183, 185–6, 187–92, 193, 196–8, 199, 201, 203–5, 207–8, 243–6, 249, 251–3, 255–6, 258, 260–2, 265–7, 268–70, 271–4; the Academy of Sciences of 71; and the Chechnia factor 235–6; Constitution of 63, 69; ethnic stereotypes in 214; ethnic structure of 210; ethnic tension in 23; and ethnonational revival 221; ethnoscape of 213; Independence Day of 193; integration with Europe 72; intellectual elite of 76; Islam in 87,

306

Index

176; and an Islamic state 86, 230; islamization of 232; model 67, 85, 265; mosques in 55; Muftii of 75; Muslim Religious Board of 266; and a national grievance complex 211, 215; post-Soviet 195; pre-Soviet 61; and statehood 225; and Tatarization policies 220; umma of 74 Tatarstani identity, and Russian identity 226 Tatarstani project 3 Tatarstanis, civic nation of 273 Tatarstan-New Age, pro-government movement 69 Tats 27, 88–90 tawwhid (monotheism) 149, 185 Tayid al-Kurakhi 90 Tenglik, movement 102, 110–11 Tengrianism 21 Third All-Russian Muslim Congress 36 Timur 27 tiubeteika (skullcap) 261 Togan, Zaki Validi 40, 80 traditions 253 Transcaucasus 30, 54 Trotskii, Leon 42 Tsakhurs 88–90, 152, 179 Tsar 80 Tsars, Russian Orthodox 90 Tsez 27 Tsumadinskii district 156, 159, 271 tukhum (clan) 88, 94, 151, 197, 254, 272; mentality 253 Turkestan, Governorship-General 32–3; formation of the autonomous republic of 38 Turkestani Muslims 37 Turkey 25, 31, 37, 40, 55–7, 67, 130, 136, 143, 148, 200, 227, 228, 270, 272; Islamic 90; Muslim 80 Turkic elite 18 Turkic Khaganat 16, 17–18, 22 Turkic nomads 15, 26, 32 Turkic, origins of proto-Russians 16, 19 Turkish Islam 106, 143 Turkism 78, 238 Turkmanchai Treaty 90 Turkmenistan 45, 46, 54 Turkmens 32, 33 Turko-Tatar Muslims, ethno-cultural autonomy for 40 Turko-Tatars 38

Ubukhs 27, 29 Udmurts 18 Udugov, Movladi 145 Ufa 26, 49, 53–4, 66, 73, 75, 82; Federal Islamic Centre in 268; Russian Muftiiat (TsDUMR) in 270 Ufimskaia gubernia (province) 40 Ukraine 194, 197 Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic 48 Ukrainians 48 Ul’ianovsk 266 ulema (Islamic scholars) 21–2, 28, 51, 54, 90, 106–7, 137–41, 159–60; Dagestani 99; Dargin 97, 158; functions of 51 Umer Ibragimov 43 umma (Islamic community) 20, 25, 153 umra 270 Union of Atheists 47 Union of Avar Jamaat, movement 111 Union of Islamic Youth, organization 109 Union of Military Fighters against God 43 Union of Muslims of Russia (SMR) 56, 96, 107, 133; see also SMR Union of Newly-Converted Muslims 134 United Arab Emirates (UAE) 55, 200, 272 United States of America 67, 129 Untsukul’skii raion 159 Urals 26 uraza 192, 196–7 Uraza-Bayram, festival 187, 192 Urazaev, Farid 84 Usmanov, Gumer 87 USSR 44–5, 46–9, 50, 52–3, 54, 57, 87, 95, 131, 137, 266, 272, 273; Muslimpopulated areas of 102 ustadh (spiritual mentor) 31, 136, 148 usul-ul-jadid (the new phonetic method) 34, 79 usul-ul-qadim 34 Utyz-Imyani, G. 125 Uzbekistan 43, 44, 46, 54, 102 Uzbeks 32–3 Uzhdagh district 206 Vahitov, Mulannur 39, 41, 81 Vaisites 35 Vaisov Bojii Polk (the Godly Regiment of Vaisov), sect 35 vali (saints) 148

Index Valiulla Yakub (Yakubov) Muftii 84, 118–19, 122, 131 Vatan (Motherland), movement 111 Vaynakhs 28 Veli Ibragim 43 Veli-Ibragimovshchina 43, 46 vendetta, the institution of 27 Venice 27 Verkhnee Miatli 156 Viatichi 18 Victory Day (9 May) 192 Village Day 192 Vis-Haji 134 VKTs 122 Vladikavkaz, the fortress of 30 Vladimir, the Kievan kniaz 19 Vladimir Putin, President 265–6, 268 Volga Bulgar Muslim community (ulema) 6 Volga Bulgaria 6, 18–20, 22 Volga Bulgars (proto-Tatars) 18–21, 62, 82; the popular image of 212 Volga Germans 48 Volga Islam 78 Volga Muslim Religious Board 266 Volga Tatar intellectuals, pro-jadid 79 Volga Tatars 25, 26, 61; national identity of 78 Volga-Urals 36, 38–9, 40, 44, 51, 54, 71, 75, 125 Volgodonsk 265 VTOTs 66, 70, 71–2, 77, 82, 84–5, 118 Wahhabi jamaat 101 Wahhabi movement 137 Wahhabi opposition 111 Wahhabis 54, 99, 100, 103, 107, 112, 124, 136, 140 , 142–4, 145–7, 149–53, 154–5, 156–9, 161, 268, 270–1 Wahhabism 1, 7, 57, 86, 99, 100, 101, 103, 105, 107, 112, 124, 125, 129, 130–1, 138, 142–3, 146, 147, 149, 150–4, 155, 156, 159–61, 196, 267, 269–70, 271, 274; the external nature of 233–4; the popular image of 9, 232–4; and religious extremism 231

307

Wahhabi-tariqatist, cooperation 107 Wahhabization, of the Muftiiat 119 waqf (Islamic endowment) 26, 32, 93, 122; property 43; reinstitution of 79 Western colonies, Muslims of 42 Western Europe, Russia’s divergence from 23 Western military intervention 41 Westernization, from above 25, 56 White resistance, movement 41–2 wird 31, 106, 134 women’s education 247 women’s rights 248 World Islamic Council 147 World Jewish Congress 85 Yabloko, all-Russian democratic bloc 70 Yagfarov, Rashid 84 Yanalif 44 Yaragskii, Muhammad, Imam 30 yasa 21 yasak (tribute) 21 Yasawi, Ahmed 24, 91 Yasawiyya 29 Yeltsin, Boris, President 54, 67, 265; approach to Orthodoxy 73; and sovereignty 96 Yemen 52 Young Bukharans 40 Young Khivians 40 Youth Centre of Tatar Culture 77 Youth Islamic Cultural Centre Iman 129 Zadesh, movement 102 zakat (alms) 34, 50, 100, 122, 132; distribution of 144 Zakatal’skii, Abdulgani 134 Zaynullin, Zaki 85 zemliacheskie communities 196 Zikhiiskaia 26 Zinatullin, Gabdulkhamit 74 ziyarat (Sufi shrines) 132, 149 Ziyauddin Kamali 78 Zoroastrianism 17, 21