On Our Own Rightness

In a world that seems to be going mad, I keep coming back to these lines by Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai (1924-2000), translated by Stephen Mitchell:

“From the place where we are right
flowers will never grow
in the spring.

“The place where we are right
is hard and trampled
like a yard.”

These words resonate with me, challenge me and – at a time when there is so much that needs to be spoken out against – perplex me. In our polarised world, it’s not hard to see the destructive power of an unshakeable belief in one’s own rightness. As the spring flowers finally appear after an extremely grey British winter, I find the metaphor particularly poignant. And yet, in a world of fake truths and lies which are causing immense suffering, surely there is right and wrong, and someone needs to speak up? 

I took the dilemma into a conversation with Imam Monawar Hussain, who has devoted much of his adult life to encouraging people of different faiths and communities to come together and listen to each other. In recent months he has been criticised for not taking a public stand pro Palestine and against Israel, but he says that he has chosen to be “pro peace” rather than championing one side. 

Raised in Berkshire with roots in Kashmir, Hussain has been Muslim Tutor and Imam at Eton, Britain’s most prestigious private school, since 2004, and Deputy Lieutenant for Oxfordshire since 2009. He is the founder of the Oxford Foundation, which works for understanding between communities and to inspire young Muslims to achieve and contribute to British society. 

OXFORD’S FRIENDSHIP WALK 

I met him through my involvement with Oxford’s annual Interfaith Friendship Walk, organised by the city’s Council of Faiths. The initiative was launched 20 years ago, in the wake of 9/11, and invites people of all faiths or none to walk from the synagogue to one of Oxford’s mosques, via a church and the city’s historic Radcliffe Square. It culminates in a meal, jointly provided by the Muslim and Jewish communities. 

If it is true, as Hussain says, that “to be human is to love diversity”, why – so often – do we fear other groups and cling to our own? 

“We have a teaching in Islam,” he replied, “that there is the propensity within the human being to be occupied with greed, irrespective of the impact on our fellow human beings or our planet. Coming back from a battle, the Prophet said to his companions, ‘We have come from the lesser Jihad to the greater Jihad – the Jihad against your own selfish desires.’ The reason we have religious and spiritual traditions is to rein in that propensity to destructiveness.” 

He refers to the Common Word initiative of 2007, when 138 Muslim scholars and religious leaders wrote an open letter to all the Christian denominations stressing the two faiths’ common imperatives – to love God and to love one’s neighbour. “Loving one’s neighbour means loving your fellow human being whoever they may be. That enables us to move away from ‘us and them’ to ‘us together as a community’.” 

Hussain has spent much of his adult life trying to make this practical. His first national initiative, United for Peace, was sparked by “the horrible things happening in Syria” in the mid-2010s. It took the form of a series of “shared space” events, where people of different faiths came for prayer, silence, music and food. Events took place over the next decade in Oxford, the Thames Valley, Birmingham, London and Edinburgh, where over 500 people packed into St Mary’s Cathedral.   

Other initiatives include the annual One World Festival at Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum and, most recently, the Oxfordshire Civic and Community Leaders Group, which he launched jointly with the Bishop of Oxford, Stephen Croft. “It’s unique because it’s not just faith leaders but civic and community leaders too,” says Hussain. Since 7 October 2023, the group has held three vigils for peace in Oxford, and provided a space where the county’s leaders can share and address their concerns about the impact of world events on their communities. The initiative has now spread to neighbouring counties. 

How did Hussain get into all this? He was brought up in a deeply religious Sufi family in the UK and has warm memories of visiting his grandfather in his village in Kashmir. “He wasn’t a theologian or anything like that, he was just an ordinary man living out his faith – if there is anyone hungry in the village, make sure they are fed, if someone passes away, go and support that family. My parents would always remind me that a Muslim is someone who leaves behind something beautiful – the fragrance of a rose. The Prophet said, ‘A Muslim is the one from whose tongue and hands people are safe.’” 

Growing up in Maidenhead in the mid-70s, at a time when the far-right National Front was prominent, was tough. “We would not only be called racist names; I was assaulted by punks and skinheads. But we had these lovely neighbours who were practising Christians and who we were friends with, to the extent that when my uncle bought his house one of them lent him the deposit. That was formative.” 

LISTENING TO “THEIR” STORIES 

What does being “for peace” mean to him? “There are a lot of people condemning each other, on the news and on toxic social media, but I think I am more effective in speaking privately with fellow leaders and saying this is absolutely horrific and there is no future in it.  It was horrific on 7 October, and it is horrific post 7 October for Palestinians and Gazans. This will not bring stability. We need a process of reconciliation, of people listening to each other’s stories of their dreams being shattered and their loved ones killed. 

“What’s happened over the last 15 months or so has made peace so much harder. It has strengthened the extreme groups on both sides who actually want war and domination, who don’t want to see the Other. And that’s a recipe for disaster.” 

In spite of this, Hussain is convinced that love will prevail. “What gives me hope is God’s love. That’s what drives me. Ultimately, we know that’s what will win the day. On that side I have no doubt at all.” 

Am I any nearer to the answer to my dilemma? Of course right and wrong exist: of course they need fighting for. But Amichai’s poem points to the sterility of the unshakeable belief in my own, or our, rightness, which denies any possibility of good intentions on the other side or of fallibility on mine. So often my unwillingness to listen to those I disagree with stems from my fear of ending up conflicted and out of step with my group. 

His poem ends: 

“But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plough. 

“And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood.”