I found his reference to the Sufi mystics who inhabited the cemeteries and tombs of holy men both simple and startling. In one word Abdel Gadir had paid Hussein a tribute. To be darwish—a person dedicated completely to remembering God—was a status to which Abdel Gadir himself could aspire and, in the meantime, respect. By describing Hussein as darwish Abdel Gadir accepted Hussein as he was, in fact saw what was God-like within him and made room in his community for him, using “darwish” as a common local euphemism for mentally handicapped that was also inclusive. The Republicans saw the world through Islam’s possibilities rather than through the controlling or limiting functions of religion in society. That progress in global Islam could start on the banks of the Blue Nile was a Republican given. That the world should know more about these courageous people is the purpose of this book.
2
The Path of the Prophet
To be a Republican Brother required considerable time and stamina. The work to sustain the movement fell particularly hard on the azaba, the single men members of the movement who lived near Mahmoud Mohamed Taha’s house in Omdurman. They were expected to attend all of the meetings, beginning with an early morning session at dawn, take a significant role in the production and distribution of Republican Brotherhood literature, attend the various lectures and community events associated with a social movement that was also at the center of its members’ lives, and of course, work hard at being better Muslims. The Republican movement was intense at this stage of its history and many of the young brothers got little sleep. No one objected to this demanding schedule, in fact the credo of the bachelor group could have been “service with a smile.” Brothers felt that spending as much time as possible with each other both offered an excellent opportunity to learn more about the Republican ideology and prevented them from going astray.
However, after a few months of complete immersion in the Republican way of life, I needed to come up for air. I felt that I was suffocating under the pressure of participating in every meeting; I was not spending enough time on my doctoral research. I may have also reflected on many conversations during my graduate studies about researchers “going native” and the impact that might have on one’s data collection. I sought an appointment with Ustadh Mahmoud and went to see him at his house. It was unusual for one of the brothers or sisters to see Ustadh Mahmoud alone. There was both a sense in the community that no one should have any secrets from anyone else and also that if Ustadh Mahmoud said something significant, there should be another witness. Nevertheless, I was feeling that my “Western outlook” needed to take charge of my life in Sudan, and I wanted to carve out more time for myself. I am sure that I also felt, despite my earlier expressed desire for the Sufi life, that I was succumbing to the demands of Sudanese patriarchal culture. I was uncomfortable with customs like seeking “permission” from the senior brothers to go somewhere or do something.
I was apprehensive as I went into my meeting with Ustadh Mahmoud because I knew that I really did not know what I was going to say to him; I guess I was looking for some kind of guidance. Or at least, I wanted him to know me better. My impressions of the teacher were largely wrought through what I had understood about him from the brothers’ conversations. Their devotion to him and their absolute commitment to his vision of Islam were palpable in everything that they did and said about him. The most often used introductory phrase I heard around the brothers’ house where I lived was “gaal al-Ustadh . . .” (“Ustadh said . . .”). And the intense discussions of the fikr jumhuriya, the Republican ideology, at every meeting were leaving me behind. I could not read Ustadh Mahmoud’s seminal work, The Second Message of Islam, which had not yet been translated into English. In fact, I was frequently asked if I had read the book and what I thought about it, and was also given impromptu tutorials on different aspects of it. But I dreaded the quiz.
Ustadh Mahmoud sat on his bed as he listened to me begin to seek permission for a looser affiliation with the brotherhood. As I launched into an explanation of my doctoral research, I suddenly felt silly and inarticulate, that my request was mundane next to the lofty spiritual goals of his movement. Ustadh Mahmoud’s response to me made it clear that I had not succeeded in convincing him of the importance of my work in Sudan. He told me that I was welcome to live with the brothers for as long as I wanted. He continued to say that sometime soon the world would come to realize that the Republican ideology was what would deliver peace in our modern times. I had the sense that he was at once chiding me and implying that I had an amazing opportunity to be part of a critical event for humanity. I also began to understand the importance of guidance and advice as one trod the challenging spiritual path advocated by Ustadh Mahmoud.
He confirmed my feeling by announcing to the brothers and sisters at that evening’s jelsa (meeting) at his house that they were to leave me alone. Happily for me, while that was surely an odd request, it was hardly in the Sudanese nature to ignore someone who lived in their midst. So I soon forgot about my awkward meeting with Ustadh Mahmoud. What I did do was try to become better informed about the ideology that motivated this movement, which is what I should have done in the first place.
Many of the brothers told me of a basic Republican philosophy that they had learned from Ustadh Mahmoud. He taught them that one’s mind, words, and deeds all must be in sync; in other words, that it was essential that your thoughts, words and actions be linked in a unity of purpose. And that purpose, ultimately, was peace. I appreciated how this perspective was usually communicated to me visually by the speaker of this mantra gently touching his or her head, lips, and heart to indicate the connections. It sounded easy enough, reminding me initially of California New Age feel-good spirituality. But I quickly realized that this was a very serious, scripturally based behavioral methodology that the collective of the Republican brothers and sisters worked on together, checking and encouraging each other in its practice and on improving it. It was a challenging method to stick to, and with the brothers I frequently observed that there was even a competitive element to succeeding in strengthening one’s practice. I observed, tried to practice, but managed to stay out of the competition, part of my strategy of trying not to draw attention to myself. I was emphatic about being in Sudan to learn and never be in the position of the all-knowing khabir ajanabi (“foreign expert”) who had descended on Sudan to impart knowledge. The khabir ajanabi was actually a set character from Egyptian/Sudanese films and soap operas whose role came up when discussing foreigners who actually did not know enough to be very useful to the local circumstances—not a role I wanted to play in Sudan.
Mahmoud Mohamed Taha’s vision for humankind was soaring. His sources included an amalgam of mystical reflection, deep knowledge and understanding of the Qur’an, and immersion in study of the life of the Prophet Mohamed, not unlike what many of the Muslim thinkers associated with Sufism had done in the past. But Ustadh Mahmoud’s vision also came out of his own life experience, exposure to modern education and the difficult challenges of Sudan’s independence struggle. Although Ustadh Mahmoud and the Republicans were careful to distinguish between themselves and the “conventional Sufis,” there was certainly something mystical to his methods of concentration on prayer and on the Qur’an that led to the unity of his thinking and action. Progressive improvement in the practice of prayer and in being a Republican was always the intention.
“Unity,” al-towhid, or “monotheism,” was the concept and the goal very much at the center of the Republican ideology as communicated by Mahmoud Mohamed Taha. It was at once beautifully simple and utterly complex. As I tried to wrestle with it, I grew to understand that the complexity of the Republican message was what kept many Sudanese from joining the Republican Brotherhood. I was raised a Boston Catholic and the external simplicity of Islam is what initially attracted me to the faith. To profess Islam one simply recites as a believer the core shahada, or “witness,”