| December 2004
Religion in public debate
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The following is a commentary I wrote in response to an article by Thio
Li-Ann, Hearing out religion in public
debate. Her article was published in the Straits Times, 15 December 2004.
I sent my rebuttal to the Straits Times, but as of today, 10 days later, it still hasn't been published. In the meantime, a controversy broke out in Birmingham, UK, over a play. The Straits Times story about this can be seen on the right, bearing out some of my points. * * * * *
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In her commentary, "Hearing out religion in
public debate", Thio Li-Ann indicated her preference for an
inclusionist public debate that welcomes views springing from a religious
motivation. This is only sensible, because a democracy should value all
viewpoints, so long as they are honestly held. Where each of us gets our
primary sources for our worldviews is ultimately a personal matter, so
long as the ideas that we introduce into the public debate are rational
and proposed in good faith for the common purpose. However, she tends to mischaracterise the secularists
as "radical secularists", oppressive to anyone whose views
spring from a religious outlook. Arguing that "free speech requires
protecting the speech we dislike", she suggests that radical
secularists violate this axiom by insisting that preachers should
"not throw stones at others who hold contrary views on
moral-political hot potatoes". In the Singapore context, the situation may be quite
the reverse: The people most demanding of censorship are those whose views
hew closest to religion. We have repeatedly banned critiques of religious
orthodoxy. In 2000, the play Talaq [1]
was banned because the play, by a Muslim playwright no less, was felt to
be critical of the way Islam was woven into the socio-cultural
subordination of women. The highly acclaimed 1994 film, "The
Priest", directed by Antonia Bird, was also banned, presumably
because it examined the tension between Roman Catholic vows of celibacy,
and the reality of priests' sexual transgressions, straight and gay. In the annexure to the 2003 Censorship
Review Report [2] was a summary of inputs the
Committee received from religious groups. These generally supported
censorship and in fact called for applying the "lowest common
denominator" rule, meaning that so long as one group disapproves of
something, it should be banned, and no one else see it. Therefore it is quite disingenuous for people
motivated by religion to claim that they are the victims of censorship. The reality is that religious groups can distribute
all kinds of homophobic leaflets, and even hang a huge
banner in full view of the MRT saying "Gays can change" [3].
Who is throwing stones at whom? When the publication Manazine
contained articles and visuals that appealed to its gay and lesbian
readership (with no attempt to criticise religion), it was hauled up by
the government and threatened with a revocation of its licence, because
"some people complained" [4]. Who is
gagging whom? Moving beyond the minutiae to the broader picture,
there is a reason why secular democracies should always be on guard
against exploitation of race and religion, and the operative word is
neither "race" nor "religion", but
"exploitation". To hold views informed by one's appreciation of race,
culture and religion is not in itself invalid, but to mobilise for
political advantage through leveraging racial and religious identity is
potentially explosive. Leveraging can come about in two ways: Firstly by
using the pulpit for political speech and religious or ethnic-community
organisations for political action, and secondly by applying pressure on
other members of the group to toe the line. It is a fine line between social conscience, which
religious leaders can rightly address, and political partisanship, which
should be out of bounds. One way of illuminating this fine line may be to
ask whether the religious leader is merely setting out the issues and
factors for his flock to weigh and consider and arrive at their individual
opinions, or whether he is prescribing a direction for his flock to
follow. Likewise we should be alert to religious
organisations using their resources to publicise a certain political
argument, or organising petitions to push a certain viewpoint. We have to be particularly sensitive to the coercive
effect of racial and religious affiliation. It is not without basis to
call these emotive issues, for these are easily exploited. For many, race
and religion form the foundation for their sense of identity. Hence,
people can feel guilty not to go along with the majority view prevailing
in their own racial or religious community. They may feel strong peer
pressure to adopt the community-sanctioned point of view, perhaps to the
extent of joining the lobbying, because the price of non-participation may
be exclusion from the group. Saying no is difficult. This is the argument behind France's ban on
headscarves in schools, because these are more than symbols of one's
private faith. They are instruments by which to shame fellow Muslims into
submission. Another important point to watch out for is whether a
sectarian group promotes a policy that deprives another group of liberty.
If the rationale for the policy being pushed is anchored in a religious
belief, e.g. that women must dress modestly, or that same-sex
relationships are sinful, then there is no justification for extending the
prescription to those not of the same religious faith. This is especially
so if the sectarian group agitates to enshrine such ideas in law or
governmental action. The other, more insidious risk is when a viewpoint is promoted, not so much as a religious argument, but as something for the society's good, for example, prohibitions against gambling, euthanasia, abortion, drinking or pornography. However valid the arguments, we should first stop and ask two things: Firstly, whether the notion that this is bad is
derived from a set of religiously-based values, in which case the argument
is then indirectly also a religious argument, and secondly, whether we
need to adopt a communitarian "one-size-fits-all" approach at
all. In other words, even if something is good, must we
impose that "good" upon others? Shouldn't people be free to lead
errant lives? This question of how communitarian a society we want
to be is rarely addressed in Singapore. There is a need to deal with this
basic issue. A lot of the difficulties we face in resolving differences of
opinion come from the assumption that we must arrive at a single answer,
which will be imposed on everyone else. Over a generation, Singapore has been moulded into a
conformist society, and many people have become too comfortable with
finding single solutions to societal questions and then forcing everyone
else into the same mould. The paroxysms of opinion expressed over language
education each time the government proposes more flexibility testify to
this. Why can't we just agree to disagree and make sure the
State protects each person's autonomy to live his life the way he wants?
This liberal argument has a very noble tradition and can claim great moral
weight in its own right. At this point, we come back to the original issue of
religion in public debate, for religions tend to be anti-liberal. By their
very raison d'etre, religions as practised, are often prescriptive, aiming
for relative homogeneity of habits, values, and beliefs, except that one
religion's preferred outcome is inimical to another's. Thus it is understandable why societies that value
diversity and pluralism are always wary about religion in public debate,
because where liberalism seeks to keep spaces open -- and it was secular
liberalism that coined the dictum "Free speech includes protecting
the speech we dislike" – religion often prefers to close off
spaces. © Yawning Bread
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Footnotes
Addenda None
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