The Asymmetry of Interfaith Dialogue

BY OMID SAFI (@OSTADJAAN), ON BEING COLUMNIST

Theres an elephant in the room of interfaith dialogue, and I want to name it.
Many of us are deeply committed to interfaith dialogue as a source of promoting
understanding and mutual knowledge. I have been engaged in interfaith
understanding for over 25 years, probably giving more talks in churches and
synagogues than I have in mosques. We are called to be bridge-builders.
Effective interfaith relations assume that we are speaking out of the depth of
our own tradition remaining rooted in our communities even as we reach out
to one another in fellow communities. There is no way of having love for the
world community unless that love begins at home, until it spills over and washes
over everyone.
Yet in order for these interfaith relations to be meaningful, we have to be able
and willing to acknowledge our own indebtedness, our own rootedness in the soil
that we call home. Herein lies one of the great tensions in interfaith work.
Real interfaith work assumes that we have something to teach one another,
something to learn from one another. We have to be open to the possibility of
learning from, and learning with, one another.
And yet it remains absolutely and indispensably the case that the ground upon
which we stand is extraordinarily differentiated. We share radically different
levels of access to power, wealth, and privilege that are based on our gender,
socio-economic class, sexual orientation, nationality, and other markers. And
there are fundamental structural inequalities that shape the parameters in
which this conversation takes place.

The first meeting of the parliament of world religions in 1893.

All of us live in diverse societies, and none of us have the option of living in
ignorance of one another.
Interfaith dialogue used to mean Catholic-Protestant exchanges. As a response
to the horrors of World War II and the Holocaust, it turned into a JewishChristian dialogue which, in many ways, has established the parameters of the
whole interfaith enterprise. Given the intense polemics between Judaism and
Christianity, and the long-history of theologically justified anti-Semitism within
Christianity, it is indeed a long overdue enterprise.
At a certain point, what had been a Jewish-Christian dialogue became an
Abrahamic initiative. The move to Abrahamic initiatives necessitated the

inclusion of Islam and Muslims. This pattern continues, and has only increased
post-9/11. Abraham is back, and so are the sons and daughters of Abraham.
Interfaith dialogues dont take place in a vacuum. There is always a host, an
institution that serves as the convening place. These institutions often incur a
great deal of cost in offering these programs. For the more prominent national
interfaith conversations, there are costs to fly in speakers, offer them
honoraria, reserve a venue, etc.
The Jewish and Christian institutions have been generous hosts, but generosity
and hospitality are not the same as a level playing field. Until Muslim institutions
cultivate the same institutional capability to be equal partners, Muslim speakers
are likely to be at an institutional disadvantage.
Both the transnational Muslims (first-, second-, and third-generation immigrant
Muslims) and indigenous African American, White, and Hispanic convert Muslims
are usually lagging behind in terms of building and supporting the institutions
that their Christian and Jewish neighbors possess and have cultivated over
the last few decades). When it comes to these interfaith initiatives, Muslims
often lack the institutional base to host these programs and as such tend to
function as the third wheel without the means or the capacity to reciprocate.
Many of my friends are long-time participants in these interfaith operations.
This includes Muslim friends. I do not wish to belittle their time, energy, and
effort. What I want to do is shine a light on the structural issues that have a
tremendous impact on these interfaith initiatives. Let me share a recent
personal experience that elucidates this point.

(Seeds of Peace / Flickr

Some rights reserved.)
The day that this blog post appears, I was scheduled to participate in an
interfaith gathering in Michigan. This lovely convening has been going on for

many years in the Grand Rapids area, bringing together Jewish, Christian, and
Muslim community members from the local community.
Over the summer, the organizing committee and the invited speakers (including
me) had a number of discussions on the theme. And, in part due to my input, we
had come up with the title, To Repair the World: How Does Religion Help or
Hinder? We decided that each of us would speak about our own tradition, and
acknowledge that religion can and does both help and hinder the cause of peace,
justice, and healing. To avoid a situation of critiquing each other, we would each
focus on our own tradition, our own community, our own history and present
state.
This was not my first visit there.
In 2007, I was invited to talk about a progressive Muslim point of view. Three
years later in 2010, I was invited back to discuss Where is the love? Where is
the justice? addressing the intersection of Islam, America, and social
justice. While the topic was challenging, it was received well by the audience. As
part of the same visit, I gave two additional talks: one on the Prophet
Muhammad and another for business leaders about developments in Iran.
The third time, in 2012, I was part of a tripartite Muslim, Jewish, Christian
gathering focusing on faith in times of suffering with Cynthia Campbell,
president emerita of McCormick Theological Seminary, and Rabbi Donniel
Hartman of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem. Cynthia Campbell was
kind and thoughtful. Rabbi Hartman was debonair, with a dash of panache. The
event had gone so well that the organizers invited all of us back for 2015.
This year was to have been the fourth time.
I love going back to communities for repeat visits, as it provides a chance to
deepen ones connections and build on a relationship of trust. The organizers and
I had become friends. We even shared an interfaith journey in Turkey together.
The main organizer talked about how his friendship with me had pushed him to
become a better Christian, something that I take as a lovely compliment.
In light of these friendships, it came as a particular shock to receive the news
that I had been uninvited from the October conference. What had happened to
make the conference organizers decide to disinvite a speaker who had been with
them before, who had a reputation for being committed to peace and justice and
pacifism, and spoke about the spiritual dimension of Islam with a concurrent
commitment to the legacy of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.?
In short, the politics of Israel intervened again. For Muslims in the public
spotlight, this is an increasingly frequent, and almost always problematic,
occurrence.

This brings me back to the elephant in the room. Interfaith dialogue in the
United States is usually conducted as a theological exercise in order to get
people in the room; sometimes there is a commitment to leave aside political
differences that presumably we cannot achieve consensus on.
Between my previous 2012 appearance and the scheduled 2015 appearance,
there had been the latest Israeli assault on Gaza in 2014, one that had resulted
in the death of 2,203 Palestinians, including more than 500 children, and 72
Israelis. What did we as a people of faith have to say about this violent episode
in our shared history, one that witnessed suffering in an asymmetric way on the
Palestinian side?
As citizens, and as people of faith, many of us are deeply involved in issues of
peace and human dignity, though our commitments are shaped perhaps by the
communities that we call home and/or whom we perceive to be on the right side
of history. Rabbi Hartman has spoken out as an adamant supporter of the Israeli
war on Gaza and has written a number of blog posts and op-ed pieces in both
Israeli and American outlets defending Israels right to self-defense. His
writings appeared in Times of Israel and blogs in the United States. In these
pieces, he applied his religious authority to legitimize and justify the war on
Gaza by stating:
I do know that Operation Protective Edge is a just war, and as such, needs to
be fought. The injustice of non-combatant deaths, when they are the
consequence of the illegal and immoral actions of our enemy, cannot serve as a
moral shield to protect them, and allow the terrorizing of my country to
continue.
In a particularly egregious comment about another war on Palestinians, Rabbi
Hartman characterized Palestinians as viewing their loss of civilian life as a
public relations success. This was part of a long-standing Zionist diatribe
against Palestinians going back to Golda Meirs statement, Peace will come when
the Arabs will love their children more than they hate us, as if the Palestinians
do not already love their own children, as if the Palestinians are motivated by
hatred, as opposed to being outraged by a 67-year occupation and dispossession.
My own experience around the world tells me otherwise, that everyone loves
their children. My friendship with Palestinians teaches me that they have the
same hopes and dreams for their children to live lives of dignity and purpose,
free from coercion and occupation.
As an advocate of freedom of speech, I honor and celebrate Rabbi Hartman's
right to voice his opinion, even when I believe his opinion is wrong, callous, and
disregards the humanity of Palestinians. The response to morally misguided
speech is better speech, higher speech, more morally uplifting speech. So I

attempted to respond by insisting that the lives of all Palestinians and all
Israelis was sacred, that all of us are made in the image of God. Following the
prophetic tradition of Jesus and Muhammad, Rabbi Heschel, and Rev. Martin
Luther King, we had the responsibility to hold up the sanctity and dignity of all
human life by starting with the least of these, the most vulnerable and
marginalized of Gods children. I voiced my objection, and focused my comments
on Muslims seeking a principled stance vis--vis the suffering of Palestinians.
There is perhaps no more heated political issue in our American landscape than
Palestine/Israel. But let us be clear about how this issue frames and shapes the
conversation about interfaith discussions in America.
Clearly, the objection of the conference organizers in rescinding their written
invitation was not about the right of the participants to make political
statements. Had that been the case, both the rabbi and me would have been
disinvited. There was, and is, an asymmetry in the ground rules.
The fact that there is a two-tiered policy, where one participant (who speaks on
behalf of Israel) is invited back and one participant (who speak on behalf of
Palestinians) is disinvited points to a discrepancy in terms of the ground rules. It
is this discrepancy that I wish to explore. As I conveyed to the conference
organizers, this discrepancy is part of an increasing national trend which
restricts the public space in which Muslims can give voice to our own moral
imagination. That restriction is not only a matter of personal prejudice, but also
tied to structures and institutions which make interfaith dialogue possible (and
in this case, impossible).

(United States Mission Geneva / Flickr

Some rights reserved.)
Which brings me back to the elephant in the room. There is an asymmetry in the
parameter of this dialogue. My experience is not isolated. Muslims are often
excluded from these Abrahamic dialogues if they have made statements in

support of Palestinians or critical of policies of the Israeli government, whereas

the Jewish participants can have public records of staunch support for Israel.
There is a frequent conflation of Jewish identity and support for the policies of
the Israeli state. All too often, the unqualified support for Israel is also shared
among Christian Zionists, who in terms of sheer number dwarf their Jewish
counterparts. That is of course their right to do so. But when Muslims make
statements that are critical of policies of the Israeli state, or in support of
Palestinians, they are deemed to have violated the allegedly apolitical nature of
interfaith cooperation, and are eliminated in favor of Muslims who remain silent
vis--vis Palestine/Israel or (worse) play the good Muslim game of repeating
pro-Israeli claims. (Many of the Muslim personalities that are frequently
paraded on Fox News fall into this second category.)
The question, and ultimate concern, is how do we create level playing fields or,
to be more precise, level speaking fields. To insist that one group of participants
be allowed to speak out politically on a contested issue while others have to
remain silent is to create two-tiered model of conversations that belies the very
notion of the equal dignity we strive for. The same could be said, of course,
about marginalizing and excluding the many Jewish voices who are critical of
official Israeli policies, such as Jewish Voices for Peace.
To retreat into the corner of finding politically domesticated and neutered
Muslims, or worse, Muslims who champion profoundly problematic political
positions that betray the highest and deepest aspirations of their own
community, that too is not consistent with a genuine call for interfaith
understanding.
I wish my friends in Michigan this week a lovely gathering. The organizers are
good and beautiful people, and the Muslim scholar who was invited in my place is
a bold, courageous, and wise Muslim leader. We have to make sure that the
structures and institutions of these conversations are equally lovely and just.
May it be real, grounded, rooted, and bring them closer to God. And may we have
the courage to build truthful dialogues.
Ultimately, there is no politicizing of these conversations. Our lives are
already political lives. The structures and institutions that mark our lives
differently continue to shape us when we meet for dialogue, prayer, and worship.
The best we can do is to be honest and truthful, and to allow us to speak from
the depth of our humanity, including both the pain and suffering as well as the
highest hopes for healing and reconciliation. As former Archbishop Desmond
Tutu says:
"True reconciliation exposes the awfulness, the abuse, the hurt, the truth. It
could even sometimes make things worse. It is a risky undertaking but in the end

it is worthwhile, because in the end only an honest confrontation with reality can
bring real healing. Superficial reconciliation can bring only superficial healing.