thirty years ago:
Is it possible that Ustadh Mahmoud’s work will be completely forgotten in a few years, without having a lasting impact? I do not think so. Whatever the Muslims may think of the answers, he has no doubt raised fundamental and searching questions. . . . More important, I would submit, is his personal example of commitment and courage. To have pursued his goals so selflessly and consistently for forty years, especially through his own personal life-style, is an exceptional achievement. The example of this single man’s living for and by his convictions, more than dying for them, is truly inspiring not only to Muslims but to all the people of the world.13
It is important for me to consider how the Republican men and women understood the theological streams that flowed through their writings and lived them and taught them to their children both in Sudan and in exile. My memories are complemented by conversations with more than forty Republican brothers and sisters between 1996 and 2010 conducted in Sudan, Egypt, England, Ireland, the Netherlands, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates, and the United States. Republicans have joined the “digital Islam” community, so their words in email communications have been available to me as well. In many of these conversations individual Republicans recall the words of Ustadh Mahmoud. I have checked these quotes with other Republicans in each case, which in turn invariably led to more memories, with subtle differences but never significant disagreement. Memories of Ustadh Mahmoud are passed around by Republicans like a valuable goblet full of a life-giving elixir that should not be spilled or a drop wasted. My task here is to interpret what I saw and heard and try to provide some context for the Western reader. Although many have encouraged me to write this book, no Republican brother or sister has actually authorized it on behalf of the movement, nor does such an authority exist. The gaps in my knowledge will appear profound to my Sudanese friends, and I hope those gaps provide a good jumping-off point for the next book on the Republican Brotherhood.
Ustadh Mahmoud frequently said, “All Republicans are teachers,” a condition that made easier my task as a student of their approach to Islam. I remember an early experience with my friend Abdel Gadir, who had worked a lifetime as a primary school teacher and then school-inspector, which illustrated Republican capacity to instruct while constructing a coherent philosophy of life. We were taking a walk on the high bank of the Blue Nile near his house in Rufa’a at asur, the late afternoon time of day when the sun colors the world ochre. As we made our way across the dried tummy, the Gezira cracking clay that made the region so fertile, a man quickly approached from the other direction, his white arage shirt flapping in the wind. Abdel Gadir loved to help me develop my Arabic vocabulary, particularly for things colloquial or unique to his region. I called it my “grandmother’s vocabulary” (mufradat al-huboobat). He poked me and pointed to the oncoming figure saying, “Steve, da shnu? [What is that?]” I cringed, thinking that I was about to learn the local derogatory term for the mentally handicapped in that I knew the approaching man, Hussein, had that condition from birth. Abdel Gadir ignored my shrug and answered his own question, “He is a darwish!”
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
