Guest Editorial: National Stability – A question of Malay Unity
Modern political and ideological currents are splintering interpretations, and new forms of rigidity have entered the discourse.
Samirul Ariff Othman, published in Murray Hunter’s blog
Unity Fractured
Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, but for the Malay world, the cracks run deeper than a nursery rhyme. The question facing Malay unity today isn’t merely a matter of political or economic divides, but rather an ideological chasm that’s tugging at the very fabric of Islamic thought in the region. Islam in the Malay Archipelago didn’t arrive with the sword or conquest; it came by sea. Sailors, traders, scholars—these were the torchbearers who carried Islam across the waters, bringing with them not only new faith but the intellectual heritage of Ash’arite theology and Shafi’i jurisprudence. This version of Islam, adapted to local culture and enriched by the contemplative depth of tasawwuf, or Sufism, gave birth to an Islamic identity uniquely Malay.
For centuries, Malay society thrived under this classical school of Islamic thought. The works of scholars and saints like Al-Ghazali and Al-Junaid provided the basis of the Sufi dimension, while the political insights of Al-Mawardi provided a balanced framework for governance. This intellectual heritage, centered around a compassionate, reflective, and communal understanding of Islam, was deeply rooted in the Malay Archipelago. Back then, the religious outlook here wasn’t much different from Mecca, whose scholars also adhered to Shafi’i school of jurisprudence.
But that was then. Today, this Malay-Islamic unity faces a fracture —a Humpty Dumpty moment. Modern political and ideological currents are splintering interpretations, and new forms of rigidity have entered the discourse. Even the Ottomans, who practiced a similarly rooted school of Hanafi jurisprudence and Maturidi thought, were able to maintain a nuanced approach, often compatible with the Malay Shafi’i-Ash’arite framework. So, where did this fracture come from? Some would say it’s imported from outside forces; others point to internal cultural drift. Either way, what’s at stake isn’t just theological nuance —it’s the unity of a people whose identity has always been a tapestry of layered Islamic thought.
Chaos in the Middle East
European colonialism in the Middle East and North Africa left a bitter legacy that reverberated far beyond its borders, igniting a series of ideological ripples across the Muslim world. Among its most potent aftershocks was the rise of the revisionist, puritanical movement. With roots in opposition to colonial oppression, this movement sought a “return” to what it considered the pure Islam of the early generations —often through strict, rigid interpretations that sometimes turned violent, especially when political power was at stake. Unlike the traditional paths of Islamic scholarship that evolved in the Malay Archipelago, these puritanical ideas were distinctly exogenous, carried back by students who studied in certain Middle Eastern institutions. These students brought home ideologies that differed starkly from the peaceful, Sufi-infused practices ingrained in the region for centuries.
In essence ideas, starkly different from the indigenous traditions in the Malay Archipelago, didn’t travel on the tides of trade or family connections like Islam once did. Instead, they arrived with students returning from Middle Eastern universities, bringing home an ideology that clashed with their communities’ long-standing practices.
In the Malay Archipelago, Islamic thought had long developed through personal ties with learned scholars and respected religious authorities. Figures from Tarim, Hadhramaut in Southern Yemen, for example, taught students in intimate, immersive environments that prioritized spiritual depth and moderation. In the contemporary setting, prominent American scholars Shaykh Hamza Yusuf and Shaykh Yahya Rhodus, found these same qualities by following this exact path in Mauritania.
Peaceful Malay Archipelago
Unfortunately, the winds of ideological change eventually swept through the Malay Archipelago, bringing with them influences that disrupted what was once a spiritual, peaceful, tolerant and apolitical practice of Islam. Before these external ideas arrived, the religious landscape here was a model of gentle persuasion, led by the legendary Wali Songo, the Nine Saints of Java, who spread Islam through wisdom, tolerance, and deep respect for local culture. Instead of rigid instructions, they offered guidance that honored the land’s traditions —like encouraging followers to sacrifice buffalos instead of cattle during Eid Adha, a concession to avoid offending Hindu sensibilities, where cattle held sacred value. Their mosques, often resembling temples with tiered roofs and lacking domes or minarets, blended into the local architectural language, showing a reverence for place and people.
The Wali Songo knew how to connect on an instinctual level with the communities they engaged. And perhaps nothing demonstrates their genius more than their adaptation of Wayang Kulit, a shadow puppet theater originally used to tell Hindu epics like the Mahabharata. With remarkable creativity, they used it to introduce Islamic stories and values —a stunning example of cultural adaptation in service of religious education. The result? The Hindu-Buddhist kingdoms of Java gradually embraced Islam, not by coercion or confrontation, but through understanding and respect. This was a kind of Islamic propagation deeply rooted in wisdom, yet it stands in stark contrast to some of the more recent currents that arrived later, bringing with them stricter, more divisive interpretations. It makes you wonder if we’ve overlooked something vital in the Wali Songo’s methods —a reminder that sometimes, true transformation comes not through force, but through empathy and a deft touch.
The way forward
In Malaysia’s quest for economic progress and technological advancement, there’s an invaluable asset we often overlook: our own rich heritage of Muslim soft power. If Malaysia wants to succeed on a global scale, we need to stay grounded in the time-tested methods that have served us so well, methods that emphasize moderation, understanding, and peaceful coexistence. While it might seem enticing to adopt new ideological practices from the Middle East, we should tread carefully—because with these influences come risks.
Malaysia’s strength lies in its cultural resilience and moderation, traits that once led British observers like Isabella L. Bird, who chronicled her travels in The Golden Chersonese, to marvel at the natural grace and gentility of the Malays. For her, and many other eminent British observers, the Malays were “the true Gentlemen of Nature”—and that isn’t just an outdated observation; it’s a testament to a cultural legacy that values harmony over hostility. If we can channel that spirit, balancing progress with our core principles, Malaysia has a unique opportunity to carve out a distinctive path forward, one that marries advancement with cultural integrity. The world doesn’t need another ideological battleground; it needs a Malaysia that remains true to its nature. Let’s keep it that way.
Samirul Ariff Othman
Born in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, Samirul Ariff was bathed in the Zam Zam Water and circumambulated around the Kaaba. His early education spanned the Asia-Pacific region. He attended pre-school in Thailand and elementary school at St. Mary’s International School in Tokyo before continuing his studies at MARA Junior Science College (MRSM) in Malaysia.
