The New Cold War?: Religious Nationalism Confronts the Secular State

THE NEW COLD WAR?

Comparative Studies in Religion and Society

Mark Juergensmeyer, editor

1. Redemptive Encounters: Three Modern Styles in the Hindu Tradition, by Lawrence Babb

2. Saints and Virtues, edited by John Stratton Hawley

3. Utopias in Conflict: Religion and Nationalism in Modern India, by Ainslie T. Embree

4. Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn, by Karen McCarthy Brown

5. The New Cold War? Religious Nationalism Confronts the Secular State, by Mark Juergensmeyer

6. Pious Passion: The Emergence of Modern Fundamentalism in the United States and Iran, by Martin Riesebrodt, translated by Don Reneau

THE NEW COLD WAR?

Religious Nationalism

Confronts the Secular State

MARK JUERGENSMEYER

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS

BERKELEY LOS ANGELES LONDON

University of California Press

Berkeley and Los Angeles, California

University of California Press, Ltd.

London, England

© 1993 by

The Regents of the University of California

First Paperback Printing 1994

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Juergensmeyer, Mark

The new Cold War?: religious nationalism confronts the secular state I Mark Juergensmeyer.

p. cm. —(Comparative studies in religion and society) Includes bibliographical references and index.

ISBN 0-520-08651-1

1. Revolutions—Religious aspects—History—20th century.

2. Nationalism—Religious aspects—History—20th century. 3. Religion and state—History—20th century. I. Title. II. Series. BL65.R48J84 1993

320.5'5'09048—dc2o 92-5609

CIP

Printed in the United States of America

987654321

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. ® for Sucheng,

who is small—very, very small—

and quick and bright

Contents

Contents

Acknowledgments

Preface to the Paperback Edition

Introduction: The Rise of Religious Nationalism

Chapter One The Loss of Faith in Secular Nationalism

Faith in Secular Nationalism

The Religious Rejection of Secular Nationalism

Chapter Two Competing Ideologies of Order

Secular Nationalism in the West

The Competition between Two Ideologies

How Secular Nationalism Failed to Accommodate Religion

Can Religion Accommodate the Nation-State?

Chapter Three Models of Religious Revolution: The Middle East

The Ingredients of a Religious Revolt

Iran: The Paradigmatic Religious Revolution

Egypt’s Incipient Religious Revolt

Religious Revolt in a Jewish State

The Islamic Intifada: A Revolt within the Palestinian Revolution

Chapter Four Political Targets of Religion: South Asia

Militant Hindu Nationalism

The Sikh War against Both Secular and Hindu Nationalism

Sri Lanka’s Unfinished Religious Revolt

Chapter Five Religious Ambivalence toward Socialist Nationalism: Formerly Marxist States

Religious Revival in Mongolia

Islamic Nationalism in Central Asia

The Religious Rejection of Socialism in Eastern Europe

The Ambivalent Relationship of Religion and Socialism

Patterns of Religious Revolt

Chapter Six Why Religious Confrontations Are Violent

The Rhetoric of Cosmic War

When Cosmic War Becomes Real

Religious Sanction for the Use of Violence

Empowering Marginal Peoples

Chapter Seven Democracy, Human Rights, and the Modern Religious State

Theocracy or Democracy?

The Protection of Minority Rights

The Protection of Individual Rights

Modernity and the Religious State

Conclusion: Can We Live with Religious Nationalism?

Notes

Bibliography

List of Interviews

Index

Acknowledgments

Many of the insights in this book have come from field studies and interviews conducted in the past several years in parts of the world where movements of religious nationalism have come to the fore. For that reason, I am especially grateful for the advice of experts in these countries and of colleagues around the world who are familiar with the case studies on which my observations are based.

In Sri Lanka my research was facilitated by S. W. R. de A. Sa- marasinghe and Radhika Coomaraswamy of the Kandy and Colombo branches, respectively, of the International Centre for Ethnic Studies; Sarath Amunugama of Worldview International Foundation; Mangala Moonesinghe of the Marga Institute, Colombo; and Pad- masiri deSilva of the Philosophy Department, Peradeniya University, Kandy. I also appreciate the comments of Stanley Tambiah of Harvard University on the Sri Lankan case and on the theoretical perspective of the project as a whole. Useful advice on initial contacts in Sri Lanka came from Don Swearer, Ashis Nandy, and Diana Eck. Throughout, Antony Charles provided both help and insight.

In India I was assisted by Harish Puri and Surjit Singh Narang at Guru Nanak Dev University, Amritsar; and I greatly benefited from the comments of Manoranjan Mohanty, T. N. Madan, J. P. S. Oberoi, and members of the Department of Political Science at Delhi University, where an initial version of one section of this book was presented. I have also learned from the comments of Gurinder Singh Mann of Columbia University and Mohinder Singh at the National Institute for Punjab Studies in New Delhi on my case study of the Sikhs.

In Israel, my mentors were Ifrah Zilberman in Jerusalem, and Ehud Sprinzak, Emmanual Sivan, and Gideon Aran at Hebrew University. I thank Robin Wright of the Los Angeles Times and The New Yorker, as well as other journalists in Jerusalem, the West Bank, and Gaza for their help in securing interviews.

In Egypt, I valued the cooperation of Saad Ibrahim, Kent Weeks, and Leila el-Hamamsy of the American University, Cairo; Muhammad Khalifa and Ibrahim Dasuqi Shitta of Cairo University; Mohamed Elmisilhi Salem of Al-Azhar University, Cairo; and Gehad Auda and other scholars and journalists connected with the Al-Ahram newspaper and institute. William Brinner and Alan Godlas helped in arranging contacts in Cairo, for which I am very grateful. Juan Campo provided helpful comments on the revision.

In Mongolia, I appreciated the assistance of D. Batsukh and G. Lubsantseren in Ulan Bator, and the kindness of Glenn Paige in arranging contacts. Majid Tehranian and Ahmad Karimi-Hakkak helped provide information on Tajikistan. Regarding Central Asia in general, I valued the suggestions of Dru Gladney and Barnett Rubin. For Russian and Eastern European materials, I am grateful to Amir Khisamutdinov, Lucja Światkowski, and the working group on religion and nationalism at the United States Institute of Peace, organized by David Little. I appreciate also the assistance of David Batstone in locating original materials relating to the Christian support for the Nicaraguan revolution. In addition to these scholars, I also wish to thank the many participant-observers who shared their insights with me and whose names appear in the list of interviews at the end of this book.

The research for this book was begun while I was a Fellow at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars at the Smithsonian Institution, Washington, D.C., in 1986. Additional grants for research in 1987-88 came from the Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation and in 1989-91 from the United States Institute of Peace in Washington, D.C. I am grateful for the generosity of these foundations and the support of Dr. Anne Sheffield at the Wilson Center, Dr. Karen Colvard at the Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation, and Dr. Hrach Gregorian at the United States Institute of Peace. Earlier versions of some of the material included in this book have been published as: The Logic of Religious Violence in the Journal of Strategic Studies and Contributions to Indian Sociology; What the Bhikkhu Said: Reflections on the Rise of Militant Religious Nationalism in Religion; Sacrifice and Cosmic War in The Journal of Terrorism and Political Violence; and the sections on India and Sri Lanka in Stuart Mews, ed., Religion in Politics: A World Guide.

My colleagues in Berkeley, Washington, and Honolulu have enriched my thinking about these matters enormously, as has my outspoken but diligent research assistant over the years, Darrin McMahon. At Hawaii my graduate assistant was David Fouse. I have appreciated the care with which they and members of my graduate seminar at the University of Hawaii read early drafts of the manuscript.

In the final stages of preparation, the book has benefited from the comments of a number of scholars, including Dru Gladney, Richard Hecht, Ehud Sprinzak, and a stellar group of specialists convened by the Harry Frank Guggenheim Foundation in New York for a one-day seminar to discuss a draft of the manuscript. The participants included Karen McCarthy Brown, Karen Colvard, Ainslie Embree, Charles Hale, Jack Hawley, James Hester, R. W. Kaeuper, David Laitin, Bruce Lawrence, Darrin McMahon, Gana- nath Obeyesekere, David Rapoport, David Little, Ninian Smart, Arthur Waldron, and Joel Wallman. Although none were shy about suggesting ways that the manuscript could be improved, each affirmed the importance of its topic and the value of undertaking the study. My thanks to them all.

The final version has been groomed by Sucheng Chan, to whom this book is dedicated. She has helped immensely in bringing organization and clarity to the manuscript, and her consistent support for it over the years (aided by sweet Cotufa) has helped to keep this project alive. In one way or another, she and all others named above have helped to improve this book’s accuracy and flow of thought, and have demonstrated, once again, the benefits of having such patient and intelligent friends.

Preface to the

Paperback Edition

Religious nationalism continues to expand and evolve in various parts of the world, and much has happened since this book first went to press. The World Trade Center in New York was bombed allegedly by Muslim nationalists; Jewish and Muslim extremists angrily responded to the Israeli-PLO accords; Indias Ayodhya mosque was destroyed, giving new momentum to that country’s Hindu nationalism; the Sikh revolution in the Punjab and the incipient Muslim government in Tajikistan were quelled; and elsewhere in the world, movements of religious nationalism were adopting new forms in competition with their secular foes.

None of these events has altered the main theses of this book. It has become increasingly clear that religious nationalists are more than just religious fanatics: they are political activists seriously attempting to reformulate the modern language of politics and provide a new basis for the nation-state. In many cases they are waging popularist struggles against Western culture and its political ideology, and they aim at infusing public life with indigenous cultural symbols and moral values. Recent events also reinforce the point that they can be hostile, dogmatic, and violent, and that they threaten a confrontation with secular government that is virtually global in its reach.

Although I have tried to revise the text of this book to bring it up to date, I have not changed my analyses of why religious nationalism has emerged at this point in history, how our own ideology and politics play a role in this development, and what problems and solutions are in store for the future. I note that several other authors—including Samuel P. Huntington, writing on ‘The Clash of Civilizations?" in Foreign Affairs, and Lloyd and Susanne Rudolph, discussing Modern Hate in New Republic— also regard religious nationalism as a significant and potentially destructive force in world politics. The question is whether its values can be made compatible with the virtues of secular Western democracy. I still harbor the hope that the new cold war between secular and religious ideologies can be forestalled.

MARK JUERGENSMEYER Santa Barbara, September 21,1993

Introduction:

The Rise of Religious Nationalism

‘There is a desperate need for religion in public life, the dean of Egypt’s premier school of Islamic theology told me.¹ He meant, he went on to say, that there should be not only a high standard of morality in public offices but also a fusion of the religious and political identities of the Egyptian people. From his point of view, the Islamic religion is a culturally liberating force, which Egypt as a nation urgently needs in order to free itself from the last vestiges of its colonial past. Western colonialism has gone, the dean explained, but we still have not completed our independence. We will not be free until Egypt becomes a Muslim state."²

In interviews I conducted in half a dozen troubled countries during the late 1980s and early 1990s, I found that his point of view is not idiosyncratic. The longing for an indigenous form of religious politics free from the taint of Western culture has been expressed by many in countries that have become independent in this century: not only by Egyptians, but by Central Asians and other Muslims from Algeria to Indonesia, and by Ukrainians, Sri Lankans, Indians, Israelis, Mongolians, and intensely religious persons of a variety of faiths throughout the globe. In fact, what appeared to be an anomaly when the Islamic revolution in Iran challenged the supremacy of Western culture and its secular politics in 1979 has become a major theme in international politics in the 1990s. The new world order that is replacing the bipolar powers of the old Cold War is characterized not only by the rise of new economic forces, a crumbling of old empires, and the discrediting of communism, but also by the resur- gence of parochial identities based on ethnic and religious allegiances. Although Francis Fukuyama, among others, has asserted that the ending of the old Cold War has led to an end of history and a world-wide ideological consensus in favor of secular liberal democracy, the rise of new religious and ethnic nationalism belies that assertion.³ Moreover, proponents of the new nationalisms hold the potential of making common cause against the secular West, in what might evolve into a new Cold War.

Like the old Cold War, the confrontation between these new forms of culture-based politics and the secular state is global in its scope, binary in its opposition, occasionally violent, and essentially a difference of ideologies; and, like the old Cold War, each side tends to stereotype the other. According to the major Islamic political strategist in Sudan, the post-Cold War West needs a new empire of evil to mobilize against.⁴ Similarly, he and other religious politicians need a stereotype of their own, a satanic secular foe that will help them mobilize their own forces. Unlike the old Cold War, however, the West (now aligned with the secular leaders of the former Soviet Union) confronts an opposition that is nether politically united nor, at present, militarily strong. For that reason, it is often not taken seriously. This attitude, I believe, is a mistake.

For instance, these new forms of cultural nationalism are sometimes dismissed as historical aberrations or as misguided applications of religion. In an introduction to an article by Conor Cruise O’Brien on the Punjab crisis in 1988, an editor of the Atlantic Monthly described as one of the grimmer and more ironic developments of the late twentieth century the manner in which religion had inflamed the Third World. He claimed that religion is on the whole a benign force in Western societies; but in the non-Western world it often combines combustibly with nationalism to fuel political murder.⁵ The underlying assumption was that something is seriously wrong with religion in the non-Western world.

In this book, I have adopted a different approach. I have tried to see the points of view of the activists that the Atlantic editor derided. From their perspectives it is secular nationalism, and not religion, that has gone wrong. They see the Western models of nationhood—both democratic and socialist—as having failed, and they view religion as a hopeful alternative, a base for criticism and change.

Why has secular nationalism failed to inspire them? Why has religion been raised as an alternative? Why has the religious rejection of secular nationalism been so violent? And what ideology and political organization will come in its place? In searching for answers to these questions, I have sought the opinions of politically active religious leaders in various parts of the world. Some I interviewed in person; others I encountered through their published interviews, transcripts of their speeches, and their writings. I have tried to make sense of their positions, determine what they have in common with their counterparts in other parts of the globe, place them in a wider context of political and cultural change, and see why they are so optimistic about their role in what one Algerian Islamic nationalist described as the march of history.⁶

My interest in this topic began with the Sikhs. Having lived in northern India from time to time and written on religion and politics in the Punjab, and having known the Sikhs generally to be delightful and sensible people, I was profoundly disturbed to witness the deadly spiral of violence involving militant Sikhs and the Indian government that began there in the early 1980s and in which the Punjab is still terribly mired. In trying to make sense of this situation, I turned to the recorded sermons and transcripts of one of the leaders of the militant movement, Sant Jamail Singh Bhindranwale.⁷ His message seemed to be one of despair about the present state of society: he saw it characterized by an absence of a sense of moral community and led by politicians incapable of being anything but corrupt. The despair, however, was tempered by a radical hope: he felt that a religious crusade could bring about a political revolution, one that would usher in a new politics and a new moral order.

The rhetoric of Bhindranwale—at once critical and hopeful, oriented both to modern needs and to traditional values of the past— was not unique, I found, as I began to compare it with other cases. Turning first to the language of Buddhist monks in the militant Sinhalese movement in nearby Sri Lanka and to the rhetoric of India’s Hindu nationalists, I soon expanded my interests from the discourse of politically active religious leaders in those two countries to the ideological language of their counterparts in Egypt, Iran, Israel, Israeli-occupied Palestine, Mongolia, Central Asia, and other parts of the world.⁸ The differences among these religious leaders are considerable—their religious values and goals, their political and historical settings—but many of their concerns are surprisingly similar. They are united by a common enemy— Western secular nationalism—and a common hope for the revival of religion in the public sphere.

While urging that they be taken seriously, however, I do not want to exaggerate their importance. Although some religious nationalists have already achieved a great deal of political influence in their countries, others have not and never will. Many will forever remain members of a strident minority. I include them in this study, however, because they fit into a larger, virtually global pattern. In what is admittedly an unsystematic sampling, I have singled out members of religious groups that actively criticize the secular political order and attempt to replace it with one founded on religious principles. Even when the voices of these religious activists are relatively insignificant in their own countries, they are worth considering, for they add to what is a major counterpoint to the dominant secular nationalism of our time.

The religious type of nationalism that they advocate receives more attention in the American and European press—and is probably more difficult for Westerners to comprehend—than any other form of cultural nationalism, including those based on ethnicity, race, and a region’s legendary past. In many parts of the world, however, religious and ethnic identities are intertwined. The nationalist aspirations of Muslims in China and Central Asia have been rightly described as ethnoreligious. ⁹ But even in these locales, the crucial symbols and ideas of the regions’ cultural heritages are most often the religious ones. Perhaps for that reason religious activists there, as elsewhere in the world, have become secular leaders’ most formidable foes.

It would be easy to characterize these religious activists as fundamentalists, but I hesitate to do so for several reasons. First, the term is pejorative. It refers, as one Muslim scholar observed, to those who hold an intolerant, self-righteous, and narrowly dogmatic religious literalism.¹⁰ The term is less descriptive than it is accusatory: it reflects our attitude toward other people more than it describes them. By implication such persons should not be taken seriously as thoughtful political actors, and that characterization does not fit most of the people whom I encountered in this study, either directly or through their writings.

Second, fundamentalism is an imprecise category for making comparisons across cultures. The term stems from the attempt of a group of conservative Protestants early in this century to define what they held to be the fundamentals of Christianity, including the inerrancy of scripture, and it is unclear how they can be compared with those who adhere to other forms of revitalized Christianity, much less to religious activists of other faiths in other parts of the world.¹¹ The only thing that most religious activists around the world have in common, aside from their fervor, is their rejection of Westerners and those like us who subscribe to modern secularism. For that reason, a better comparative category would be antimodernism, the term Bruce Lawrence uses to define fundamentalism as a global concept, for it suggests a religious revolt against the secular ideology that often accompanies modern society.¹² One of the advantages of this term is that it allows one to make a distinction between those who are modern and those who are modernists—that is, between those who simply accept modern society and those who go further and believe in the secular ideologies that dominate modern cultures.¹³

This distinction is important because in most cases religious activists, while opposing the values of modernism, are themselves vçry modern persons. The dean of Islamic theology in Cairo, to whom I referred in the opening paragraph of this Introduction, lived in London for a number of years and appreciated its modern efficiency. Rabbi Meir Kahane, a right-wing Jewish nationalist in Israel, ran his movement like a political campaign and loved to discuss American baseball. The most politically active mullah in Tajikistan has a fax machine and a cellular telephone. Such religious nationalists are modern in the sense that they are organization- minded and empirical in their outlook.¹⁴ Yet their modernity is such that it also allows them to embrace traditional religious values and reject secular ones.

My third objection to the use of fundamentalism in this study is the most salient: it does not carry any political meaning. To call someone a fundamentalist suggests that he or she is motivated solely by religious beliefs rather than by broad concerns about the nature of society and the world. The religious activists I met and studied are politically astute and deeply concerned about the society in which they live. No doubt many of them have friends who are not: these friends may be fixated exclusively on religious matters, and they may rightly be called conservatives, fundamentalists, or simply antimodernists. But when such people fuse their religious perspective with a broad prescription for their nation’s political and social destiny, one must find an inclusive term. For that reason, I call them religious nationalists.

By characterizing the activists in this study as religious nationalists, I mean to suggest that they are individuals with both religious and political interests. To understand their perspective is an exercise in both comparative religion and comparative politics, for they appear—at least from our point of view—to be responding in a religious way to a political situation. Many of them, however, agree with the observation of a Palestinian leader, Sheik Ahmed Yassin, that there is no clear distinction between religion and politics and that the distinction itself is a mark of Western ways of thinking.¹⁵ Rather, articulators of religious nationalism see a deficiency in society that is both religious and political in character, one that requires a response that is religious as well as political.

Although they reject secular ideas, religious nationalists do not necessarily reject secular politics, including the political apparatus of the modern nation-state. To show how this can be possible, I must explain how I use certain terms. By the state, I mean the locus of authority and decision making within a geographical region. By the nation, I mean a community of people associated with a particular political culture and territory that possesses autonomous political authority.¹⁶ A nation-state is a modern form of nationhood in which a state’s authority systematically pervades and regulates an entire nation, whether through democratic or totalitarian means. The modern nation-state is morally and politically justified by a concept of nationalism, by which I mean not only the xenophobic extremes of patriotism but also the more subdued expressions of identity based on shared assumptions regarding why a community constitutes a nation and why the state that rules it is legitimate.¹⁷

The new religious revolutionaries are concerned not so much about the political structure of the nation-state as they are about the political ideology undergirding it. They are concerned about the rationale for having a state, the moral basis for politics, and the reasons why a state should elicit loyalty. They often reject the European and American notion that nationalism can be defined solely as a matter of secular contract.¹⁸ At the same time, however, they see no contradiction in affirming certain forms of political organization that have developed in the West, such as the democratic procedures of the nation-state, as long as they are legitimized not by the secular idea of a social contract but by traditional principles of religion.

As a bhikkhu in Sri Lanka explained to me, what he despised was not democracy, but your idea of nationalism.¹⁹ He and others like him reject the notion that what draws people together as a nation and what legitimates their political order is a rational compact that unites everyone in a geographical region through common laws and political processes. Such secular nationalism underlies both the parliamentary democracies of Europe and the Americas, and the socialist bureaucracies that once characterized Eastern European countries and the formerly Soviet republics of the Commonwealth of Independent States. This way of thinking about nationalism comes naturally to most Americans and Europeans, but it contains assumptions about the universal and secular nature of a moral social order that many religious people in the rest of the world simply do not take for granted.

I find it striking that the religious-nationalist point of view so strongly dismisses secular nationalism as fundamentally bereft of moral or spiritual values. How shocking this rejection would have been to some of the Western social scientists and other observers of global politics who proclaimed two or three decades ago that the advent of secular nationalism in the Third World was not only a triumph of Western political influence but also one of the West’s finest legacies to public life throughout the world.

I begin, in the first part of this book, with this sense of promise that so buoyed the spirits of proponents of Western nationalism earlier in this century. I examine how the promise faded and how secular nationalism began to be disdained in many parts of the world. I then turn to the underlying issue: the competition between religion, in its various forms, and the European and American model of secular nationalism. The second part of this book provides case studies from the Middle East, South Asia, and formerly socialist countries. Although this book is largely about the discourse of religious activists, it is important also to look at the particular movements with which they have been associated and to try to discern patterns that indicate how and why religious revolutions develop. The third part of the book looks at several concerns that have been raised about religious nationalists: their proclivity toward violence and their apparent disregard for democracy and human rights. The Conclusion is devoted to the question of where we go from here: how secular nationalists can live in a world increasingly populated with religious nationalists and whether religious nationalism can be made compatible with secular nationalism’s great virtues: tolerance, respect for human rights, and freedom of expression.

Part One

Religion vs.

Secular Nationalism

Chapter One

The Loss of Faith

in Secular Nationalism

In the celebrations following the first stages of elections that threatened to bring Islamic nationalists to power in Algeria early in 1992, a jubilant supporter of the Islamic Front spied a foreigner on the streets of Algiers and grabbed her by the arm. Please give my condolences to President Mitterrand, the Algerian said.¹ Behind this amusing bit of sarcasm is an impression shared by many Muslims in Algeria: that the ruling party, the National Front, which came to power in the 1956 war of independence with France and which controlled the country afterward, is, in a cultural sense, an extension of French colonial rule. The independent Algeria that proudly came into being in 1956 has come to be seen as a vestige of the colonial past that is itself in need of liberation.

In the mid-1950s, soon after Algeria and many other former colonies in the Third World received their political independence, it was popular for Europeans and Americans to write with an almost religious fervor about the spread of nationalism throughout the world. Their zeal, however, was invariably for something secular: the emergence of new nations that elicited loyalties forged entirely from a sense of secular citizenship. These secular-nationalist loyalties were based on the idea that the legitimacy of the state was rooted in the will of the people, divorced from any religious sanction.

The secular nationalism of the day was defined also by what it was not: it was not one of the old ethnic and religious identities that had made nations parochial and quarrelsome in the past. For that reason, scholars viewed the spread of nationalism in a hopeful, almost eschatological, light: it was ushering in a new future. It meant, in essence, the emergence of mini-Americas all over the world.

Hans Kohn, his generation s best-known historian of nationalism, observed in 1955 that the twentieth century was unique: It is the first period in history in which the whole of mankind has accepted one and the same political attitude, that of nationalism.² In his telling, the concept had its origins in antiquity. It was presaged by ancient Hebrews and fully enunciated by ancient Greeks. Inexplicably, however, the concept stagnated for almost 2,000 years, in Kohn’s account, until suddenly it took off in earnest in the seventeenth century in England, the first modern nation.³ Today, he cheerfully observed, the whole world has responded to the awakening of nationalism and liberty.⁴

Not only Western academics but a good number of new leaders— especially those in the emerging nations created out of former colonial empires—were swept up by the vision of a world of free and equal secular nations. The concept of secular nationalism gave them an ideological justification for being, and the electorate that subscribed to it provided them power bases from which they could vault into positions of leadership ahead of traditional ethnic and religious leaders. But secularism was more than just a political issue, it was also a matter of personal identity. A new kind of person had come into existence—the Indian nationalist or Ceylonese nationalist who possessed an abiding faith in a secular nationalism identified with his or her homeland. Perhaps none exemplified this new spirit more than Gamal Abdel Nasser of Egypt and Jawaharlal Nehru of India. According to Nehru, there is no going back to a past full of religious identities, for the modern, secular spirit of the age will inevitably triumph throughout the world.⁵

Donald Smith has written poignantly of the followers of Nehru after India’s independence: The Indian nationalist felt compelled to assert that India was a nation, even though there were some embarrassing facts—such as divisive regional and religious loyalties— that had to be glossed over.⁶ The reason for this compulsion, according to Smith, was that such people could not think of themselves as modern persons without a national identity. In the modern world, writes Smith, "nationality and nationalism were the basic premises of political life, and it seemed absolutely improper for India to be without a nationality."⁷ A similar attitude predominated in many other new nations, at least at the beginning.

Leaders of minority religious communities—such as Hindu Tamils in Ceylon and Coptic Christians in Egypt—seemed especially eager to embrace secular nationalism because a secular nation-state would assure that the public life of the country would not be dominated completely by the majority religious community. In India, where the Congress Party became the standard bearer of Nehru’s vision, the party’s most reliable supporters were those at the margins of Hindu society—untouchables and Muslims—who had the most to fear from an intolerant religious majority.

The main carriers of the banner of secular nationalism in these newly independent countries, however,